Falling: Chapter 22

I’m standing outside in the cold, shivering as I wait for Miles to come back from doing whatever he was doing. I’ve tried calling him, but he hasn’t picked up. I could walk home from here. He drove us here, and if something has happened, I don’t want to leave him alone. So the least I can do is be here when he comes out. I sit down on the curb outside the sports center and wait for him.

“Wren.” I hear a quiet voice from behind me. I stand up, turn, and I see him. Miles walks toward me slowly, limping like he’s been injured. “You waited.”

“Of course I did. You’re my ride back home.” He comes closer to me, and the bright street light shines on his face. That’s when I see the bruises. His right eye is shut while marks and bruises cover his face and neck. I reach out to touch his face, but he pulls his head back. “Jesus, Miles. What happened?”

“Can you drive? My eye hurts,” he murmurs, holding out his keys to me.

I nod and get into the driver’s seat of his truck.

I’ve never been in this kind of situation before. I’ve never had to take care of someone like this. Me and the girls take care of our selves fine, but when we do need each other it’s not because we’ve been punched in the face.

We drive in silence, and it eats away at me.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” I ask. He shrugs and looks out of his window.

I want to ask him again, to get him to open up to me, but he clearly doesn’t want to speak, and I’m not one to push. So I focus on the road and drive back to his house.

It’s freakishly quiet as we walk up the stairs to his bedroom, and I wish I could do something to ease the tension.

He sits on his bed, resting his back against the headboard, his legs stretched out straight. He’s barely said a word since we left campus. Which is worrying since I can never get him to shut up usually.

I run down into the kitchen, feeling helpless as I put some ice into a ziplock. When I get into his room again, he’s still sitting there, his eyes closed, and he’s taking in deep breaths.

I put my knees on both sides of his legs, straddling him but still hovering as I press the ice to his face.

He winces. “Sorry,” I whisper. I put the ice down, touching and examining his face carefully. “What happened, Milesy?”

“It doesn’t hurt that bad. You should see the other guy. I’m fine,” he says, trying to be cheerful as his lip twitches. I tut and shake my head.

“Oh, you’re fine?” I gently prod my finger on his cheek. He hisses. “This looks really bad. We should get it checked out. I can drive you to the hospital.”

“I’m fine, really,” he argues, more convincingly this time. The tightness in my chest pinches as I look at him, opening and closing my mouth, trying to make my brain say something. “Can you stay tonight? I need you here.”

After what happened in the woods, I told myself to be more cautious around him, but then things like this happen. Where he says that he needs me in that whiny voice of his. Or he says “please ” and flutters his eyelashes at me. Or when he convinces me to do things that I said I wouldn’t. Like wearing his jersey and straddling him as I tend to his face.

“Okay,” I say, and he smiles wide. “I’ll stay, but no funny business.”

“Funny business? What does that even mean?” He blinks up at me, trying to be as innocent as he can, but I know better.

“You know what I mean.”

I inspect his eye, trying to do my best to see what can help. It’s gone down since we’ve been here, but it’s still harsh.

I put the packet down again to give his eye a rest from the cold. It’s not swollen, just badly bruised underneath. He’ll probably have a black eye in the morning though.

I start to climb off him, to put some much-needed space between us when his hands come onto my hips. His touch is electric, and I wish it didn’t send sparks flying across my entire body.

“I want you so badly, Wren. Me and you for real,” he murmurs, dropping his head to my chest.

I laugh. “This is exactly what I meant by funny business.”

He rolls his head against me. “I’m telling the truth.”

“You’re delirious,” I say, trying again to move, but he keeps me there, hovering over him. I lift his head up, brushing his hair out of his face and looking down at him.

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Ask me again in the morning,” he challenges, “and see what I’ll say.”

“That’s if you can remember any of this in the morning.”

He meets my gaze with intensity, and I suck in a breath. “Cut the bullshit, Wren. Stop covering up everything you feel with a joke. You’re way too fucking smart to be doing that with me.”

“I’m not doing that,” I whisper.

“Don’t play dumb with me either, princess.

”

“I’m not playing dumb. I just— We joke around, it’s what we do. I just don’t believe you’re being serious,” I argue. “You’re not into me, Miles. I know that.”

His grip on my hips tightens, and he drops me onto his lap. I feel his dick pressing into me from the thin material that separates us, and I gasp.

“Is this believable enough?” he rasps, “Is the way my body has been aching for you since the day I met you believable, Wren? Because I can prove to you in a thousand other ways that this isn’t fake.”

My heart thunders in my ears, and every reason not to do this is screaming at me. I know him. I know how he operates and the jokes he makes about wanting me or flirting with me. I also know that I haven’t had another man touch me in nine months, and every time Miles so much as looks at me, I swear I see fireworks exploding.

“Just kiss me,” he repeats, biting on my earlobe, “Just once. If you hate it, we can stop and pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Miles, if we do this once, we’ll just think of another excuse to do it again,” I say.

“I can control myself, baby. Can you?”

He looks up at me with passion and intensity, and I shake my head.

“This is a really fucking bad idea,” I say, panting.

Every rational thought I had is thrown out the window as I crash my mouth into his.

It’s more frantic and exhilarating than the first time we kissed at the gala. Hell, it’s a lot more chaotic than the peck he gave me earlier. It’s the kind of kiss that’ll drive me insane. The kind that I won’t be able to stop thinking about days from now.

My hands dive into the curls at the back of his neck, pulling and gripping as his hands explore my ass before venturing up my shirt. His hand is warm and comforting against my skin and so fuc king gentle. His touch is a little hesitant like he’s trying not to break me.

There is something so addicting about the way his mouth tastes like sweetness and fall. I feel greedy when it comes to him, desperate to taste every part of him.

I press featherlight kisses onto his bruises before sliding down the length of him to get better access to the column of his throat. I kiss and suck frantically like he did to me in the woods, and a low noise comes from the back of his throat when I nip at his collarbone.

He moves his hands out from under my shirt to my ass, grabbing and pulling me back up into a sitting position. I make the mistake of rolling against him, feeling the friction between us, and I whimper.

“Can I take this off?” he asks hoarsely, tugging at his jersey that’s clung to me.

“Are you sure? I thought it was boosting your ego.”

“Can I take it off, Wren? Yes, or no?”

“Yes,” I reply, pushing off him. He pulls his jersey over my head, and when it’s free, he dives back into me, kissing my exposed chest. I have no idea what I’m doing, what I’m inviting to happen, but his mouth is too skilled, and it has no business turning me on this much. “God, that’s good.” He bites me, and I gasp. “Don’t give me any more of those stupid hickeys, Miles, I swear to God.”

He laughs against my skin. “I can try not to.”

“You better.”

He replies by slipping his hand up the material of my sports bra, his fingers splaying out across my breasts. My head lolls back when he brings his fingers to my nipples, teasing me in the most maddening way.

“You feel so soft,” he whispers, “so fucking good.”

I don’t know how I’m going to get this to end. I don ’t know if I ever want it to. The roughness of his hands isn’t like Augustus’s. They’re purposeful and masculine like they know what they want.

I grind into him again, and he groans, squeezing my hips. His nails dig into my exposed skin, and a pathetic part of me hopes he leaves marks there. He moves me over him faster until I’m grinding in his lap, my mind spinning out of control.

“Miles, fuck,” I cry. He’s masterful with the way he rolls my hips, hitting the pressure points just right until his dick presses into my core. His kisses across my chest get more intense, and his hips buck up, and I need to dull the ache between my legs as soon as possible. “I need more. Please.”

He pinches my nipple, and I whimper. “More?” I nod, my lips pressed together. “How much more do you need, baby?”

“I don’t know,” I reply.

“Wren.”

“I don’t know,” I say again, angrier. I wish he could just take the initiative sometimes instead of pestering me to find out what I actually want when, most of the time, I don’t know what that is. I’ve never felt so powerless while feeling like I could explode at the same time.

“Tell me what you want, sweet girl,” he murmurs.

“Just keep touching me. Please,” I whisper. He kisses me again, but it isn’t enough. My voice shakes as I say again, “Please.”

He’s clearly reduced me to begging, and I hate myself for it.

He flips us over until he’s on top of me, and he slides down the length of me. His fingers hook into my leggings and my underwear, and he looks up at me, “Can I touch you here?” I nod, my chest heaving. “Talk to me, baby. Can I take these off and see that pretty pussy of yours? I want to see how badly you want this.”

“Yes. Take them off,” I say, watching him slowly take them off me . His mouth pops open when he sees how wet I am, and I moan just at the sight of him. It’s been way too long since I’ve had someone between my legs, and Miles looks capable enough to do a good job. “Are you going to touch me or just stare?”

“Do you ever shut your mouth?” he groans, kissing my stomach and up my chest.

“Not really,” I mutter as his hand presses my legs open, his mouth branding across my chest and my neck. I suck in a breath as one of his hands braces beside my head and the other swipes my clit. I’m soaked. I close my eyes, rocking my head side to side with both pleasure and frustration. “Can you hurry up?”

He laughs against my neck and teases his thumb against my core. My hips buck up, writhing beneath him until he finally pushes two fingers inside me. It’s tight, and the sensation is otherworldly. I can’t remember the last time I felt this good. With his weight over me, the hypnotizing smell of him, and how full he’s making me feel, I might burst into flames.

“So fucking tight, baby,” he mumbles into my neck.

I suck in a sharp breath. “I haven’t done this in a while.”.

“That’s okay,” he whispers, “I’ll take care of you. Will you let me take care of you, Wren?”

“Yes.”

He groans when he pushes into me again, and I clench around him. I’ve never been shy when it comes to sex, but I don’t have much experience to compare it to. I didn’t think going all the way was such a big thing until Augustus and I first had sex. Before we were official, I had slept with someone that Scarlett had set me up with, and he didn’t know it was my first time, and it was nice. It was nice that it just felt like a regular hookup to him and not this huge milestone. But Augustus couldn’t let it go. I was eighteen, and he made it into a whole thing, put together a PowerPoint and everything like he was trying to mansplain my virginity to me .

But Miles Davis isn’t like that at all.

He’s soft but playfully rough in all the right ways. He nips and sucks at my neck like he’s trying to leave more marks as I grind into his hand, and I’ve never been this turned on in my life.

“Were you this wet for me the other day, princess?” he asks, his voice silky smooth as if his words aren’t filthy. He pushes into me hard and fast while his lips stake claim to my throat.

“God, Miles.” I sigh. I can’t think of any words right now. All I can think and feel is him, and I don’t ever want him to stop.

“Don’t have such a smart mouth with my fingers in your pussy, huh?” he rasps, nudging his nose against my neck. His thumb brushes against my clit, and I cry out, shamelessly grinding into his hand. “Is this good for you, Wren?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how good,” he demands, his voice a rough caress against my skin. “I want to hear you. I want to hear who’s making you feel good.”

His fingers move faster as if he’s trying to make a point, and my heartbeat accelerates. My entire body narrows to a pinpoint of sensation as he continues the merciless thrusts of his fingers and I squeeze around him.

“It’s really fucking good, Miles,” I say, panting.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, rewarding me with a drugging kiss to my lips. He pulls apart, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Are you going to come for me, my sweet girl?”

I don’t know what it is about the nickname that tears me up inside, but I’m struggling to tell if it’s turning me on or pissing me off. “I don’t know, will I? I don’t think I’ve decided yet,” I tease, and my eyes lock with his. His grin turns evil as he thrusts his fingers into me, curling them just right until I cry out. “Are you going to make me come, pretty boy?”

“Fuck yes,” he replies, his eyes flashing at the nickname.

He picks up his pace, using my wetness to massage my clit, and I can feel myself getting closer to the edge. I don’t want this to end yet. I want to make this last as long as I can, but if he keeps kissing my neck and whispering into my skin, I might combust.

“Miles,” I pant, “go slower, baby.”

He listens, adjusting his pace. “Like this?” I sigh, melting into his bed as I nod. “You’re doing so good. See how good it can be when you lose control for once?”

“You’re driving me crazy. Stop. Talking,” I bite out, shutting my eyes.

He laughs, but he doesn’t speak. We become a mess of desperate moans, and while my hands grip the sheets, his fingers work their magic over the most sensitive part of me. My entire body trembles when I finally shatter, and we stay there for a few seconds as he massages my clit until I stop shivering. He pulls his fingers out of me, sliding down my body and he surprises me by bringing them to his mouth and tasting me.

“So fucking good,” he mutters as he kisses the inside of both of my thighs. “You’re perfect, Wren.”

I’m still catching my breath when he pulls my leggings and panties back on. “You need to stop saying that.”

He drops onto his back beside me, pulling me on top of him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I’m way too tired to fight it.

He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I swear I almost die. “I’m not going to stop saying it until you believe it,” he whispers.

I let him hold me for a few minutes. I know it’s selfish, and the last thing either of us needs right now is to complicate this, but being with him feels so good. Everything about him is comforting and safe, and it’s been a while since I’ve felt like that. I’m desperate enough to want to be held by him that I don’t question it and continue snuggling into his embrace .

I clear my throat and push away from him. “Can I borrow something to sleep in?” I ask, and his eyes widen.

“You still want to sleep here?”

“I said I would, didn’t I? An orgasm isn’t going to change that,” I say, shrugging.

He smiles, but it’s a sad one. “There’s some shorts and shirts in my drawer. Take your pick.”

I get out of the bed and pick some clothes out of his drawer, shutting myself in the bathroom until I can regulate my breathing and convince myself that it doesn’t need to be awkward.

This is fine.

Everything is totally and completely fine.

I don’t have to worry or overcomplicate this any more than it is. It was a meaningless hookup that we don’t have to think about again. Sure, the memory will probably be burned behind my eyelids for the foreseeable future, but that’s a bridge I’ll cross when I get to it.

Neither of us says anything when I slide into the bed next to him, turning my back to him so I don’t do anything I regret. I’ve made too many mistakes recently, and if I look at him, I don’t know what I’ll do. I can’t afford to slip up now.

“I’m not a violent person, Wren,” he whispers into the silence.

I don’t hesitate. “I know.”

“One of the guys was saying some really fucked up stuff about you and Carter, and I just lost it. I should have kept my cool. I shouldn’t have freaked out on him, but I did, and I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

My heart sinks through my ribs as I turn over to face him. I know better than to ask what they said about me, so I just blink at him, trying to figure him out.

“You don’t have to apologize to me. You didn’t do anything wrong,” I reassure him. He looks so disappointed in himself that it breaks my heart. He’s always the confident, funny, charming Miles Davis when he’s around me. And when I get glimpses into this side of him, I just want to hug him like the day he hugged me for the first time. I want him to feel like I did. Like I didn’t have to be alone in my feelings anymore.

“If Coach finds out, I won’t be able to play. He’ll kick me off the team for good, and any chance I had of getting drafted this season will be over. But with what they were saying, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’ll ruin everything,” he explains, his voice cracking. I brush my hand over his cheek before curling it into his hair, and he melts into my touch, closing his eyes.

“That’s not going to happen, Miles,” I whisper.

“It might.”

“It won’t,” I say. “Tell you why?”

“Why?”

I smile. “We’ve got this.”

“We’re a ‘we’ now? I didn’t know we were official.”

I roll my eyes. “I think we’ve always been a ‘we,’ Miles. We’re in this together or whatever.”

“Who turned you into an optimist?”

I shrug one shoulder. “I hear orgasms can improve your mood.”

He chuckles. “Are we going to talk about what just happened?”

“What’s there to say? It’s not a big deal. We broke the rule. It was a moment of weakness,” I say even though it pains me. It’s the easiest option. It’s what is best for both of us. My fingers are still in his hair, tugging at his curls, and it’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in a while. He swallows. “We can just forget about it, right?”

He clears his throat. “I can pretend to.”

“Miles…”

“I just finger-banged you and you’re expecting me to forget about it?”

“Don’t ever say finger-banged in my presence, and yes, I am expecting you to forget about it,” I argue, and he huffs. “We’ve got a lot coming up in the next few weeks. You’ve got the playoffs, and I’ve got the showcase. It would be a bad idea for us to think about whatever this is right now.”

“Okay. You’re right,” he bites out. I roll my eyes again. He shifts in place and shuffles a little closer to me, our noses almost touching. “Hey, if I ask you to do something, will you promise not to be weird or question me about it?”

I nod. I’m starting to think that there’s very little I wouldn’t do for Miles Davis. “Okay.”

He swallows. “Can you keep running your fingers through my hair? Just until I fall asleep.” I blink at him, and he sighs before I can say anything. “Never mind. I knew it was stupid. Just⁠—”

I cut him off and pull him into me so his head rests on my chest. I run my hand across his forehead, pushing his hair back before I sink my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, and he sighs.

I know how badly he needs this. I know how badly he needs someone to just be there for him, to be in his corner so he doesn’t have to be alone. I want to be that person for him. I want to ease his pain in any way I can.

“Is this good?” I whisper.

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” he murmurs. “Thank you for being here.”

“I don’t think you’re getting rid of me anytime soon, Miles,” I admit. He’s weaved his way into my life, and I want him to stay no matter what’s going on between us. I don’t want to push him away like I’ve done with everyone in my life when things get hard.

“And you’ll be here when I wake up?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here.”

I brush his hair out of his face, running my fingers through the end of his curls until he falls asleep. Even after his breathing has se ttled and he’s deep in sleep, I keep him close to me. Well into the night, I stay there, watching him sleep.

I can’t ruin this for him by acting on impulses because that’s all they are. They are just parts of this that we have to ignore. He needs to play again more than I need to skate. We’re so close to the show that I can almost taste it.

He needs this.