Fine fine fine, p.11
Fine Fine Fine, page 11
She pushed herself forward, desperate to feel anything that wasn’t her own self-loathing for just a minute. Milo caught her, his arms flexing around her waist as she crashed into him.
“Hanna—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she rasped, her hands winding into the hem of his shirt, searching for skin. “I want a distraction.”
“Distraction?” he asked, his fingers tangling into her hair before she could even answer.
“You offered,” she whispered, her voice tight with the guilt and shame she’d been burying for too long.
“I’m not protesting, just making sure we’re clear on what this is and isn’t,” he said. His hand moved to her neck as he pushed her toward the kitchen. “For both our sakes,” he added.
Her back touched the cold granite countertop, sending her arching into his hands. She drew in a shaky breath, wrestling with herself.
“You sure you can handle it?” Milo asked.
She laughed, leaning further into his hold, slipping under the current of him.
“Of course I’m not.”
“Then we definitely shouldn’t do this,” he said. He ran his hand through her hair, bringing it back to cup her face and stroke her jaw with his thumb. His breath against her neck made it hard to form words. “Right?”
Hanna’s eyes squeezed shut. She sucked a sharp breath in through her teeth. She’d already made the bad choice in her mind a million times.
Could it really be that much more harmful if he already occupied so much of her mind?
“Time box,” she blurted, her heart jumping from her chest as his hips hit hers. “While I’m here, it’s all on the table.”
“All?” Milo asked, his dark brows knitting together.
“Okay, not all, but like, a lot,” Hanna stipulated, his fingers tightening in her hair and sending a shock from her neck to her stomach. Why are we still talking? “But once I move back across the hall, we’re done. Just friends.”
Milo considered that. “Time box,” he repeated. “I can do that.”
He pressed further into her, sending her mind into space. For the first time in a year, she wasn’t thinking, she was just doing. Milo’s hand came to her hip, pushing at the hem of her shirt and crawling the soft skin beneath.
“Dirty talk?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
Milo nipped at the edge of her jaw. “Do you like dirty talk? Or are you into more of the slow, sensual, love-making shit? I like it both ways, just trying to gauge what you need right now.” He ghosted a hand over her collarbones, pulling at the fabric of her top and slipping it over her head. His eyes dropped, darkening as he took her in.
Hanna pulled at his shirt, desperate to even the score. He was so warm beneath her touch—so responsive as she grazed his chest. Every touch was met with a low hum, like touching those lightning lamps at museums. Every brush zapped her fingertips and made her hair stand on end.
“I don’t know what I need,” she confessed, his lips dragging down her neck and to her shoulder.
It was stupid. So, so stupid. The anticipatory regret bubbled beside the lust in her stomach, blending into a sick need for him she resented.
“How about I push some buttons and you tell me what works?”
“Okay,” she whispered. He snagged the final sound off her lips, parting them with his tongue, and whether or not it was stupid no longer mattered.
Nothing did.
Hanna let him in, thrilled to discover that the fantasies she’d had about his kissing abilities weren’t even close to how attentive he actually was. It made sense, a man didn’t look like Milo, talk like Milo, smell like Milo, and not kiss like a fucking professional. She’d gotten a preview, but his matinee performance didn’t compare.
Milo was a slow plume of smoke blanketing every inch of her as he burned away any thoughts of how risky it was. He melted into her, pulling and pushing and biting at all the right turns, destroying her in the most incredible ways.
“Fuck,” she gasped in the brief break she got from his kiss, his lips curling around the encouragement.
“We’ll get there, Arizona,” Milo pressed into her skin, his fingers slipping under the clasp of her bra. She ran her hands over his back, enjoying the pleased sigh from his throat. The hooks popped free and he pulled the straps down, leaving her topless in his kitchen.
“Wow,” he muttered, staring at her. Hanna leaned back, admiring the full range of his tattoos, taking up nearly his entire torso. She ran her fingers over swirled black ink, tracing the shapes of whiskey bottles and years and geometric patterns. One day, she’d take a more thorough look at them, but not then.
She needed much less space between them.
Hanna pulled him toward her, clashing their mouths together once again, his slow pursuit of her no longer the case. Milo moved quickly, hungrily against her as he gripped her breasts, pinching and pulling in time with his tongue. She rolled into the motion he set, her hips grinding against his as a hand pulled at the button of her jeans.
Losing her patience, she swatted his hand away and peeled them off herself. She tossed them on the kitchen floor and followed him to the living room, where he pulled her down to the couch, over his lap.
Hanna sank over him, hissing as she felt how badly he wanted her.
Milo grabbed both sides of her face, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth and biting gently, just enough to elicit a gasp from her as he bucked his hips into hers. She wished she’d pulled those damn shorts off before they crashed into the couch.
He dragged her hand up and placed it around his throat, squeezing her fingers around his stubbled flesh as he refocused his lips on hers. Her vision blurred at the edges when a low moan vibrated against her hand.
“Milo,” she breathed, leaning back and sucking in any air she could. Two fingers dipped below the lace of her underwear, pulling at the waistband and searching for where she needed him most.
“How many times has this already happened in your head, Hanna?” he asked.
She wanted to lie—to tell him never, but the arch in her back as he found her center gave her away. He turned his lips loose on her breasts, everything wet and pinched and squeezed in a blur of praise and worship for her.
“Too many,” she finally answered, moving her hips faster against him, the hard length beneath her twitching in response.
Milo pulled her hand up between them.
“Do you fuck these fingers and think of me?” he asked, his eyes half closed.
Hanna would have blushed if her entire body wasn’t already cherry red, her lips parting and another gasp escaping as he ground into her. She nodded.
“Say it,” Milo insisted.
“Yes,” Hanna rasped, leaning into him. She drove herself down onto him, cursing those fucking basketball shorts as she circled her hips faster. Her knees slipped against the slick fabric.
“Hanna,” Milo warned her. “Don’t ruin the fun yet.”
“Aw,” she breathed. “What? You’ve also thought about this too many times?”
“I’m serious,” he groaned, his hands pushing at her hips. Hanna didn’t care. She didn’t need him inside of her. She needed him to be at her mercy. She doubled her pace, the pressure sending wave after wave of blinding pleasure over her.
She pitched forward, running her tongue over the black ink at the base of his neck, higher, higher until she found the ridge of his ear, tucking it between her teeth. She wasn’t as gentle as he’d been, and he only rewarded her for it with a muted whimper, his hands holding onto her hips for dear life.
“Hanna,” Milo gasped. “I’m gonna—”
“Yes, you are,” she whispered, releasing his earlobe. She could have gone with him, so drunk on the power of making someone like him finish before her clothes were even fully off. She squeezed his throat again, snagging his lips in a desperate kiss as he groaned against her. His head fell back against the couch, throat taut beneath her hold as he choked on her name.
A low laugh followed, a fire burning in his gaze that she hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing before. Milo pushed her onto her back, falling over her. His hand pulled at her underwear, whipping them off and tossing them across the room.
“I’m going to make you pay for that,” he said, finding her eyes as he kneaded the curves of her breasts.
“Promise?” Hanna asked. She tangled her hand in his dark hair and tugged lightly while he slipped from her neck to her stomach, carving a brazen trail into her skin.
“Unbelievable,” Milo mumbled against her as he landed on her hips, biting at her hot skin, mottled with pink marks from his fingers. His hands wandered and he moved between her legs. She tensed against him, her knees clasping around his shoulders as he found a pace that blinded her.
For a moment, she forgot that their best friends—and her ex—were only feet across the hall. She quieted herself, resisting the urge to scream his name, his own moans against her thighs pushing her close to the edge. Her back tightened, the muscles squeezing against the pressure of his work.
If she’d been angry with anyone, she had no memory of it as the world crumbled into tomorrow’s problems.
Her mind floated, any lingering thoughts eddying away with every movement of his mouth. Hanna’s fingers dug into his scalp and she fell over the edge, her face flushing.
“Whoa,” she managed, drawing another laugh from him as she propped herself up on her elbows.
“Yeah?” Milo asked. He grinned, wiping his hand over his mouth.
“Yeah,” she sighed. Her chest heaved. She sat up as he pulled her into a softer kiss, so different from a moment ago.
“Sufficiently distracted?” he asked, running his hand behind her head.
“What?” she asked, her hands slipping over his basketball shorts, the wet fabric tightening something in her belly again.
He laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Milo said.
“I wanted it to just be fine,” Hanna groaned, covering her face. “That would have been easier.”
“Please,” Milo scoffed. He stood and grabbed her clothes, tossing them onto the couch. “You knew it was going to be so much better than that.”
“I feared.”
Milo dropped his eyes to hers and rested his hands on her knees.
“Me too, Hanna. But we’ll be okay. Time box.”
“Time box,” she reaffirmed.
She rolled her eyes the moment she was up the stairs in his guest room, alone to grapple with the knowledge that there was no boundary strong enough to contain what she’d just had with him.
Idiots.
TWELVE
“You seem… chipper?” Olivia asked, her suspicion hardly an undercurrent as she leaned toward her computer.
Hanna adjusted the volume on the laptop, leaning closer so her therapist could note the exact runtime of her eyeroll.
“I’m having a nice time,” Hanna said.
“That’s great to hear.” She tapped her pen on the edge of her lips. “Are you getting outside?”
“Yeah,” she said, shrugging. “It’s nice to be in such a walkable city.”
“And there’s nothing else contributing to the fact that you’re grinning like a kid on Christmas?”
Hanna tried to ignore the sound of the coffee maker gurgling to life downstairs.
“I don’t know. Maybe the humidity agrees with me.”
Olivia nodded, her silence a condemnation all on its own.
Even she knew Hanna was an idiot.
“I think that’s our time,” Hanna said, stealing her line. She said her goodbyes and closed the laptop. The smell of coffee wafted up the stairs, and even though she’d slept decently for the first time in months, she craved the caffeine. She went to find a bra, but thought better of it as she pulled Milo’s flannel over her bare skin, finding the shortest shorts she’d brought in her suitcase.
If they were going to abide by the time box, she needed to make the most of it.
She’d had coffee with Milo many, many times in her weeks in the city, but she’d never seen him fresh out of bed.
He was a morning person, dressed and ready for the day as she scrolled through no fewer than ten texts from Logan, each more desperate to apologize than the last.
Milo sat on the couch, reading emails on his laptop. A pair of thick black glasses rested on his nose.
“Morning, Clark,” she said, passing through the living room. He chuckled.
“Coffee’s in the kitchen,” he said.
She rounded the counter, touching the petals on the sunflowers she’d brought him the day before. There was already a mug for her next to the coffee maker.
“What’s on the schedule today?” she asked, sitting across from him in the worn leather chair Matty usually claimed.
He glanced at his screen. “Meetings most of the day. Sara mentioned something about pickleball, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see Logan after last night…”
“Not particularly,” Hanna mused. “I have back-to-back calls until lunchtime. I can run and grab us something if you’re slammed?”
Milo smiled. “Can we please go back to that sandwich shop that did you dirty last week for redemption? I promise they don’t usually fuck up.”
Hanna rolled her eyes. “If there are pickles on mine again, I’m eating yours.”
“Deal,” he said, typing fervently.
“I’ll have to talk to Logan at some point today,” she said, pulling at a loose tendril from her bun. “And then… I guess I’m just waiting for you to let me suck your dick.”
Milo coughed, pushing his laptop away from him.
“I can be direct, too,” Hanna said.
Milo checked the time on his phone. “I’ve got twenty minutes.”
Before he finished the sentence, she dropped to her knees, his legs spreading as she ran her hands over his thighs.
“Nope,” he said, pulling her chin up to face him. “I need a little romance first.” Hanna laughed, surprised that the doesn’t do relationships guy was also the needs to be sweet-talked guy. She climbed over his lap, settling comfortably into him as his hands wandered her back. “Will I ever get my shirt back?” he asked.
“Looks better on me,” she breathed, rolling her hips forward and running her fingers over his neck. She knew from the night before that he liked a little pressure there, and the widening of his eyes as she squeezed his throat only reconfirmed his preference.
“Looks best on the floor,” he mumbled, pulling at the buttons. “I need to see those tits again, Arizona. I thought about them all night.”
Hanna shrugged his shirt over her head, glad that her no-bra plotting paid off. He dropped to her chest immediately, his tongue circling every inch of flesh as he hardened under her. His hand slipped under her shorts, teasing the skin of her hips as she moaned into his mouth.
She rolled her hips against his again, a hiss escaping his lips.
“Romanced enough?” she whispered.
“No,” he rumbled, his mouth catching hers. Her experience might have been limited, but she was certain no man on Earth kissed better than Milo. It was like he had some sort of venom dripping from his tongue, not crafted to kill, but to daze. Her head swirled as he parted her lips, coffee and peppermint blending into an intoxicating potion. He pushed up into her, the romance clearly taking effect.
Hanna slipped down his body as he lifted his hips and shimmied his pants and boxers off, tossing them onto the couch.
If he’d been a boyfriend, or even a potential boyfriend, Hanna might have spent more time teasing him and working him up, but that was one of the perks of their arrangement. It was about getting him off, not getting him hooked on her. Hanna stroked him twice, getting her bearings, before eagerly taking him into her mouth.
She’d thought about it as she drifted to sleep the night before—what he might taste like. What he might sound like on the edge of ruin. And par for the course, Milo did not disappoint.
“Shit, Hanna,” Milo gasped, his hand wrapping around her hair and pulling as her tongue circled him. She shoved him deeper, addicted to the way his forearm flexed as he pushed her gently, setting the rhythm that worked best for him.
She watched the ink on his arm pulse and relax in time with her movements, his muffled moans growing in volume. The sound sent a fire through her—Logan had always been so quiet. She never knew if he was enjoying it or not. But Milo made no mystery about it, throwing his head back onto the couch and rasping filthy commentary to her increasing speed. She tucked her free hand between her legs, riding against herself at the insistence of her body. She couldn’t resist the need for friction as he mumbled something about how well she took him.
“God, are you touching yourself?” Milo asked, his head snapping toward her. She moaned around him, her eyes locked on his.
“I want you to come with my cock in your mouth,” he whispered. He pushed on the back of her head harder, her belly tightening at the sound of his pleasure. She moved her hand faster, but lost her control over her pace when his eyes found hers. She clenched around her own hand, the pressure driving her faster, harder as he squeezed her scalp. Hanna cried out against him, her vision exploding into stars at the way he bit his lip. “God, the look on your face. So fucking beautiful. Don’t stop, Hanna, I’m right there.”
She doubled down on her efforts, bringing her hand up, soaked in his name, to grip him even harder.
Milo finally stopped talking.
He grunted as he approached the edge, releasing the grip on her head and tapping her shoulder as a warning—one she happily ignored.
Hanna took everything he had to give her, his eyes closing as she beamed with a satisfactory smile. She stood, his chest heaving, but he pulled back on her hand.
“I guess I should have warned you before we decided to do this that I like to cuddle after,” Milo said, dragging her onto his lap.
“Oh no,” Hanna giggled. “The gorgeous man who wants no strings attached, god-tier sex, also wants me to feel human after? How terrible a fate.”
He laughed, and she felt the sound absorb into her skin, warming her from the inside out.
