I'm hot everywhere. Not just my cheeks but my chest, stomach, and back too. I open the window. The cool air does nothing to lessen the heat building in my body.

Miles wants to listen to me come? The guy makes sexy sounds for a living, and he wants to hear mine over the phone.

I'm back at the night of our not exactly a breakup again, only this time, I'm at the club, listening to Miles and Tom mock Pete for his constant phone sex. The night flies by, and I'm here, half naked and about to cry because Miles can't bring himself to explain.

My body skips over the heartbreak part. The heat racing through me pools between my legs. The damn thing can't be helped. It has an addiction to Miles. There's no other explanation.

My head is failing to pull back, failing to protect me. I guess the studying really tired it out.

Miles's exhale flows through the speakers. He's waiting, and he's not doing it patiently. Technically speaking, the ball is in my court. I can say yes or say no.

Technically speaking, this arrangement is entirely on my terms.

My eyes flutter closed. The breeze sends a shiver up my legs and thighs. No underwear tonight. No bra. Just this tiny tank top and shorts, like when I was on the couch with Miles.

No, I can't go there. If I'm going to do this, I need to be in this moment. And damn I want to enjoy this moment.

"You swear you're not fucking with me?" I ask.

"I'll prove it."

He's quiet for a minute. Then my phone buzzes with a picture message. It's Miles, in his bed, alone. His hand is tugging at the waistband of his boxers.

God, he's so freaking yummy it's ridiculous.

"You want more?" he asks.

A blush spreads across my cheeks. It's not like I'm used to guys offering to send me nude pictures.

Okay. He sent me a picture in his underwear. It's only fair I do the same. Even if I'm not wearing any underwear. I pull my tank top to my bellybutton so my breasts are on display.

I've never taken a sexy picture of myself before. I know all the ways it's a bad idea, all the ways it could hurt me, but I don't care.

This feels too good for me to care.

I snap a picture of my chest and neck and send it to Miles.

He lets out a groan. "Fuck, Meg, you're killing me."

Yes. Perfect. I'm going to be the one in control here. "How so?"

"I miss your tits."

"You saw them last week."

"I want to see them every day. To see that look on your face when I suck on your nipples."

So much for control. I'm melting. Heat rushes through my body. Whatever it is we're doing, I can't stop until I get what he promised me, until he's groaning in my ear.

"What else?" I ask.

"Take off your shorts," he says.

I do. "Take off your boxers."

There's a low groan and then silence. A moment later, my phone buzzes. He took off his boxers and sent me a picture. That must be…

I look at my new picture message. It's Miles. All of him. He's naked and hard, his hand wrapped around his cock. I always thought it was strange when women wanted these pictures, but now I understand. That's Miles, hard and desperate and out of his mind because of me.

"I've never done this before," I say.

"Me either."

"Really?"

"Really."

I pull my tank top over my head and toss it aside. I'm naked on my bed. If I close my eyes, I almost feel like he's here, like he's watching me. I run my fingertips over my chest. "I don't know what to say."

"I don't care what you say. I just want to hear you come."

Dammit, I'm on fire. This is perfect.

I don't want to hear anything except his breath and his moans. Maybe my name rolling off his tongue like he's so desperate he can't find another word to explain his pleasure.

I set the phone on the bed next to me, between my mouth and my ears. My hand trails over my chest, teasing my nipples the way Miles does.

It's good already. Not as good as him, but close. I play with my nipples until his breath is as heavy and strained as mine is. Then I trail my hand down my stomach, below my belly button, between my legs.

My breath hitches in my throat. "You have to do it, too."

His voice is heavy. "After. I want to hear you first."

My eyes flutter closed. It's not as if I've never touched myself before. I made it to twenty-one without ever having sex. I touched myself plenty. But never with an audience.

My breath goes all the way to my core. He's never done this before either. No reason to be self-conscious.

I slide my hand between my legs with a soft touch. It's a tease, at first, the kind of thing Miles would do. I work my way to my clit then back off again. Slowly. Until I can't take it anymore.

Through the speakers, his breath is heavy. Desperate. It stirs something in me. Makes me just as desperate.

No more waiting. No more gentleness. I rub myself hard.

It's not as good as when Miles touches me. It's lacking a certain patience, a certain heat. But it's still damn good.

The pressure inside me builds at record speed. I lose control of my breath. Of the sounds escaping my lips. I let out a soft moan. Then a louder one. My hand moves faster, drawing circles over my clit. I make the circles smaller and tighter until they're in just the right spot.

"Oh." My voice picks up. I'm almost screaming.

No room for shyness now. His voice is louder, heavier, more desperate. I'm affecting him, and that feels so damn good.

I rub myself until I'm at the brink. Deep down, I know this won't be enough to satisfy my craving. I need more than Miles's breath in my ear. I need his hands and his mouth and his cock.

The ache between my legs is so intense. Almost more than I can take. The pleasure in my arms and legs and chest spins inward, pooling in my core until it's a deep, desperate pressure.

A groan flows through the speakers. It sends me right over the edge. That pleasure drives a little deeper, squeezing me until I can't breathe. One more brush of my fingers and I come. My orgasm is pulses of ecstasy. The pressure releases bit by bit, spilling into the purest, deepest bliss.

Miles lets out a low moan. "Don't know how I can follow that."

My cheeks flush. "You moan more than that on one Sinful Serenade track."

"Depends on the track." He growls. "You sound so fucking sexy. Can't remember the last time I was this hard."

"I want to hear you, too." No awkwardness. I have to say it. "I want to hear you come."

No snappy retort. There's some shifting, sheets moving, a body planting on the bed. He must be getting into position.

His breath gets heavier and heavier. He must not have control of it any longer. It's strained and desperate. I relax into my bed, letting the sounds of his pleasure wash over me. He moans, low and deep and purely animal. The moans get louder and lower. It's so much better than anything on any song—and I've paid very close attention.

"Mhmm."

He's not wasting time either. Everything that flows through my speakers is desperate and needy, like he wants this as much as I did. His groans run together. Louder. Higher. Like he can't control them at all.

There. He's coming. I'm not sure how I can tell, but I can. His voice strains. His breath gets choppy. He lets out one last moan, louder than I've ever heard before. Then, he's sighing in pleasure. His breath steadies. Still strained, but not completely out of control.

"Relaxed?" he asks.

"More like keyed up and wishing you were here."

"Happy to listen to you go again."

"I should get to bed."

"When's your last midterm?"

"Friday night. Why?"

"No reason." He exhales slowly. "Goodnight, Meg. And good luck."

"Goodnight."

I hang up the phone, pull the sheets over my head, and try desperately to fill the craving I have for Miles.

I fail.

* * *

The week is a blur of textbooks and tests. By Friday afternoon, the only thing I want is the sweet embrace of my sheets. I need a million hours of sleep.

The elevator is all the way on the top floor, so I take the stairs to my apartment. Every step is pure agony.

And there he is, the only thing better than those million hours of sleep. Miles is leaning against my door, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, his lips pursed like there's something right on the tip of his tongue.

"You survived." He smiles.

I nod.

"I bet you'd like to celebrate that."

"Okay."

"If that's not a problem for you."

"I can clear my schedule." I fish my keys out of my backpack, open the apartment, and pull Miles inside with me.

The room is a verifiable mess. Paper everywhere, clothes strewn over the floor, dishes piled in the sink.

Miles shakes his head. "I like what you've done with the place."

"Thank you. I'm trying something new with the dishes. And the laundry. And the shower."

"Dirty girl."

My lips curl into a smile. "Not quite yet." I toss my backpack on the ground. "How long were you waiting?"

"Not long." He runs his fingertips over my chin, tilting my head so he's peering right into my eyes. "But it would've been worth waiting longer."

"And what is it you're waiting for?"

He presses his lips into mine. His hands slide into my hair as his tongue swirls around mine. The kiss breaks and he pulls back. "That."

My heart thumps against my chest. I've ignored my body for days. It's time to give it a little attention.

His fingers skim my wrists. "I've been thinking about you all week."

Okay, it's time to have some fun. I tease him. "I'm been thinking about midterms all week."

He pulls his shirt over his head. "What are you thinking about now?"

"There was this angular velocity question."

"Are you only in science classes?"

I trace the lines of his chest. "Who's thinking about midterms now?"

He pulls me onto the bed. The gesture is messy. I slip and land on my side. He shakes his head like he's going to punish me.

"You think you're clever?" he asks.

"Absolutely."

He unzips my hoodie. Then his hands are on my stomach. My skin burns at his touch. Midterms seem so irrelevant now, but I'm not done teasing him yet. It's too much fun.

"And molecular biology," I say. "That was impossible."

He tugs at my t-shirt. I lift my arms to help him get it off.

His eyes pass over me slowly. Then it's his fingers skimming my sides. "You should have said hard."

My cheeks flush. "I, um..."

He unhooks my bra and pulls it off my arms. "Um…?"

I plant my hands on his chest and press my crotch into his. Hard. Yes, he is absolutely hard.

Deep breath. I want him desperately, but I want his smile as much as I want his cock. "And my Roman Poetry elective."

He unzips my jeans and pulls them off my ass. "That's a shit choice for an elective."

He runs his fingertips over the waist of my panties. A gasp escapes my lips. Midterms. Electives. They're so quaint, so far away, so much less important than this.

I rub my crotch against his. "It's better than you'd expect."

He shakes his head. "You're making this hard."

"I can tell."

He smirks. "But I'm going to beat midterms."

"You really can't." I press my lips to his. Damn, he tastes good. And I feel good. Light. Like I can float.

"That so?"

I nod. "It's all biology."

He laughs.

Then he makes me forget what year it is.