Coup de foudre, phrase
Love at first sight.
I left the front door open, and it let in a cold breeze from the hallway. Shivering in the sudden cold, I threw on a silk robe. I hesitated in front of the full-length window in my bedroom, debating between tying it loosely or so tightly it nearly cut off my circulation. The idea of Miles seeing me in the revealing outfit made me as excited as it did scared.
Then, I felt his electrifying presence like a punch to the gut. I turned around, my eyes finding his as he made his way to the bedroom.
He stood in the doorway, his knuckles painfully white as he stared at me, my robe falling slightly open in the front.
I felt the breeze from the hallway on my skin, causing goosebumps to erupt all over the surface that was now so plainly visible to him, only a few feet away. His eyes bore into mine, drinking me in like I was a piece of candy and he was trying to work out how many licks it would take to get to my molten center. It was a good thing Miles didn’t know he’d reached it already.
Being vulnerable for him was the easiest thing in the world. Opening myself up to him was easier than spreading my legs every night for a different man. It came naturally, as if I was meant to be doing this and nothing else my whole life. Baring myself to him. Letting him see every flaw, every scar, every bit of baggage that made me who I was as I stood in front of him.
He took a sharp breath, his eyes angrily finding mine. He was so fucking close I could smell him, and it drove me crazy.
“Hi,” I said softly, and the corners of his sullen mouth tugged upwards.
“Hello, Bebe,” he said simply.
I reached for the belt of my robe, but he stepped closer, his hand lingering above my own, never quite touching my skin.
“No,” he rasped. “Don’t.”
I let the silky material fall from my fingers, baring myself for him. There was nothing between us but some flimsy fabric and a lot of restraint that I wanted to get rid of, right then and there.
But I knew his limits, and a part of me understood why we couldn’t act on this attraction yet, even though it was pulling us forcibly together.
I stared right into his eyes as the robe fell open between my tits, revealing a sliver of my pussy and the spot where my tits were divided by a little gap. He stared at me for what felt like a lifetime, his eyes heavy with emotion as he drank in my body. Finally, he managed to tear them away and glanced up, smirking at me.
“Tie it,” he said roughly. “Quickly, before I change my mind.”
I blushed and looked away, tying the robe firmly in place. I stepped towards my closet, my fingers shaking as I opened it and took a pair of lacy black panties from a drawer. I slipped them on, Miles’ eyes following every little movement I made. I loved his eyes on me, the way they burned making me feel warmer than ever.
“Get on the bed,” he said, and I climbed between the pillows and sheets obediently.
He paced in front of the bed, his steps impatient but filled with purpose while I lay back and giggled at him.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” I asked him playfully, and he stared me down so hard I thought his eyes would start a fire in my own.
“No,” he said roughly. “Not yet. First, I’m going to help you.”
I furrowed my brow and turned away from him. This was something I didn’t want to hear.
Knowing what he was going to say, I groaned and pulled a pillow over my head. But he was next to me in seconds, and I stared up at his handsome, chiseled face as he lifted the pillow from my arms, never quite touching me as he bared me to his demanding eyes.
“Tell me, Bebe,” he said roughly, tossing the pillow to the floor. “Why do you fucking insist on avoiding the problem when it’s staring you straight in the face?”
I raised myself to my knees, standing upon them. My face was mere inches away from his, and I watched him take a sharp intake of breath as we stared at one another.
“You being the problem?” I purred, my lips lingering so close to his I could taste his minty breath on them. “You are right in front of me…”
“Don’t be a smartass,” he said, and on an impulse, I reached for him, my hands desperately trying to wrap around his neck.
Miles snapped them up in one hand. We both gasped the second we made contact, his skin so hot it felt sizzling against my ice-cold wrists. He stared into my eyes as he stroked the tender skin on my wrist, the very spot I used to cut up, once, twice, three times.
Then, he let me go, as if he’d burned himself by touching me for the mere few seconds it took him to ignite the fire I knew would never die in the pit of my stomach. My body reacted to him intensely, desperate to please him, needy to find his approval. I would have done anything for the man in front of me, and I felt pathetic for it.
“What happened last night, Bebe?” His voice was laden with things left unsaid.
“I got drunk,” I shrugged, smiling at him. “You know how it goes. A little too much booze, a little less control than I should’ve had. No big deal. Right?”
“Not right,” he snapped, and I scowled at him as he paced the room again.
“Why do you care, anyway?” I spoke up, the self-preservation instinct I knew so well kicking back into play.
My whole life, I’d learned to deal with moments like this.
The second someone got too close for comfort, I would start pushing. I would push and push and push until I forced them out of my life.
It worked every single time.
But something was telling me it wouldn’t work on Miles Reilly.
“I care,” he snarled at me. “Because I give a shit about you. Because I’m not some meaningless fling you find at the club. Because I don’t want to watch you breaking yourself into tiny pieces… and because I’d rather avoid having to help you put it all back together.”
“You wouldn’t help me,” I laughed bitterly. “You would never help me.”
“No?”
He reached me in two quick steps, and I took a sharp breath when his face lingered above mine, his expression fierce.
“What have I been doing this whole time then, Bebe?” he asked, and I turned my face away, tightly shutting my eyes. I couldn’t even look at him.
“Look at me, sugar.”
I shook my head no.
I felt his fingers before they even made contact, at first just ghosting over my skin, the phantom feeling of him holding my chin so strong I could swear it was real. But nothing could prepare me for the moment when he actually did it, wrapped his fingers around my jaw and made me look at him with a sharp, decisive tug.
“Open. Your. Eyes,” he ordered, and my eyelids trembled as I lifted them. “Good girl.”
“Don’t,” I said uncomfortably, wiggling under his watchful gaze.
“Don’t what?” His voice was so soft. Not a whisper, though. It was too rough, too filled with raw need to be a whisper.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“Bebe…”
My eyes flew open again, and I stared at him.
Up close, he was so painfully handsome I wanted to scream. The dimple in his cheek, still visible even though he wasn’t smiling. Only one, not two like other people had. His stubble, his hair. His beautiful eyes. Miles Reilly was going to break my heart, he just didn’t know it yet.
He grinned at me, his finger touching my bottom lip. On instinct, I opened my mouth for him and he groaned at the sight of my tongue flicking out to wet his finger.
“Don’t,” he said with restraint.
“Don’t what?” I whispered.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Touch me,” I begged, and he closed his eyes firmly.
“I can’t.”
“Miles, touch me.”
He opened his eyes. They’d never looked clearer than that night in my bedroom, filled with so much pain and desire I wanted to scream for him.
“I won’t be able to stop,” he admitted.
I leaned forward, my lips a second away from touching his.
“Then don’t…”
He let out a groan so painful I stopped, and the next second, he’d taken step after step backward until his shoulder blades hit the wall behind him.
“Stop,” he said, and I sat back on the bed, my legs crossed and my eyes desperate as we stared at each other.
“Why?” I demanded. “Why the fuck should I stop? We both want this.”
He suppressed a growl and looked away from me, rubbing his temples roughly.
“Bebe,” he said again. “You can’t keep doing this. Your friend was so worried the other night. I was worried! You could have fucking died.”
“But I was fine,” I said with a bright smile. “See? I’m totally, perfectly alright. Not a thing amiss.”
I gave him my best fake smile, but I knew he saw right through it. It was no use hiding things from him.
“Look.” Now my voice was sharp. “I don’t meddle in your business, so stay the hell out of mine.”
“Oh, you don’t?” he laughed bitterly, reaching for his phone and showing me the pictures of Lana and me in that club.
I blushed at the sight of our tongues down each other’s throat. The way our hands groped each other’s flesh in a desperate attempt to get Miles off. I’d used Lana, just like I used everyone else. What a cheap shot.
“Whatever,” I replied weakly.
“Not whatever,” he shook his head. “You’re hurting yourself. Why?”
“Because,” I snarled, giving him an ugly look. “Because I’m hurting. Okay?”
“Okay.” He stared me down. “Why are you hurting, Bebe?”
“My friend,” I said lamely. “My friend died.”
Miles kept looking when he asked, “When?”
“A year ago now, I guess,” I shrugged. “I don’t really remember the exact date.”
February 17th. It was fucking burned into my mind. I couldn’t forget it even if I got my memory wiped.
“Who was she?” he asked. Was I imagining it, or was his voice a little gentler now?
“Posy O’Neill,” I said in a soft voice. “She was my best friend. Mine and Arden’s.”
“How did she die?”
I looked up at him, feeling the pressure of his stare.
“Drug overdose.”
It felt like a guilty confession.
“I see,” he muttered.
He saw alright. He was judging me just like every-body-fucking else who found out. Poor little rich girl, lost her bestie and decided to go down the same path as her. Feeling sorry for me, no doubt, feeling like I deserved his pity.
I jumped up on the bed and threw a pillow at his head on impulse. I roared when he dodged it and kept throwing things, pillows, sheets, a stuffed teddy, anything I could get my hands on.
“Fuck you!” I snarled at him. “You don’t know me! You don’t know her! You don’t understand, you don’t know anything, anything!”
He closed the distance between us with two steps, and his hands wrapped around my wrists once again. He pulled me down and I collapsed on my bed, my chest heaving and my breaths desperate, choking, ready to break me down.
“Breathe,” he told me gently. “Breathe deeply, Bebe. Breathing is everything. Breathing is control.”
Something told me he knew what he was talking about.
I focused on my breaths. On the way my chest rose and fell as he held me down and breathed with me, teaching me how to do it. I did it until it didn’t feel like a chore anymore. Until it felt completely natural.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, and I smiled up at him on impulse.
“Miles,” I said softly, and his eyes locked onto mine.
Something passed between us in that moment of looking at one another, a feeling I didn’t quite understand because I’d never felt it with anyone else, not even Posy. It was sweet, and sad, yet full of promise.
“What is it?”
His voice was just as soft, and I could feel the words against my lips. I hummed and closed my eyes, my body arching on an impulse to be closer to his. I felt his body stiffen, and I let my eyes fly open again, staring into his own.
“Miles, will you help me?”
It was the first time in my life that I had asked for help.
Before, it had been forced on me. Given to me. Offered to me. But never like this, never after I humiliated myself completely like I just had. Hot tears burned the backs of my eyes, and I wasn’t sure whether it was because I was embarrassed, or because I felt so very emotional.
He stared down at me, his mouth opening wordlessly.
“Yes,” he groaned after what felt like an eternity, and my body sagged with relief. “I’ll help you, sugar.”