[Rae’s POV]
The granite is freezing against the backs of my thighs, a sharp shock that barely registers because Miles is already crowding between my legs, hands rough and impatient as he shoves my skirt up to my hips.
My panties are tugged down and off in one quick motion; I hear them land somewhere on the tile with a soft slap. He spreads my knees wider, eyes dark, glassy, furious with wine and something else I don't know what to name.
“God, Rae,” he mutters, voice low and scraped raw.
Then his mouth is on me.
There’s no slow build, no gentle exploration—just his tongue pressing hard against my clit, sucking like he’s trying to prove a point. Two fingers slide inside me without warning, thick and curling deep, moving fast and sure. The wet sounds are impossible to ignore; they bounce off the cabinets and mix with my ragged breathing.
My head falls back against the upper cabinet with a dull thud, hands flying to his hair, fingers twisting in his hair just to have something to hold onto.
He hums, and the vibration makes my hips jerk forward. His free hand clamps down on my thigh, pinning me in place so I can’t escape the overwhelming pressure of his mouth. He adds a third finger and I’m lost—thighs trembling, stomach tightening, breath coming in short, desperate sobs.
“Miles—oh god—”
I come hard, sudden and blinding, clenching around his fingers while my whole body shakes. The pleasure rolls through me in waves, sharp and endless. He doesn’t stop; he keeps licking, keeps moving his fingers until I’m whimper and push weakly at his shoulders, too sensitive, too much.
He finally pulls back, lips swollen and wet, eyes almost black in the dim light. My hands are still shaking when I reach for his belt. We fumble together—clumsy, urgent—until his jeans are open and shoved down just far enough. I wrap my fingers around him and he groans, hips jerking forward like he can’t help it.
He doesn’t give either of us time to think. One arm hooks under my thighs and he lifts me off the counter like I weigh nothing, mouth crashing back against mine as he stumbles down the hallway.
My back bumps the wall once, twice; my bra is gone before we reach the bedroom, his shirt abandoned somewhere behind us. He kicks the bedroom door open so hard it slams against the wall and bounces, then lowers me onto the mattress with zero gentleness.
I land on my back, legs falling open. The cool air hits my overheated skin and I shiver. Miles crawls over me immediately, shoves my knees up toward my chest, and lines himself up. One long, slow thrust and he’s buried deep. We both groan at the same time—mine high and broken, his low and wrecked.
For the first few strokes are almost careful, like he’s savoring it—deep, deliberate rolls of his hips that drag over every sensitive spot inside me. I can feel every inch of him, the stretch, the heat, the way he fills me completely. My hands scrabble at his shoulders, nails digging in just to anchor myself.
Then the urgency slams back in.
He hooks my legs higher over his elbows, spreading me impossibly wide, and starts moving harder, faster. The headboard knocks the wall in a steady, reckless rhythm that matches the pounding of my heart.
Every thrust sends sparks shooting through me; my clit rubs against him on every downstroke and I can’t hold back the sounds tearing out of my throat—little gasps, broken moans, his name over and over like a prayer I don’t believe in.
His hand slips between us, thumb finding my clit and circling in tight, perfect strokes that make my vision blur. I rake my nails down his back, hard enough to leave marks. He growls my name against my neck, teeth scraping skin, leaving little stings that throb in the best way.
The pace turns almost punishing—skin slapping skin, bed creaking, both of us chasing something we can’t name.
“Come on,” he pants against my ear, voice completely shredded. “Let me feel it again, Rae. Please.”
I do.
The second orgasm crashes over me even harder than the first, back bowing off the bed, toes curling, crying out so loud my throat burns. My whole body clenches around him in waves, pleasure so intense it almost hurts. He groans like my orgasm is pulling him under too, hips stuttering for a second.
Then he pulls out fast, fists himself once, twice, and comes in thick, hot stripes across my stomach and chest with a broken, guttural sound. His whole body shakes with it, hips jerking through every pulse until he’s spent.
When it’s over he collapses half on top of me, both of us gasping for air like we just surfaced from deep water. I’m trembling everywhere—legs shaky, lips swollen, skin tingling and oversensitive.
He rolls us carefully so I’m draped across his chest, one heavy arm locked around my waist, fingers splayed wide and possessive over the small of my back.
The room spins in slow, lazy circles. The wine is still thick in my veins, wrapping everything in cotton, making the world feel soft and far away.
And that’s when tomorrow finally punches through the haze.
He’s already drifting, breath warm and even against my temple, fingers loosely tangled in my hair like this is something we’ve done a hundred times. Like waking up tangled together is normal.
Tomorrow he’ll open his eyes, sober and clear-headed, and remember every second—how I kissed him first in the kitchen because I was jealous and drunk off my ass, how I wrapped my legs around him and begged, how I came apart under him twice like I’d never get enough.
He’ll remember that none of this was planned. That I was too far gone to make any real choice.
How am I supposed to look at him across the kitchen table tomorrow morning?
How do I smile and make coffee and pretend I didn’t just burn the one relationship that always made sense straight to the ground?
We were best friends. Safe harbor. The one person I could count on when everything else fell apart.
And I ruined it because I couldn’t handle my liquor and my feelings at the same time.
My chest feels like it’s being crushed. The lump in my throat won’t go down no matter how many times I swallow.
He’s going to wake up and regret me.
Or he’s going to act like it never happened, and I’ll have to sit there while our friendship slowly rots from the inside out, carrying the weight of every touch, every sound, every second of tonight like a secret that’s too heavy to hold.
I stare at the dark ceiling while his heartbeat slows under my cheek, steady and calm, like the world didn’t just end.
I ruined us.
And my body still hums with him, still remembers exactly how he felt, like it hasn’t realized yet that this was the biggest mistake of my life.
Tomorrow is going to destroy me.