He felt more than heard Ian approach him.
“Miles,” he said, his voice softer.
Miles shivered. Ian had a way of saying his name that sounded better than any endearment.
He lifted his gaze slowly and met Ian’s eyes. “What?”
Ian’s expression was tight. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” Miles said, blinking in genuine confusion. He wasn’t doing anything.
Ian glared at him. “I have an important meeting in less than an hour. Not only will I be late, but I’ll also be unable to focus on it if I keep thinking about why you’re upset.”
Miles blinked again before a slow smile stretched his lips. Moving forward, he pressed his face against Ian’s bare chest and wrapped his arms around him tightly. I need you, he thought as Ian hugged him back, tentatively at first, then harder.
I love you, Miles thought, closing his eyes and mouthing the words against Ian’s warm skin. He didn’t dare say them aloud. He wasn’t at all sure how well they would be received.
It was clear that Ian at least cared for him. Cared for him a lot. It was likely the way one cared for a friend, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. He was going to cherish this moment, no matter how fleeting it was.
Maybe people were right when they said that even one-sided love was better than being with someone who loved you but you didn’t love back. Miles felt like he was choking on that love, the emotion making his chest tight with longing. It hurt, but it was also the best feeling in the world, Ian’s proximity making him almost dizzy with pleasure. Nothing felt better than being held by the man you loved.
“I’m not upset,” Miles said, truthfully enough. He could never be upset with Ian’s arms around him.
Until you, I’ve known neither passion nor love. After you, I’ll likely never know them again. And maybe that’s all right.
“I just realized something,” Miles said, breathing in Ian’s scent. His eyes were stinging a little as he pulled back, but he was smiling. “I think I’m going to miss you when I go home.”
Ian’s face became very still.
He just looked at Miles for a long moment before something shifted in his eyes.
He gave a clipped nod. “I’ll likely miss you, too.” He turned and disappeared into the bathroom. There was the sound of the shower being turned on.
Miles closed his eyes, his throat tight.
Part of him had been stupidly hoping for a different reaction. Different words.
He almost laughed at himself. Why would Ian offer some British kid he had known for only a few months to stay with him in America? It was just a summer fling, nothing more. They were from different worlds. Clearly he was the only one feeling miserable at the thought of them being an ocean apart.
God, enough.
Enough.
This wasn’t him. This sad, miserable person wasn’t him.
Fuck, it was becoming increasingly obvious that he needed to leave before these toxic emotions could destroy everything good that had been between them. They could part as friends. And it looked like the sooner he left, the better it was for his own mental state. Ripping off the proverbial Band-Aid would be better than prolonging this slow torture.
A day.
No, I can’t. Not so soon.
Miles gritted his teeth, hating his weakness.
All right. A week.
He would give himself a week, and then he would leave.
Chapter 18
Miles was behaving strangely.
In the past few days, he had seemed to go from quiet and sad to eager and affectionate in a span of minutes, alternating between being distant and extremely clingy.
Ian observed it with slight confusion, trying to puzzle out why Miles was behaving like that. All right, he might be obsessing about it a little. Or a lot. He tended to do that when it came to Miles.
Christ. In thirty-one years of his life, Ian had never felt like this. So besotted. So enamored with someone. He’d been accused of being “too much” and “too intense” countless times, but those times were nothing compared to how he was with Miles. He couldn’t kiss him hard enough. He couldn’t touch him enough. He left countless marks all over his smooth skin with his teeth and his fingers, but it somehow wasn’t enough. Hell, he couldn’t get enough of looking at him. Just looking, as if he were a teenager who couldn’t stop ogling the object of his infatuation.
But fuck, everything Miles did was entrancing: the way he smiled at him sleepily, the way he looked snuggled up against his shoulder, the way those green eyes lit up as soon as Ian entered the room. It was fucking intoxicating.
Part of him was pissed at his lack of control. But there was little he could do about it. He wanted Miles all the damn time: on his back, on his hands and knees, in his lap, on his knees in front of him, with his pretty lips wrapped around Ian’s cock. Miles somehow looked equally good under him when they had vanilla, slow face-to-face sex and when he was tied up, blindfolded, and covered in bruises.