Page 25 of Till The Cows Come Home

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sage

I t had taken me an eternity to figure out what to wear, but any uncertainty I harbored was quickly dissolved by the way Miles looked at me as I got out of my car.

As soon as his eyes caught sight of my dress they darkened, and his hands extended eagerly to close the distance between our bodies.

He dipped his head, whispering sweet things into my ear, his compliments drowning out any insecurities.

“What’s on the agenda?” I questioned, embracing myself to shut out the chill of the evening breeze.

He moved briskly, consuming my body with the expanse of his arms, and I hummed as his heat began to radiate through me.

“I prepared a beautiful dinner for us that’s waiting inside the barn, but it’s taking everything in me not to scoop you up into the house for dessert first.”

“Depending on what you made for dinner, I wouldn’t mind that preposition.”

“It involves gravy,” he mumbled into my hair, and before he could continue, I abruptly pulled away from his embrace.

“Dinner first,” I demanded .

His laughter boomed through the night air and I squealed as he scooped me into his arms. Despite my demands to be put down, Miles carried me through the dark aisles of the barn, my only indication that we were actually having dinner being the increasing intensity of aromas flooding my nose.

After a few moments my eyes were overwhelmed with light, and as he set me down in the middle of a stall I squinted, adjusting to the sea of twinkling bulbs in front of me.

“Here, pretty girl,” he murmured, wrapping me in a knit blanket.

“You did this all for me?” I whispered, nearly speechless at the amount of effort it must have taken to set up something this elaborate.

“Sage, I would give you anything you asked for. This is merely a weekend's worth of effort,” he responded, guiding me to my seat at the table.

He pulled out my chair, gesturing for me to sit, and when I did, he carefully pushed my chair in until I was almost flush with the table, kissing the top of my head before stepping aside to grab a bottle of wine.

It was then that I truly realized the magnitude of his work.

The bottles were nestled in an ice bucket, which was balancing perfectly atop an arrangement of milk crates.

While he poured into our glasses I surveyed the table, smiling as I recognized all the local touches he’d sprinkled throughout, but my attention was abruptly redirected as he lifted the lid off a dutch oven sending a divine wave of rich spices throughout the space.

Miles handed me my wine and retrieved the plate from in front of me, chuckling at the involuntary hum of approval that escaped my throat as each dish was uncovered.

My eyes widened further and further as each lid slid off, revealing my favorite comfort meal, right down to the sides.

Roasted chicken with glazed carrots and mashed potatoes, a meal I hadn’t prepped for myself in what seemed like ages .

Although on the surface it seemed like an elaborate and slightly stereotypical choice, during peak season, I could get most of the ingredients outside my door, and I did.

Constantly.

Any time my mood was slightly out of whack, I made my rounds, scooping up ingredients to arm myself for the therapeutic rhythm that cooking provided.

Ruby got so accustomed to my roast dinner invites as a cry for help that we had to make a rule requiring me to call her before a bird got anywhere near the oven.

Her dinner refusals were met with coffee dates in which she’d force me to actually speak about my issues rather than immerse myself in gravy until I could no longer form a cognizant thought.

When she and Ali finally got engaged, she called me screaming in excitement before requesting I make chicken dinner later that week to celebrate.

From there on out, we cooked the meal to add to already existing happiness, and Miles cooking it for me had my heart threatening to burst at the seams.

“This looks amazing, Miles, seriously. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweet girl.”

He dished out my plate, setting it in front of me before taking a seat. His eyes remained on me, waiting eagerly for me to take the first bite, so I opted for mashed potatoes, scooping a small bite on my fork.

“Miles,” I groaned, closing my eyes to savor the perfect flavors dancing on across my tongue.

When I finally opened my eyes a few moments later, Miles had both forearms resting on the table, firmly gripping his utensils as he watched me. His throat bobbed slightly as he surveyed my delight, eventually breaking our gaze to get a bite of his own.

“Wow. I thought you were being nice, but this is actually pretty damn good. ”

“Unfortunately, Miles Carver, I’m not much of an actress. What you see is what you get. No faking here.” I winked.

Dinner conversation from there on out was nonexistent. The air instead was filled with the scrapes of forks and low hums of approval.

“I can see why this is your favorite,” Miles said, breaking the silence between his final bites.

After wiping my mouth, I placed my napkin on top of the table before rising from my seat, rounding the table until I stood in front of him. He immediately scooched his chair back, allowing enough space for me to slide into his lap.

“You did a really good job,” I murmured into his neck, resting my head there as my legs dangled off the side of his lap.

“Did you leave room for dessert?” he teased.

“What’s on the menu?”

Miles swung one of my legs over his lap, leaving me straddling him.

“I made vanilla ice cream,” he murmured, nipping at my neck. “Along with the accouterments to assemble bananas foster.”

I leaned away from him in awe at another favorite he’d figured out.

There were few things I loved more than bananas foster, but I’d purposefully ate light to leave room for the thing I wanted most. He used my position as an opportunity to get a close look at me, leaning flush against the chair behind him so he could get a better view.

He trailed his hands along my shoulders, tugging gently at my dress straps until they fell down my shoulders, revealing my breasts.

The chair creaked underneath him as he leaned forward, twirling his tongue along my skin before sucking my nipple into his mouth.

My back involuntarily arched in response to the pleasure, and I threaded my fingers into his hair, reveling in the feeling of his touch until he stood, picking me up with him .

“Dessert can wait,” he grumbled, walking towards the door.

“I need you now,” I pleaded.

His eyes darkened, and I could feel his grip tightening around me.

With one hand, he grabbed the discarded blanket off my chair, carefully balancing my body against his own as he tossed it over the stall, creating a barrier between me and the wood as he pressed my back against it, pinning me with his hips.

Despite our urgency, Miles kissed me with grace, devouring my mouth slowly, coaxing a pleasure I didn’t know existed.

The emotional connection we had simmered under his touch, adding a heat that warmed through me.

The free hand he had resting on my hip slid to my breast and I arched into him as he twisted my nipple between his fingers, my moans muffled by the constant pressure of his lips against mine.

As my back continued to bow, I was met with the pressure of his desire grinding against me in deep, slow strokes.

Miles teased me until I was desperate for more, and when I could no longer handle the tantalizing, I slid my hand into the top of his pants, taking him in my palm. He sucked in a breath, and as I began stroking him his hand abandoned my breasts to grip the wood above my head.

“Please,” I begged.

He set me down on my feet, wedging his knee between my legs, and I eagerly opened them for him, tipping my head back as he slid his hand under my dress, stroking the fabric of my panties.

My fingers dug into his shoulders, silently begging him to continue, and after a few torturous circles, he slid them aside, gliding a finger through my center.

“Fuck Sage,” he hummed, as he worked a finger inside me. “You’re so wet for me.”

My hips bucked as I chased the pleasure he was coaxing out of me, groaning as he added another finger. I attempted to reach for him, desperate to give him the same relief he was inciting, but his arm blocked my access as he fucked me with his fingers.

“I want you,” I pleaded. “All of you.”

“Greedy girl,” he teased, sliding my panties to the floor. “Hang on to my neck.”

And in one swoop I was back in his arms.

One of Miles’ hands cupped my ass while the other gripped the top of the stall and as he leaned forward, I could feel his cock brush along my entrance.

I tried to arch into him, eager to feel the fullness of him inside me, but his grip on my ass kept me pinned to the wall, forcing me to be patient.

When I was no longer applying pressure against him, he leaned forward, rewarding me with his tip, which he dragged through the wetness he’d created.

My moans echoed as he glided his dick against my clit over and over, the friction threatening to make me come before he was even inside me.

I didn’t care though, I would shamelessly allow him to finish me however he pleased.

Miles must have sensed how close I was because he stilled, allowing me an unwanted break as he lined himself up to me, and I gasped as he began inching inside me bit by bit until his full length was buried inside me.

The mixture of him filling me along with the cold air on my bare chest threatened to put me over the edge, which only intensified as he began rocking, gradually increasing his tempo while delivering long, even strokes.

Miles leaned in, resuming our kiss, consuming my mouth with his tongue, and as I came close to the edge again, I pulled away, desperate to see his face as he claimed me.

I opened my eyes, unaware I’d involuntarily shut them, and when I glanced at Miles’ face, I couldn’t hold back any longer.

All the self control he’d encompassed these last few weeks had dissolved, instead replaced with unguarded passion, and something about seeing him truly undone sent me over the edge.

My climax spilled over, his name a whimper on my lips as the waves of my orgasm came crashing into me.

I could feel myself constricting around Miles’ cock and as I cried out his name again, I felt the spasms of his own release inside me.

We caught our breaths for a moment, the thunders of our hearts filling the silence of the space.

“You’re perfect,” I whispered, pressing my forehead firmly against his own.

“You’re the light, Sage. In the darkest of nights, you’re the stars, and in the brightest days, you’re the sun. I don’t know how you do it, but you make everything,” he stumbled on his words for a moment before whispering, “better.”

He loosened his grip, allowing me to slide along his body until I was back standing on my own feet.

And as he let go of my hips, he trailed his fingers along my arms, looping the straps of my dress with his fingers to gently pull them back up my shoulders.

Once I was wrapped back up in the blanket, he gave me a quick squeeze, fumbling through the fabric until he found my hand, lacing his fingers with my own.

I didn’t look back as he led me through the barn, content with wherever I was being guided as long as I was with him.

We walked slowly towards the house that had come to feel more and more like home again, and as we entered through the doors, Miles guided me towards the kitchen.

“Still have room for dessert?” he smirked.

“How about we skip the bananas foster and settle for ice cream?” I suggested, eager to just be with him.

Although I loved these grand gestures, cooking took time and I was feeling selfish. He seemed to understand, pulling two unlabeled pints from the freezer while I grabbed spoons. When he headed towards his bedroom with his haul, I shook my head, laughing at his obsession with eating in his bed.

“Tell me what’s better than eating your favorite food in the most comfortable spot in your house?” he joked, and he was right.

There was some elevated level of comfort for him, and I was just happy that he thought I was a worthy addition to the routine. We traded spoons for pints and as I savored the first bite of rich vanilla, I thought to myself that he was right, there wasn’t much better than this.

I woke up, squinting from the brightness that was flooding through the partially cracked curtains, and I couldn’t help but revel in Miles’ words as I woke.

I was the light.

After a few kisses along Miles’ jaw, I tiptoed to the drapes, hoping to catch the sunrise. But when I opened them, I wasn’t met with the yellow and red swirls of dawn.

Instead my morning began with a sea of angry orange flames.