FYI:I Outpitched You Ch 23
FYI:I Outpitched You Ch 23
Empty takeout containers teetered off to one side—Chinese food mixed with sushi, a chaotic blend of comfort and craving. The living room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of a Netflix drama neither of them was really following. Callie leaned into Miles, her sake cup forgotten on the floor. Her head nestled against his shoulder, warmth radiating between them.
He wrapped his arm around her, slow and sure. She shifted closer without hesitation, resting her head on his chest, her arm sliding around his waist like it had always belonged there. They fit, impossibly so.
Minutes passed in murmured reactions and soft breaths.
Then Miles cleared his throat. “Can I ask how dinner with Roman went yesterday?”
Callie sat up just slightly, not enough to pull away. Her usual instinct to joke flickered, then faded. They were past deflections now.
“It was surprisingly good,” she said softly. “But I think Roman and I... we’d be better as friends.”
Miles leaned in a little more, his gaze steady and unreadable. Callie’s heart thudded in response.
“Why?” he asked, voice quiet, curious.
Her lips curved faintly. She didn’t look away. “Because... there’s no spark.”
In that breath of silence, the air changed.
His mouth was on hers—hesitant at first, a question asked in kiss-form. She answered with the press of her lips against his. The second kiss, though, carried no doubt. It was filled with want, ten years of it, deep and slow and brimming.
He kissed her with a hunger that left no room for coyness. She melted into it, her fingers threading into his hair, her mouth opening beneath his with a whimper that bloomed straight from her chest. They weren’t rushing, they were releasing.
His shirt came undone under her hands, each button a beat in the rhythm they were building. She pressed kisses to his neck, his chest, tasting him. He breathed her name like a vow.
When she climbed onto his lap, her shirt sliding away in a slow reveal, Miles met her gaze. Nothing about it was playful now—only reverent. She whispered, “You have me, Miles. Only me.”
He let her feel him—hard, desperate—and she moaned at the friction between them. Her bra joined her shirt somewhere on the carpet. Miles groaned at the sight of her, hands claiming her hips as he pulled her flush against him.
His lips found her skin, his mouth worshipped, his hands teased. Callie’s moans spilled into his ear like confessions. She moved against him, deliberate and needy.
He unzipped, she explored, he gasped. Every touch between them a promise. She was wet, ready, trembling beneath his fingers.
“You’re perfect,” he rasped. “I need to feel you. All of you.”
She lifted, he guided, their bodies aligned—and as he slid inside, she shattered.
The rest was heat and rhythm. Hands gripping, mouths roaming, skin against skin. She rode him with abandon, his name caught in her throat. He held her, kissed her, whispered against her collarbone how long he’d waited for this—how she was it for him.
Their release came in tandem, raw and feral and holy. She collapsed against him, lips brushing his jaw. He wrapped his arms around her like he planned to never let go.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains like it was trying not to wake them—soft, golden, tentative. Callie stirred beneath the sheets, the scent of coffee, shampoo, and Miles blending into something warm and safe.
Her bare leg was tangled with his. Her cheek rested on his chest, fingers curled at his side like she'd claimed the territory overnight. Miles lay still, his hand trailing slow circles across her back. Neither spoke.
After a few minutes, Callie lifted her head to glance at him—bed hair wild, lashes long, smile sleepy.
"Morning," she whispered.
"Best one I’ve had in years," Miles murmured, brushing her hair from her forehead before leaning in to press a kiss there. "You okay?"
She nodded, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Better than okay.”
They stayed like that a little longer—basking, tangled, limbs reluctant to separate—until the gentle hum of her apartment nudged Callie to move. She slid out from under the sheets and padded toward the bathroom, grabbing one of his shirts along the way.
Miles watched her go, grinning as he heard the shower turn on.
Moments later, her voice called out, teasing. “Water’s warm.”
Miles didn’t hesitate.
\---
Steam curled around them like silk. The scent of her citrus soap hung in the air as Miles stepped into the shower, his skin already slick from the humidity. Callie stood facing him, wet hair clinging to her shoulders, droplets tracing curves he was becoming intimately familiar with.
She smirked, handing him the shampoo like it was part of a ritual. “We don’t have to make this weird. Just… rinse, repeat.”
Miles tilted his head, fingers brushing her waist as he took the bottle. “Oh, I plan on repeating.”
His hands slid through her hair, massaging her scalp with slow deliberation. Callie closed her eyes and leaned into him, sighing as tension melted away. When she opened them again, his face was close—eyes dark, mouth soft.
They kissed under the stream of water—slow, deliberate, punctuated by quiet laughter and low moans. Miles pressed her gently against the tiled wall, hands gliding over her skin like he needed to memorize every inch.
She laughed when the shampoo suds ran down his shoulder. “You’re not very good at this.”
“Correction: I’m excellent at this,” he said, kissing down her neck while she gasped at the sudden shift.
Their shower became less about getting clean and more about staying close—touches that teased but didn’t rush, hands that lingered, mouths that mapped familiar terrain. It wasn’t frantic. It was indulgent. Sensual. A continuation of everything they whispered with their bodies the night before.
When they finally emerged—towels barely wrapped, hair dripping, hearts still thudding—they were laughing.
“You’re ridiculous,” Callie said, scrubbing at the fogged-up mirror.
Miles wrapped his arms around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. “That’s why you like me.”
“That’s one of the reasons.”
\---
Steam still lingered in the air as Callie dragged a towel through her hair, cheeks flushed from the heat and the way Miles had kissed her against cool tile like he'd been holding back for years. They moved in tandem now—her in his shirt, him smirking at the size of the towel she’d offered and joking that his left thigh would remain cold forever.
She padded barefoot to the kitchen, the sleeves of his shirt trailing just past her hands. There was already a soft sizzle coming from the stove. Miles stood in front of the skillet—barefoot, hair damp, and wearing the apron she kept in the drawer for ironic Pinterest moments. It said Kiss the Cook in glittery cursive, and he wore it like armor.
“You look offensively competent right now,” Callie said, leaning against the counter.
Miles turned with a grin. “I contain multitudes.”
He flipped a scallion pancake with theatrical precision. On the side, scrambled eggs gently cooked beside leftover lo mein in a second pan. The smell was heavenly—familiar and a little indulgent.
She slid into a stool at the counter and watched as he plated everything with actual care. “Did you... garnish that with sesame seeds?”
“I did. Presentation is ninety percent foreplay.”
Callie snorted. “So you cooked breakfast to seduce me all over again?”
“I cooked breakfast because you let me stay.”
They ate together, shoulder to shoulder, fork-to-chopsticks, bites traded like confessions.
Callie leaned into him, elbow brushing his, her leg curled under her. The closeness felt dangerous in the way sunlight feels reckless after a storm.
“You know we have to be careful,” she said quietly. “Especially at work. Especially with Tabitha and Elise watching everything like it’s a soap opera recap.”
Miles sighed, but his grip on her hand didn’t loosen. “I know. We’ll keep it low-key. No grand gestures. No lingering looks across spreadsheets.”
Callie offered a wry smile. “Elise caught Jenna sneaking a granola bar during a staff meeting and turned it into a full-scale drama. I don’t even want to know what she’d do with... this.”
“She’d probably host a podcast episode about it,” Miles said, mock-serious. “‘Unauthorized Romance: From Lo Mein to Betrayal.’”
Callie snorted. “And Tabitha would write a strongly worded email about conflict of interest and the dangers of emotional entanglements in the workplace.”
“Which, to be fair, sounds like something you’d say.”
“I have said that,” she admitted. “Just not about myself.”
Miles leaned in, the distance vanishing once again. “So we keep it quiet. We make smart choices. But we don’t hide.”
She nodded slowly. “And no folding into busy schedules and pretending this never happened.”
“No pretending we’re not already a little bit tangled.”
\---
The weekend bloomed quietly.
They didn’t leave the apartment except to buy cilantro and chicken thighs—Callie in worn denim and Miles trailing behind with reusable bags and too many opinions about spice blends. At home, it was all slow mornings tangled in sheets, laughter echoing from the shower, shared bites of whatever meal they decided to improvise. Her apartment took on the texture of something sacred—not polished, but lived-in and filled with heat that hadn’t dissipated since Friday night.
They moved with muscle memory now. Callie curled into Miles on the couch, his palm flat on her ribcage as if anchoring her to the moment. They kissed like it was part of breathing. Her cat, thoroughly suspicious of the intruder, circled his feet then made peace by sleeping in his lap.
When Monday came, it felt violent.
Callie stood by the bathroom mirror in her work blouse, staring at her reflection and the faint shadows of the weekend still skimming her skin. Miles stepped behind her, rested his chin lightly on her shoulder.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“No,” she said. “But I will be. Once I stop remembering how good this felt.”
His arms came around her waist. “We’ll find our rhythm. Even if it’s just stolen seconds between lunch breaks and campaign chaos.”
She leaned into him for one final breath-steadying moment. “We were so safe here.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “But maybe we can carry some of it with us.”
She didn’t answer. She just kissed him, gently and thoroughly, until she didn’t feel afraid anymore.
Then she grabbed her keys and stepped out into a world that felt infinitely louder.