34. Micah
THIRTY-FOUR
MICAH
I kiss him once, and then I can’t stop.
His cheek. His jaw. The tip of his nose.
I press my mouth to every part of his face I can reach, grinning like a fucking idiot, unable to hold it in.
The happiness—I don’t even know where to put it all.
It’s in my chest, my hands, my lips, spilling out in this dizzy kind of relief that makes me feel seventeen again and brand new all at once.
Colton laughs, real and unguarded, head tipping back against the pillow as I chase the sound with another kiss under his ear.
“Micah—” he tries, but he’s breathless and glowing and mine.
“You did it,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out between kisses. “You really fucking did it.”
His smile softens as he looks up at me, eyes all molten gold and wonder. “Told you I would.”
I kiss his dimple when it shows. “I didn’t think you’d answer the call. ”
“I didn’t think you’d stay in the bed,” he shoots back, teasing, even as he pulls me closer.
We laugh. Not the nervous kind. Not the sad kind.
The kind that feels the same as letting go.
I bury my face in his neck, still grinning at the fact my heart’s been handed back to me in one piece. His arms wrap around my waist, warm and solid and right, and for the first time in two years, I let myself believe this might last.
That we might last.
Because it’s real now. No more hiding. No more pretending. Just us.
And fuck, it feels good to laugh again.
I shift, sliding fully on top of him, my smile turning wicked as I brace my hands on either side of his head. He’s still laughing, a little breathless, a little in love, and entirely unprepared.
“This kind of happiness,” I murmur, leaning in until our noses brush, “deserves something more.”
Colton goes still beneath me. Then shivers—full body, obvious, helpless. His breath catches in that way I know means his mind’s already spinning with the possibilities.
“You—” His voice breaks, jaw flexing. “You can’t just say shit like that.”
I grin, slow and dangerous. “Oh, but I can.”
His hands tighten on my waist, grounding or pleading, I can’t tell. Doesn’t matter. His pupils are blown, lips parted, cheeks flushed with something that isn’t laughter anymore.
I drop a kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “And you love it.”
He nods, almost imperceptibly. “Yeah. Fuck. I really do.”
“God, I could kiss you forever,” I say, dragging my mouth down his throat. “But this? This deserves more than soft. ”
He shivers under me again—visibly. I grin.
“This deserves dirty,” I whisper, lips brushing his collarbone. “You laid it all out, Colt. You told your mom you’re mine.”
I bite just below his neck, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to feel my teeth. His hips twitch up into mine.
“Fuck, look at you,” I rasp. “Already squirming.”
His hands clutch at my back, trying to pull me closer. He doesn’t say anything, just breathes harder.
“You know what that does to me? Hearing you say I’m real?” My tongue traces the ridge of his sternum. “That you’ve loved me for a long time?”
He gasps when I drag my teeth lightly across his nipple.
“You’re mine now,” I growl. “Not just in secret. Not in the shadows. Mine in daylight. Your mom knows. It’s on the fucking record.”
His fingers thread into my hair, and I let him, let him tug, let him feel how much I love this— him .
“Say it,” I whisper, trailing heat lower, tongue dipping just above his happy trail. “Say who you belong to.”
“You,” he breathes. “Micah— fuck —it’s you.”
I look up at him, eyes locked. “Damn right it is.”
Colton’s eyes are wide and shining, cheeks flushed, lips parted, still catching up to the way everything just cracked wide open between us. He looks wrecked in the best way—skin warm and marked by my mouth, chest rising and falling as if he doesn’t know what to do with all this feeling.
I press a kiss against his stomach, letting my mouth linger there. He trembles beneath me, his fingers tightening in my hair again like he doesn’t want to let go, like he can’t .
“You’re everything I wanted,” I murmur against his skin. “Even when I told myself I couldn’t have it. ”
He exhales hard, one of those little choked sounds that goes straight to my chest. “Micah…”
“I’ve thought about this,” I admit, moving back up his body, so our faces are closer, noses brushing. “You. Me. Just like this. No lies. No fucking hiding. Just us .”
He nods, breath catching. “I want that too.”
“Good.” I nip at his bottom lip, dragging a soft sound out of him that makes my heart stutter. “Because I’m not letting you go now. You hear me? Not ever.”
“I hear you,” he whispers.
I shift on top of him until we’re chest to chest again, my arms bracketing either side of his face. He stares up at me like I hung the moon, and I kiss him—slow and deep and full of everything I’ve never been good at saying.
When we break apart, our foreheads pressed together, Colton’s lips curl in that familiar crooked way that used to undo me back when I was in love with my best friend and didn’t think there was a chance for this to happen.
He huffs a breath, still smiling, but his voice is low and rough. “Just a reminder, I still want that dirty talk, you know.”
I feel the blush rise in my chest before it hits my face. Not embarrassment—just heat. That kind of weighty, earned heat.
So I lift one hand and trace his bottom lip with my thumb. “Yeah?” I murmur, leaning in just enough that my breath brushes his cheek. “You want me to remind you how fucking good you looked under me? How hot you sounded begging?”
His breath stutters. His pupils dilate.
I keep going, voice softer now. “You want me to tell you how it felt to hear you say you’re mine? How tight you were around me, how perfect you felt letting me in for that first time?”
He lets out a shaky exhale, body arching the tiniest bit beneath me. “Micah…”
“You said you’re mine,” I whisper against his lips, reminding him, before brushing my lips along his jaw. “Don’t think I’m letting you forget it.”
His fingers dig into my arms. His whole body is thrumming again, lit from the inside out with something that isn’t just lust, it’s trust. It’s belonging.
“You keep talking like that,” he rasps, “and I’m gonna get hard again.”
I grin against his skin, teeth grazing his neck. “Good. I’m not done yet.”
We laugh, breathless, but when our eyes meet again, it’s all there—every wall down, every truth laid bare. Just him. Just me. And everything we’ve got left to give.
Colton’s breath is still uneven under me, his chest rising and falling like waves settling after a storm. His skin’s flushed, marked in places—my teeth, my mouth, my hands—and I love that. I enjoy seeing it. The proof that he let me have him. That he wanted me to.
He’s sprawled back against my pillows, hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen, eyes barely open. And fuck, he’s beautiful—completely undone, completely mine.
I drag the comforter over both of us as he shifts, curling toward me with this small, sleepy sound that shouldn’t make my heart lurch, but it does anyway.
“You good?” I ask, voice rough, low .
Colton hums. “Better than good.”
He nuzzles into my chest like he belongs there, like this is normal—like we’ve always been like this.
He brushes his thumb along my ribs, lazy and soft. “So… dinner on Sunday?”
The words make something in my chest pinch and pull. I forgot about that part. I forgot about everything, honestly. There’s a part of me that wants to freeze this moment—bottle it, hoard it, never let it break.
“Dinner on Sunday,” I repeat, needing to hear it out loud again for it to be real.
Colton’s arm tightens around my waist, his breath warm against my temple. “Yeah.”
I stare at the ceiling, my mind racing even though my body’s still heavy and loose from everything we’ve done—everything we’ve said. “Your mom invited me to dinner.”
He hums, as if it’s no big deal. Like my whole world hasn’t just shifted an inch to the left.
“You gonna make me stand on the porch like I’m back in high school?” I ask, because the joke’s easier than admitting how much this is getting to me. How it still feels surreal.
Colton snorts into my shoulder. “Nah. You’re getting the full welcome this time. No sneaking in through the garage.”
My chest tightens. I turn my face toward his and find him already looking at me, eyes soft and steady.
“I’ll even let you use the real bathroom,” he adds, grinning now.
I bark a surprised laugh. “What, no more sending me to the one with the broken handle and the towel that smells like mildew?”
“That was my towel, thank you very much.”
We’re both smiling now, easy and unguarded. And I don’ t miss the way his thumb drags slowly across my hip, unable to stop touching me.
My throat goes tight. I shift a little closer, resting my forehead against his. “You really did it,” I whisper.
He nods. “Yeah. I did.”
Silence settles again, softer this time. And it hits me— really hits me—that he chose me. That he keeps choosing me. That maybe all those years I thought I was the only one who felt this way… I wasn’t.
I tilt my head and press a kiss to the top of his hair.
He sighs. “Don’t freak out again tomorrow, okay?”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to. But because I know how many years I’ve spent building walls that I didn’t think could come down.
Still…I glance at the bruises I left on his throat. At the way he fits against me.
“I promise,” I whisper. “No more hiding.”
His smile is slow and real and everything I was afraid to believe I could have.