34. 34 #2
“You should’ve gone with them,” I murmur, forcing my voice to remain steady. “It’s late.”
Michael steps closer. “Don’t close off on me again, Freckles.” Low and composed, his words don’t shake. “Not after this. I’m not going anywhere.”
I throw my hands in the air, heart cracking open all over again. “What are you still doing here? What do you want from me?” I gesture behind me, to where Liam stood like a shadow come to life. “You heard him.”
Michael’s jaw tightens. “Yeah. Loud and fucking clear. Every word of it. All lies.”
“Then why does it feel like the truth?” I yell.
He steps closer, fire in his eyes. “Because he got in your head. That’s what abusers do. They make you question yourself. Make you believe you’re unworthy so you won’t leave. But you did. And you’re so fucking brave for it.”
I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. “But why do you care?”
His chest rises and falls. His voice drops. “Because I do.”
“But why?” My voice cracks on the last word. “I’m noth—”
Michael surges forward, cradling my face in both hands. His thumbs wipe the tears before they can fall. “Stop. Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence.”
His forehead presses against mine, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re everything, Zoe. Do you hear me? You’re strength. You’re fire. You’re softness, even when you try to hide it. You’re the most stunning woman I’ve ever fucking seen, and you don’t even know it.”
My breath hitches. His words melt into me, slipping beneath skin, seeping into places no one’s ever reached. My tears fall freely now, but not because of Liam.
Because of this man standing in front of me. Raw and open. No games. No shame. Just truth.
And God, I want to believe it.
His hands slip lower, down my back until they cup my ass with a firm, possessive grip that sends heat pulsing straight to my core. “You’re fucking beautiful, Zoe,” he growls. “You’re nothing like what he said. Nothing. And this is the last time we discuss that fucker. Do you understand?”
His eyes are locked on mine with a kind of intensity that makes it hard to breathe. I hesitate.
Because no, I don’t. Not fully. Not yet.
Not when the words Liam hurled are still tangled around my ribs like a vice.
Not when my heart is still trying to decide whether it’s safe to beat freely again.
Yet, I find myself nodding. It’s not trust. Not yet.
But it’s something. A first step. A trembling attempt at believing.
“Good girl.” The praise rumbles through him, and my stomach flutters in response. His lips brush my forehead before he tips my chin up. “Now, we’re going to head inside.” My knees go weak. His eyes burn into mine. “And I’m gonna fuck you—”
A full-body shudder rips through me.
“—and show you exactly how a real man worships his woman.” I can’t speak. Can’t breathe.
His mouth crashes down on mine.
There’s nothing soft about it. No tentative brush or gentle coaxing. Just hunger—hot and all-consuming. His tongue sweeps into me—with that familiar flick of his barbell piercing—swirling against mine, and dragging a low, involuntary sound from my throat.
God, I’m starting to love how that feels.
His hands slide to my hips and then, without warning, I’m airborne. A startled gasp leaves me as my legs wrap around his waist, instinct overriding doubt—but still, a sliver of panic slips in.
“Michael—”
“I’ve got you, baby.” His voice is rough against my lips. “You’re not heavy, Zoe. Don’t even start.”
I swallow hard, breath catching in my throat.
He carries me to the door with effortless strength, one hand gripping the underside of my thigh, the other fisting in the hem of my jumper, tugging it up.
We fumble, and I manage to twist the keys just as Sprinkles appears from the shadows with a high-pitched meow. Michael doesn’t stop.
“Not now, Sprinkles,” he mutters, kicking the door closed behind us. “Your mama needs”—his teeth skim my jaw—“to be shown what it’s like to be truly fucked. Thoroughly.”
My stomach plunges. “Jesus,” I whisper.
“Not Jesus, Freckles. It’ll be my name you’re screaming out,” he rasps, and strides through the living room, every step sending heat licking up my spine. The bedroom door bangs open, and the room is lit only by the glow of a distant streetlight outside.
Michael lays me down like I’m something precious.
His mouth finds mine again, and I grind myself into him, needing more friction.
He makes a sound in the back of his throat—part groan, part growl—before tugging my jumper over my head.
My pants soon follow, exposing my body to the cool night air and his burning gaze.
His palms trace down my ribcage, reverent and unhurried.
“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs. “Been driving me insane since the day you rocked up with those smartass comebacks and that little fucking sundress.”
I arch beneath him, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt. He lifts it off in one smooth motion, and quickly, heat meets heat. Suddenly, we’re not undressing . We’re devouring .
The rest of our clothes come off in a blur—fingers fumbling, mouths greedy. He pauses only to kiss down my chest, over the swell of my breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth and making me gasp. My hands claw at his shoulders, his back, anywhere I can hold onto.
When he pulls back, just enough to breathe, he drags his thumb along my bottom lip.
“I need to taste you again.” Dipping lower, he drags his tongue down the centre of my stomach, across my hipbone, pausing only to mouth at the inside of my thigh.
My breath hitches, thighs instinctively parting as he settles between them.
I jolt at the first flick of his tongue against my seam.
The metal of his piercing presses perfectly against my clit, sending sparks ricocheting through me.
“Oh, fuck.”
He groans against me, tongue plunging deep inside for a few languid strokes. Just enough to tease. To destroy. My hips lift off the bed, chasing more, but he pulls back far too soon.
He stands. One hand grips the waistband of his briefs, before he pulls them down in one smooth, fluid motion. At the sight of him naked, my eyes nearly pop out of my head.
How he hides that in his jeans, I have no idea. It’s not just big—it’s thick. Built. Intimidating in the most mouth-watering way.
Nope. That’s not a cock. That’s a problem. A beautiful, veiny, life-altering problem.
He strokes it once, twice—slowly, arrogantly—his smirk downright dangerous. “This is what you do to me.”
I blink at him, parting my lips on an exhale. I want to answer. Truly, I do. But I don’t know what to say. He watches me with an unreadable expression. “Zoe, I need to know if this is what you want?”
My body answers before my mind can. A shudder rolls through me, nipples tightening, thighs clenching. But still, I don’t speak. Because the question isn’t just about sex. It’s about everything. It’s about letting him in. And that terrifies me.
“There’s no going back to being friends after this, Zoe.
” I stiffen, my breath catching painfully in my throat.
He lowers himself again, bracing his weight above me, brushing the backs of his fingers over my jaw.
“Do you understand me? I need your words.” His voice is soft now. “Once I fuck you, you’re mine.”
My heart stutters, and my body locks up beneath him. He must feel it, and to his credit, he doesn’t rush to fill the silence with empty promises. He just keeps talking. “I’m not him.” His tone is gentle but firm. “I’d never control you. Never raise a hand to you.”
I’m blinking fast, trying to keep my emotions at bay.
He leans down, his mouth brushing mine. “Unless you’re into it…” A smirk ghosts across his lips. “Then I’d happily oblige.”
A strangled laugh bursts from me. It’s unexpected, and shakes through my chest like a hiccup.
God, this man.
“You and I will always be equals. You’re not mine to own .” He pulls back slightly. “But you are mine to worship. You’re mine to fucking devour.”
My entire body clenches. No one’s ever spoken to me like this. No one’s ever seen me like this. Not Liam. Not anyone. And I feel it in every single nerve ending. Never, and I mean, never , have I been this emotionally and physically attracted to someone.
And it’s not just about what he looks like.
It’s who he is.
The way he watches me like I’m made of gold. The way he speaks to me with heat and reverence tangled into every syllable. The way he doesn’t demand. I get to decide. My pussy pulses—painfully—desperate for relief.
“Michael, please—”
He kisses me, slow and deep, before reaching for his jeans. Fishing out his wallet, he plucks a condom from the folds, rips the foil open with his teeth, and rolls it down his length in one practised motion.
“Fuck,” I whisper, eyes locked on the way his hand wraps around his thick shaft, and he chuckles.
“What’s the matter, Freckles?” He nudges my knee aside, lining himself up. “You worried I won’t fit?”
Words elude me, only my shattered breath leaving my mouth.
“Tell me to stop.” His words hit me with a weight I recognise. He’s said them before, the same quiet challenge wrapped in a promise he won’t cross a line I don’t want him to.
“Don’t. Please.” The answer leaves me without hesitation, no room for doubt. Because I want this. Him. So I let my legs fall open beneath him, and he pushes in slowly.
A strangled moan rips from both of us as he stretches me open inch by inch, the ache sharp and addicting, the pressure curling up my spine like fire licking skin. My fingers claw into the sheets, every muscle tensing as he presses deeper, filling every tight, pulsing inch.
“Fuck, Zoe,” he grits, voice hoarse with restraint. “Look at you. Look at this greedy cunt swallowing my cock.”
A moan stutters out of me as my hips tilt instinctively, needing more. He watches me with wild eyes, jaw locked tight as the last inch disappears inside. Once he’s fully buried, a shift takes hold—something dark, hungry, and unrelenting.
“Tell me if it gets too much, baby.”
Then he lets go.
Each thrust is deeper, rougher, his hips rolling with practised force that punches stars behind my eyelids. My back arches into him as he palms my breasts, thumbs grazing my nipples before his mouth follows—biting, nipping, lavishing. My jaw. My throat. My chest.
“Harder,” I gasp, breath catching on the edge of a cry. I grab his hand, dragging it up to my throat. “Don’t stop. I need all of you.”
His hand settles there with a groan. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes, eyes blown wide, awe washing through him. “You’re unreal.”
I don’t care that I’m exposed, that my stomach creases with every movement. He sees everything and still looks at me like I’m untouchable. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs against my skin. “So fucking perfect for me.”
Without a word, he pulls out, hands rough as he flips me over onto my knees. My cheek hits the pillow as his palm meets my ass with a firm smack, fingers gripping my hips before one hand threads into my hair and tugs me upright.
A gasp tears out of me as he presses in again, this time deeper, the angle sending shocks through my entire body. His chest brushes my back as his lips find the base of my throat, hot breath skimming skin.
“There,” he growls. “Right fucking there.” He releases his grip on my hair, letting it tumble down my back in damp waves as I fold forward, bracing myself on trembling forearms. The sound of skin meeting skin echoes through the room, lewd and unfiltered.
His rhythm is relentless, but it’s the way he touches me that undoes me completely.
His hands never stop—roaming, gripping, smoothing down my back before sliding over the curve of my ass, fingers tracing the dip of my spine like he’s trying to memorise every inch.
“You feel that?” he rasps, one hand spreading my ass cheeks wider. “Taking me so deep, baby. So fucking tight around me.”
A whimper escapes my throat, lost in the sheets. Then his fingers slip around, pressing firm where I’m already throbbing. “Oh—fuck.”
He circles my clit with slow, devastating pressure. Controlled. Focused. Like he knows exactly how I’m about to fall apart and wants to feel every second of it.
“Fuck, fu-ck—” My voice breaks. “I’m coming—don’t stop, I’m—” My whole body seizes, pleasure ripping through me in sharp, hot waves. My thighs shake. My breath punches out of me as I clench around him, pulsing with every contraction, every stroke.
“I’m right there with you,” he rasps, and thrusts once, twice more, and then he’s coming too, hips jerking as he spills inside the condom with a hoarse shout of my name.
The room stills, thick with heat and sweat and the scent of sex.
I collapse into the mattress, hair clinging to my face, chest heaving, body boneless. He folds over me, arms braced on either side as his forehead presses to the back of my shoulder, lips ghosting across sweat-slick skin.
We’re sticky, breathless, ruined.
But it’s the way he murmurs my name again that makes my chest ache. And somewhere between the silence and the aftershocks, I whisper his name back, tasting it on my tongue like something I’ll never stop craving.