31. John
31
JOHN
A few days later, I receive a text from Micah. How about a final boat ride?
As I drive toward the dock, I’m not sure how I could refuse him. This is likely it. Everything feels so final because it essentially is.
As soon as I see Micah standing on the casting deck of his grandfather’s boat, my breath catches. I will always have that image of him as my last.
“You look good up there,” I call to him. “You sure you’re ready to give this up?”
He smiles. “The boat or the fishing?”
I step onto the deck and steady my feet. “Both?”
“No way I can take the boat with me.” He motions toward the bait-and-tackle shop. “I put word out at the shack and warehouse that I’m looking for a buyer.”
“Good plan.” If I remember correctly, there’s a bulletin board where fishers pin stuff they’re selling or are interested in buying. Old-school style, but it works.
“In the meantime, she’s going back into storage at the warehouse.”
“Then I suppose we need to give Vitamin Sea one last good run.”
He meets my eyes and nods. “Untie the stern?”
I make my way toward the back of the boat to loosen the rope while he takes the bow side. When he gets behind the wheel, I push us off, and soon enough, we’re heading to the open water.
He slowly increases the speed, making the water spray from the sides of the boat, and I’ll admit it’s exhilarating. He loops around the bay a couple of times before slowing down. We float as we take in the view of the horizon and beach.
“How about the fishing?” I ask, returning to our previous conversation about what he’s giving up. “I’m sure you can find similar places in the LA area.”
He cuts the engine but stays seated instead of reaching for his pole. “Wouldn’t be the same.”
“Why not?”
“The vibe is different there.”
“Maybe there’s a vibe you just haven’t found yet,” I offer.
“In all this time? Doubtful.” He sulks. “I wish I could bring this small-town energy with me, but life is a bit more complicated than that.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, reaching for a water bottle from his cooler. “Maybe focus on the positives of LA. What do you like most about it?”
He stares off in the distance. “The opportunities for acting jobs.”
“That’s obvious. Anything else?”
I can name things off the top of my head when I think about the epicenter of where he lives, including his eclectic neighborhood and all the places within walking distance. But imagining the constant congestion of traffic and people makes me shudder.
“The beach, I guess,” he replies. “Though I rarely visit. And the food variety.”
“Wow, what a list,” I deadpan. “But I bet you can’t name stuff about Aqua Vista either.”
He thumps my knee. “You, of course. That’s always number one.”
My chest aches with sadness and longing. “What else?”
“Coming back here helped me appreciate a few things.”
I take a swig of my water and replace the cap. “Do tell.”
“There’s a certain charm to the simpler, slower pace of a small town, even with everyone being in my business,” he teases. He might be unwilling to admit it, but I know he longs to redeem himself with certain folks. “Then there’s my love of fishing, appreciating the life my grandfather built, catching up with old friends.”
“Like Ms. Hart?” I ask as another boat passes close by.
“Yeah.” Micah lifts his hand in a wave as boaters are known to do. “That was a lot of fun.”
“Did it remind you how talented you are, even behind the scenes?” I’m not sure Micah has ever really considered that possibility.
“Sure, but I’m still a dime a dozen.” He puffs out a breath. “Too many people vying for too few jobs. Getting this part doesn’t guarantee anything. But I am grateful for the opportunity.”
The silence grows between us, each lost in our thoughts as we enjoy the sun warming our faces and the soft wind cooling us down.
“So what now?” I finally ask.
“I don’t know. Considered casting my rod in the water, but not feeling it today.”
I study him, noticing the shadows beneath his eyes and the wrinkles lining his forehead. “That’s surprising.”
“Got too much else on my mind.” He stands and starts the engine, which coughs and sputters before firing up. “Grab lunch with me? I don’t have much food at the house, and I’m not sure I want to go into town, but I can still?—”
“How about soup and sandwiches at my place?”
“Sure, why not?” His eyes brighten. “Just like old times.”
We head back to shore and secure the boat to the dock.
“I’ll meet you at your place. Gonna let the warehouse know the boat’s ready for storage.”
He’s still standing motionless, staring at the boat and water, as I make my way back to my car. I consider staying, but I figure he needs time to let go of something he’s only just found again.
My stomach throbs as I drive away. Once home, I pull out sandwich supplies, heat the soup on the burner, and set the table.
Micah shows up about ten minutes later, and he still seems distracted, looking around the house as if noticing it for the first time. It’s different from when we lived here as kids. I’ve put my stamp on the decor, but there are still remnants of my parents everywhere. Photos and dishes, trinkets and leftover furniture.
“Smells good,” Micah says as he sinks into a chair and dives into his lunch. We eat and discuss his departure time tomorrow as if it’s a casual, offhand topic and not killing us.
He helps me clear the table, and as he’s absently placing his plate in the dishwasher, his gaze snags on something in the other room. He makes a beeline to a bookshelf lined with framed pictures. He lifts the one of us from high school graduation. His grandfather even posed with my parents for that one.
And then there’s the one of us newly married, showing off our rings.
I step up behind him to glance over his shoulder. “God, we look so young. I couldn’t even grow facial hair.”
He laughs as he twists toward me. His fingers stroke the scruff on my chin. “Glad you finally can because it’s sexy as hell.”
“ Micah ,” I sigh, as much in appreciation as frustration.
“Sorry. Can’t help loving you. Wanting to be with you.”
I screw my eyes shut, willing myself to get my emotions in check. “I’ll never stop, Micah Malone.”
He pulls me into an embrace so tight I can scarcely breathe, but I also don’t care because it’s too excruciating to let him go.
“I can’t…I need you, Micah. I need you so fucking much.”
“Need you too,” he murmurs against my ear.
“Show me how much,” I tell him, my voice filled with anguish as I grasp the back of his shirt.
And then Micah’s breath is against my lips, his tongue sweeping the seam of my mouth as if asking permission, and there’s no fucking way I’m saying no. Our kisses are slow as we take our time exploring, memorizing with lips and teeth and tongues. In that moment, I’m certain no one else’s mouth or taste will ever do. He’s ruined me for all others. When I pull back to catch my breath, the angst in his eyes tells me he feels as wrecked as I do.
We burrow our hands in each other’s hair and moan into each other’s mouths until we’re both hard and needy. We undress each other between kisses, leaving a trail on the way to the bedroom. Part of me doesn’t want to have this room represent our last memory, but the other part wants to smell him on my sheets for days.
Micah urges me back on the mattress, kissing every part of me he can reach, from my nipples to my hip bones, licking and nipping, making blood rush to my cock. It’s exactly what I need. For him to consume me. To stem the tidal wave of grief swelling in my heart. If only for a couple of hours.
Micah retreats momentarily to grab the lube from my nightstand. I watch as he coats his fingers, then reaches behind my balls to rub the slickness over my hole. The cool sensation makes me shiver, and as he works the tip of his finger inside, I fight the urge to cringe.
“You’re so tight, baby,” Micah croons. “Are you sure…?”
“One hundred percent.” When I lift my knees to my shoulders, he swears under his breath as he looks me over, and I feel flayed open, just as I did professing my love junior year—after my woodworking class, where I made him a rough carving of a sailboat. Micah had been afraid to tell me it had warped and rotted the following week. I force the foreshadowing out of my mind because I know we’re more than that.
When he leans forward and flutters his tongue over my sac, I groan. My muscles turn liquid as he sucks one of my nuts and simultaneously fucks me with his finger. “More,” I tell him, squirming beneath his mouth. I’m the impatient one this time, wanting to get on with it, to feel him inside me, even knowing I haven’t bottomed in a while.
Micah watches my reaction closely as he pushes a second finger inside.
“Holy hell.” I tremble, my eyes rolling back because the sensation is a prickly sting with just a tinge of pleasure.
He persists by pumping his digits and rubbing against my prostate, which makes me gasp and writhe in bliss but also in frustration.
And then my nerve endings flare to life like an electric current when Micah slides my cock inside the heat of his mouth. He sucks me with flawless pressure, still opening me with his fingers, and my thoughts blur to static while raw pleasure permeates my senses.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Micah murmurs. “Just look at you.”
I part my lips to respond, but I can only manage a low moan.
Fingers stuffed inside me, he bends forward to connect our mouths in a messy but perfect kiss. I whimper shamelessly, my fingers hooking around his nape to keep our lips and tongues connected.
When we finally part, Micah’s mouth is shiny, his eyes a bit dazed. He removes his fingers, and I instinctively clench, needing to feel that fullness again.
Micah promises to only be a second. “Need a condom.”
“No,” I blurt, setting my soles down on the mattress. “Wanna feel you bare.”
Micah’s gaze captures mine. “J…I…are you sure?”
“I get checked regularly.” My voice is hoarse and needy. “You?”
I hear his contented sigh. “I do too.”
He opens the lube and applies it liberally to his cock, and then he’s hovering over me again, the tip of his shaft brushing my balls.
Lifting my knees, he scoots forward, and I breathe out as the cockhead breaches my rim, slowly, ever so slowly. I dare not rock no matter how much I want to because this time, the burn is more intense, more overwhelming, even as he shallowly thrusts to help me get accustomed to the feeling.
Micah grits his teeth as if holding back. “I can’t believe I get to have you like this.”
A moment later, I feel his balls brushing against my ass, and he’s fully seated inside me.
“So fucking good. But I need you to move.” I squirm and rock before he takes over, pulling almost all the way out, then driving forward again, setting a pace that transforms the leftover sting into a ripple of soul-stirring bliss.
And underneath that pleasure is a profound peacefulness that inhabits every inch of me. Because this is Micah and me joining in our rawest sense. He makes my heart quake, my skin buzz, and being connected like this is the purest form of love. I know this man. Know him deeply and intimately. I’m sure of him. Always have been and always will be.
I rock to meet his every thrust, the bed shaking from our effort as he fucks me fast and hard. It’s exactly what I need. To feel every inch of him. For hours after. Even if it destroys me.
Sweat is trickling down my back and pooling at his temples, and when our eyes catch, he momentarily stills as if to meet the weight of the moment head-on. To capture it, bury it deep for when he’s hundreds of miles away.
When the intensity of his gaze becomes too much, I close my eyes and wind my fingers around my shaft, concentrating on stroking myself into oblivion.
“Ah, hell.” My body twitches as a warm, tingling flush moves through my limbs and pools in my nuts.
In another moment, Micah’s hand is there on top of mine, jerking in time with his thrusts. It doesn’t take much longer for my back to arch, my mouth opening on a soundless gasp as I sail beyond the edge of the horizon, my come spurting all over my chest.
Micah thrusts jerkily before he’s meeting me there, his body rigid, his groan deep as his orgasm rips through him. He unloads inside me, riding out his orgasm with slower, longer thrusts before he slumps on top of me.
We quietly pant as we cling to each other, our hearts thundering in unison, my legs loosely encircling his hips. It’s another minute before I feel the wetness against my throat. My eyes sting in response as I try to blink the tears away.
He wipes his eyes as we break apart, but we still don’t speak—or maybe can’t find the words for what we feel or just shared.
I nearly protest when Micah rolls off me, my body feeling too weightless, too empty after his bulk and mass anchored me in place. But it’s only to grab a damp towel to wipe us down as I lie nearly lifeless, barely able to process what the next hours might feel like.
When he tries to dab at the come trailing down my legs, I still his hand. “Leave it. Want it there.”
I hear him swear under his breath before he sets the towel down and gathers my face in his hands.
I know this is it. This is goodbye, and I want to screw my eyes shut, to not remember his shattered gaze. But I keep looking back, memorizing how he appears with his hair messy from my hands and his mouth puffy from my lips.
I need to. All we have left is this moment.
Micah bends to kiss me so tenderly that my eyes close automatically. I sigh when his lips draw away. I keep my lids shut as he rifles around for his clothes because I can’t bear to watch. My chest is so tight, I can scarcely breathe, and when I hear the door close behind him, the tears finally come.