Chapter 25 Micah
Micah
Kellan's hands are everywhere, and I'm drowning in the sensation of him.
His bedroom is dimly lit, just the warm glow from the lamp on his nightstand casting shadows across his tattooed skin as he moves over me.
The sheets underneath us are already rumpled, evidence of how we'd barely made it through the door before his mouth was on mine, hungry and desperate.
"Micah," he breathes against my lips, and god, the way he says my name. Like it's something precious. Like I'm something precious.
His fingers trail down my chest, mapping every inch of skin like he's memorizing it.
The calluses on his hands from years of drumming create the most delicious friction, and I can't help the shudder that runs through me.
He notices and that wicked smile curves his lips as he does it again, deliberately this time, watching my reaction with those intense eyes that see too much.
"You're so responsive," he murmurs, dipping his head to press open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone. "Every time I touch you, you light up. Do you know how addictive that is?"
I want to tell him that he has no idea—that every touch feels like coming home, that my body recognizes his in ways that go beyond simple attraction. But I can't say that, revealing how deep this goes for me.
So instead I arch into his touch, letting my body speak what my words can't. My hands find his shoulders, sliding over the intricate ink that covers his skin, and I pull him closer. Always closer. I can never get close enough.
Kellan makes a low sound in his throat, something pleased and possessive, and then his mouth is on mine again.
The kiss is slow this time, thorough, like he has all the time in the world to explore me.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him immediately, letting him in, letting him take whatever he wants.
I'd give him everything if he asked. I'd give him everything even if he didn't.
His weight settles more fully over me, and the feeling of his body pressed against mine sends electricity shooting down my spine. He's hard against my hip, and the knowledge that he wants me makes my head spin.
"Kellan," I gasp when he pulls back just enough to kiss along my jaw, down my throat. His teeth scrape against the sensitive skin there and I shudder again, my hands tightening on his shoulders.
"I love the sounds you make," he says against my skin, his breath hot and making me tremble. "Want to hear every single one."
His hand slides lower, and I'm already losing coherent thought. This is different from the other times we've been together. There's something softer in the way he touches me tonight, something almost reverent.
When his fingers wrap around me, all other thoughts scatter. My head falls back against the pillow, a broken moan escaping my lips as he strokes slowly, teasingly. He watches my face the whole time, drinking in every expression, every reaction.
"That's it," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "Don't hide from me. Want to see everything."
I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the intensity there steals my breath. There's hunger, yes, but also something else. Something that looks almost like wonder. Like he can't quite believe I'm real, I'm here, I'm his—even temporarily.
His thumb swipes over the tip and my hips jerk, seeking more friction, more of anything he's willing to give. Kellan's smile turns predatory, pleased with my response, and he leans down to capture my lips again as his hand continues its torturous rhythm.
I'm already overwhelmed and we've barely started.
This is what he does to me—reduces me to pure sensation, pure need.
Every nerve ending is on fire, hyperaware of every point where our bodies connect.
The weight of him, the heat of his skin, the intoxicating scent that's purely him—it all combines to make my head fuzzy with want.
"Need you," I manage to gasp out between kisses, and it's both the truest thing I've ever said and a desperate understatement.
I need him like I need air. Like I need my heart to beat.
This visceral, overwhelming need that's been growing since the moment I first saw him, first recognized what he was to me.
"You have me," Kellan says, and oh god, if only that were true. If only he meant it the way I need him to mean it.
But his hands are sliding down my sides, gripping my hips, and then he's shifting, moving down my body.
His mouth follows the path his hands took, pressing kisses and gentle bites that make me gasp and squirm.
When he reaches my hip bone, he bites down harder, and I cry out at the sharp pleasure-pain of it.
"Mine," he growls against my skin, and my heart clenches in my chest. "For now, you're mine."
For now. The words are a reminder, a boundary, but I can't focus on that when his mouth is moving lower, when his breath is ghosting over sensitive skin, when his hands are spreading my thighs apart with sure, confident movements.
The first touch of his tongue has me arching off the bed, my hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands. Kellan makes an approving sound and does it again, taking his time, exploring thoroughly.
Every stroke of his tongue, every strategic touch, it's all systematically destroying my ability to think, to breathe, to do anything but feel.
My thighs are trembling on either side of his head, and I can't stop the string of desperate sounds falling from my lips.
Can't stop my hips from rocking into the sensation, seeking more even as it threatens to overwhelm me completely.
Kellan's hands grip my hips harder, holding me in place as he works me over with single-minded determination. Like making me come undone is the most important thing in the world. Like there's nowhere else he'd rather be than right here, right now, between my legs and reducing me to a writhing mess.
"Kellan, please," I gasp, not even sure what I'm begging for. More? Less? Everything?
He pulls back just enough to look up at me, and the sight of swollen lips, eyes dark with desire, looking at me like I'm something worth devouring, it nearly finishes me right there.
"Please what?" he asks, his voice rough and wrecked. "Tell me what you need."
You, I want to say. Just you. Always you.
"Inside," I manage instead, my voice shaking. "Need you inside me."
Something flashes in his eyes and then he moves, reaching for the nightstand as he grabs the lube and gently prepares me. "Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs, pressing kisses to my knee, my thigh, anywhere he can reach while his fingers work. "Want this to be good for you."
"I know it will be," I breathe, because it's true.
When he finally presses inside, my breath catches in my throat. The stretch, the fullness, the overwhelming sensation of being connected to him—it's almost too much. Almost, but not quite. I need more. Need all of him.
"Breathe," Kellan says softly, his forehead pressing against mine as he holds still, letting me adjust. "I've got you. Just breathe."
I do, pulling in shaky breaths, trying to relax into the sensation. His hands are stroking my sides, my thighs, soothing and grounding me. When I finally nod, he begins to move, slow and careful at first. Each roll of his hips is measured, like he's savoring every moment.
And god, it feels incredible. The slide of him inside me, the weight of his body over mine, the way his breath ghosts across my skin—it's everything. He's everything.
"You feel so good," he groans, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "So perfect. How are you so perfect?"
I want to laugh at the absurdity of that—me, perfect? I'm just a construction worker from nowhere, a Beta who happened to be in the right place at the right time to catch the attention of a rockstar Alpha. There's nothing perfect about me.
But then he hits that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids, and I lose the ability to think at all.
My back arches, a sharp cry tearing from my throat, and Kellan makes a satisfied sound as he does it again.
And again. Finding that angle and exploiting it ruthlessly until I'm trembling and gasping beneath him.
"That's it," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my temple, my cheek, my jaw. "Let me hear you.”
His possessive streak is showing again and I love it.
The thought sends a pang through my chest even as pleasure coils tighter in my belly.
I'm so close already, wound tight and ready to snap.
Kellan seems to sense it because his hand slides between us, wrapping around me again, stroking in time with his thrusts.
"Come for me," he says, and it's not a request. It's a command, delivered in that rough, authoritative voice that makes something primal in me respond immediately. "Want to feel you."
And I do. I can't stop it even if I wanted to, pleasure crashing over me in waves that make my vision white out. I'm vaguely aware of crying out, of my hands clutching desperately at Kellan's shoulders, of my body clenching around him as I shake apart.
Through it all, Kellan keeps moving, drawing out my pleasure until I'm oversensitive and trembling. Only then does his rhythm falter, his movements becoming more erratic as he chases his own release.
I watch his face as he gets closer, memorizing every expression.
The way his eyes squeeze shut, the way his jaw clenches, the way his breath comes in sharp pants.
He's beautiful like this—unguarded and vulnerable in a way he never is anywhere else.
And I'm the one who gets to see it, gets to be the reason for it.
When he finally comes, my name falls from his lips like a prayer, and my heart squeezes so tight I can barely breathe. I want to pull him close and never let go.