Chapter 29 Kellan
Kellan
The Italian place was perfect—small, tucked away, the kind of spot where the paparazzi don't usually lurk.
Micah had laughed at something I said about our bassist's latest drama, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and I'd felt something warm settle in my chest. Something that's been happening more and more lately, and I'm trying really hard not to examine it too closely.
Now we're walking back to where I parked, and Micah's close enough that our shoulders brush occasionally. Each touch sends a spark through me that I definitely shouldn't be feeling. This is supposed to be fake. An arrangement. A way to get management off my back about my image.
Except it doesn't feel fake when he laughs at my jokes. Doesn't feel fake when he looks at me like I'm not the problem child everyone says I am. Doesn't feel fake when we're tangled together in my bed and he makes those sounds that drive me absolutely insane.
"That was really good," Micah says, his voice warm and content. "I can't remember the last time I had carbonara that perfect."
"Better than the place we went to last week?"
"Way better. Though I think you just like watching me eat carbs."
He's not wrong. There's something about the way Micah enjoys food—really enjoys it, without any of the pretense I'm used to from people in my world—that makes me want to take him to every restaurant I know.
Want to watch him light up over good pasta and fresh bread and whatever else makes him happy.
When we reach my car, I unlock it and we both climb in.
The interior still smells faintly like the leather cleaner my detailer uses, mixed with Micah's scent, a bit of vanilla and whiskey that I've become embarrassingly addicted to.
He settles into the passenger seat with a comfortable sigh, and I try not to stare at the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders.
"I know Tom already called for a car," he says, pulling out his phone. “He said it should be here soon.” He looks almost disappointed by that.
The app shows a car that's about fifteen minutes away, and we settle into a comfortable silence.
Except it's not entirely comfortable because now I'm hyperaware of how close he is, how the dashboard lights cast shadows across his face, how his lips are still slightly swollen from when I'd kissed him against the side of the restaurant before we came to the car.
"You're staring," Micah says without looking at me, but there's a smile playing at his lips.
"You're worth staring at."
He does look at me then, something soft and vulnerable flashing across his face before he schools it away. "Smooth."
"I'm a rockstar. Smooth is part of the job description."
"Pretty sure 'problem child' is your actual job description."
I laugh, reaching over to tug playfully at his collar. "Maybe. But you don't seem to mind."
"No," he says quietly, his eyes meeting mine. "I really don't."
The air between us shifts, charged with something electric. I should pull back. But instead I'm leaning closer, drawn to him like gravity, and his breath hitches in a way that makes heat pool low in my belly.
"Kellan," he breathes, and it sounds like a warning and an invitation all at once.
I close the remaining distance and kiss him.
It's supposed to be quick, just a taste, but the moment our lips meet I'm lost. Micah makes this small sound in the back of his throat and suddenly my hands are in his hair and his are fisting in my shirt and the kiss deepens into something desperate and hungry.
He tastes like the wine he had with dinner and something that's uniquely him, and I can't get enough. My tongue traces the seam of his lips and he opens immediately, letting me in, and god—every time we kiss it feels like the first time. Like something new and overwhelming and addictive.
Micah shifts in his seat, angling toward me, and his hand slides up my chest to curl around the back of my neck.
His fingers find the sensitive skin there and I groan into the kiss, my control starting to slip.
I should stop this. We're in a car in a parking lot where anyone could see us.
But I can't bring myself to care when he's kissing me like this, like I'm air and he's been drowning.
I break away just long enough to gasp, "Come here."
He doesn't hesitate. Micah climbs over the center console with surprising grace for someone in a cramped car, settling onto my lap. His thighs bracket mine and suddenly he's right there, pressed against me, and any remaining rational thought evaporates.
"This is a terrible idea," he murmurs against my lips, but he's already grinding down and I can feel how hard he is through his jeans.
"Awful," I agree, my hands sliding under his shirt to find warm skin. "The worst."
But then I'm kissing him again and his hips are rolling against mine in a rhythm that's going to kill me. Nothing matters except Micah's weight on top of me, his mouth on mine, his hands tugging at my hair.
I trail kisses along his jaw, down his throat, finding that spot just below his ear that makes him shudder. His head falls back, giving me better access, and I bite down gently before soothing it with my tongue. The sound he makes goes straight to my cock.
"Kellan," he gasps, his hips moving faster now, seeking friction. "God, you—"
"What?" I murmur against his skin, my hands sliding down to grip his hips, guiding his movements. "What do I do to you?"
"Everything," he breathes, and there's something raw in his voice that makes my chest tight. "You do everything to me."
I capture his lips again, swallowing whatever else he might have said. The kiss is messier now, all tongue and teeth and barely controlled need. My hands slip under the waistband of his jeans, finding heated skin, and Micah makes this broken sound that drives me insane.
"Can I—" I start, but he's already nodding frantically.
"Yes. God, yes. Please."
I work his jeans open with fumbling fingers, and he does the same for mine, both of us clumsy with urgency. When I finally get my hand around him, Micah's whole body shudders and he drops his forehead to my shoulder with a moan that makes the windows fog.
"Fuck," he gasps as I stroke him slowly, learning what he likes. "That's—oh god."
His hand wraps around me too, and the dual sensation of touching him while he touches me is almost overwhelming.
We find a rhythm together, hands moving in tandem, breathing hard against each other's skin.
The car is definitely fogging up now, the windows completely obscured, cocooning us in our own private world.
I kiss him again because I can't not kiss him, need to taste those sounds he's making. Micah responds eagerly, his free hand cupping my face like I'm something precious, and that gesture combined with the relentless pleasure building in my spine is going to undo me completely.
"Close," Micah pants against my mouth. "I'm so close."
"Let me see," I murmur, pulling back just enough to watch his face. "Want to watch you come apart."
His eyes flutter open, meeting mine, and the vulnerability there steals my breath. He looks at me like I'm everything, like this means something beyond what it should, and I can't look away. Don't want to look away.
"Kellan," he gasps, and my name on his lips like that is the most erotic thing I've ever heard.
I twist my wrist on the next stroke and that's all it takes.
Micah's back arches, his head falling back as he comes with a choked cry, and watching him fall apart is enough to send me over the edge too.
Pleasure crashes through me in waves and I bury my face in his neck, muffling my own sounds against his skin.
We stay like that for a long moment, both breathing hard, tangled together in my driver's seat. Micah's heart is racing against my chest and mine is probably doing the same. My hand is still on him, his is still on me, and neither of us seems inclined to move just yet.
"Well," Micah finally says, his voice rough and breathless. "That was..."
"Yeah," I agree, because I don't have better words either.
He laughs softly, the sound rumbling through both of us, and I feel him press a kiss to my temple. It's such a tender gesture, so at odds with what we just did, that my chest does something complicated.
Then his phone starts buzzing insistently from where it fell onto the passenger seat.
"Shit," Micah says, reluctantly pulling back to squint at the screen. His face is flushed, his lips swollen, his hair a complete mess from my hands. He looks thoroughly debauched and absolutely beautiful. "The car's here. They're waiting."
"Give me a second," I say, reaching into the back seat where I keep a stash of napkins from various drive-throughs. Not my proudest moment in terms of car cleanliness, but right now I'm grateful for my messy habits.
We clean up quickly, both of us laughing a little at the awkwardness of it, the absurdity of getting each other off in my car like teenagers. Micah tries to fix his hair in the mirror and fails completely, which only makes me want to mess us up all over again.
"I look like I just—" he starts, then cuts himself off with another laugh.
"You look perfect," I say honestly.
He glances at me, something soft in his expression. "You're ridiculous."
"You like it."
"Maybe I do."
His phone buzzes again and he sighs. "I really have to go. They're probably wondering what's taking so long."