Chapter 24 #2
I was glad Aamon was finally dead, and still somewhat in disbelief that it’d actually happened.
He’d been a constant lingering anxiety for many of my last years with Micah, and the stunt we’d just pulled with Dakota would’ve never worked with Micah.
He couldn’t use himself as bait, because then he couldn’t make me invisible.
In a way, Aamon’s attention turning to Dakota had been a blessing in disguise.
He’d been a problem on the edges of my life for so long, always out of sight but never out of mind, and somehow, I’d never actually gotten an opportunity to do anything about it until now.
It simply wouldn’t have worked beforehand. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
I wasn’t going to let myself ruminate on all the ways tonight might’ve gone wrong.
Dakota was safe, having a sleepover with her friend, Micah was regaining his strength, and I wasn’t drowning in darkness in the aftermath of the fractures. All three of us had made it out relatively unscathed.
The drive to his house felt short, maybe because some part of me didn’t want it to be over. I still didn’t know what was going to happen with Dakota in the morning, if she would still be with both of us, giving us a tie to each other, or not.
I wouldn’t really have reason to come back to his house after this if not.
Dakota was the only reason he was back in my life at all, and if she left him like I wanted her to, then I might genuinely never see him again. My feelings about that concept were far messier than I wanted to admit. There was a foreign knot in my chest when I thought about it.
I pulled into his driveway and shut the engine off. For a minute, neither of us made any move to get out of the car. Maybe Micah could feel it, too. The potential finality of this moment.
Is this going to be the last time we separate?
“I left some of my shit in the bedroom,” I said, breaking the silence. “So I’m gonna grab it, then I’ll leave.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Hopefully I never have to come back here.” There wasn’t much force behind my words, but I said them anyway.
“Hopefully not.”
We got out of the car and Micah walked up the steps to his front door while I lingered a few paces behind, my head down. He stepped to the side to let me pass him, my feet carrying me into his house.
Micah shut the front door behind me, then turned the deadbolt.
But both of us just stood there in the entryway.
I wasn’t going upstairs to get my few leftover belongings; Micah wasn’t going any further into the house.
The entire first floor was dark, not a single light on, and all the darkness did was strengthen the reminder that this might be my very last memory of him.
Us, standing in a dark hallway, not speaking.
Looking tired and angry and exactly the same.
Wind blew against the house, the windows creaking in their frames.
Seconds stretched on and on. Our silence pulled painfully between us, full of everything we’d never said, and everything we had.
Words of hatred and love and every emotion in between.
He used to be my entire life. For so long.
I needed to go upstairs, collect my shit, then leave. But I couldn’t move.
The circumstances were different now, but the same feeling of uncertainty lingered underneath it all. The same sickening turn of my stomach while I waited for our second inevitable end.
This time, I wanted it to be the end.
I was so fucking ready to be done with him for good.
So fucking ready to have my life back.
But what was my life without Micah Killshaw?
I dared to glance over at him.
His eyes met mine and I felt it in my soul.
Kill.
We moved at the same time, eliminating the distance between us in a few long strides, our bodies colliding as our mouths did. The kiss was urgent and messy, tongues hot and seeking, groans spilling into open mouths.
And then we were ripping our clothes off. Cotton shredding and denim tearing, shoes kicked off in any direction as long as they didn’t get in the way. I was going to die if I couldn’t touch him—all of him.
Every single fucking inch.
If this was going to be the last time, I needed it all.
Our kiss was a filthy blur of lips and tongues and teeth, rough hands gripping anything they could reach, stumbling footsteps into the living room.
I shoved my boxers down, kicking them off, and Micah did the same, his knuckles skimming over my nipple on the way to my jutting cock, strong fingers wrapping around me.
I kissed him harder, deeper, licking into his mouth, hand sliding down to jerk him while he jerked me.
His cock was heavy and swollen, practically throbbing in my palm, our harsh exhales breaking against each other as we gripped and stroked and pumped.
“Turn around,” Micah grated out.
I might’ve cared about resisting him any other time, but I had no idea if this was ever going to happen again after right now. And I wanted it bad. Bad enough not to protest when he turned me and bent me forward. Bad enough not to do anything other than let him position me to be fucked.
I gripped the back of the couch, shuddering at the feeling of his body behind mine.
Micah knelt on the hardwood and nudged my legs wider apart. I sucked in a breath, my cock already leaking precum, enough to drip. His large hand skimmed up my thigh, then grabbed my dick, moving along my length until he was cupping my balls. A violent surge of pleasure had my stomach clenching.
My eyes rolled when he leaned forward to lick up the full length of my shaft, over my hanging balls, then further back.
He didn’t hesitate. He never hesitated. He knew what he wanted.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
His tongue worked my rim, pushing inside me, his hand stroking my erection from underneath. I gripped the couch harder, my abs flexing.
I hated how good he still was at this. Hated thinking about him doing it with other men. I knew he had, though. Before me, and probably after me.
“Oh, my God,” I choked out as he rimmed me.
I’d missed this feeling. The anticipation. Knowing Micah was going to fuck me, feeling him get my body ready, smelling his kapnos all around me. The promise of what was coming made me so horny I wasn’t really thinking logically anymore.
He probably knew how long it’d been for me. Knew how desperate I was for this.
I wasn’t sure why I never fucked another guy after him. I just never felt the desire.
My sexual orientation seemed to be towards women and Micah. He was some anomaly. It didn’t really bother me, and I never thought much about it. There was something different between us, and it couldn’t be compared to anything else.
And I was the only man he’d ever let top him. I could feel special for that.
But there were other complications with it that neither of us liked to think about.
He stood up and I heard him spit, then felt his heavy cock laying across my ass. His hands skimmed slow up my sides to my shoulders and he kneaded the muscles, massaging down either side of my spine, tracing my scars while lazily thrusting his hips, grinding against my crease.
“Been a while?” he questioned.
“I can take it,” I said through my teeth.
“Alright.” Micah spit again, then pressed a slick finger to my entrance. I didn’t move. “Tight as fuck, Ash,” he said lowly as he pushed farther, lighting up every nerve ending.
“Just fuck me.”
He leaned forward, laying his chest on my back, curling his finger and making me groan.
“I’m going to,” he murmured in my ear, then scraped his teeth against my shoulder.
He added a second finger, and I could feel the stretch now, my eyes squeezing shut.
His teeth clamped down on my muscle, biting hard enough to leave marks.
Fuck, yes.
I was going to come if he didn’t stop moving his fingers the way he was now. Curling, twisting, stretching, stroking. Putting pressure inside of me.
Micah straightened and pulled his fingers out, then stroked his erection a few times to get it slick with his saliva. And then he was there, pushing, stretching, one hand gripping my ass, the other guiding his cock inside of me.
I was sweating as I backed up against him, taking every thick inch of him. Deeper, deeper, until his hips were flush against my skin. So many years without this, and it was just as good as I remembered. Better, even.
“Oh, fuck,” I groaned through the deep ache claiming my body.
Micah began to pump into me, never lessening the brutal depth, not giving me much time to adjust to his size. I felt like I was going to die. Like he was going to split me in two.
He was rough and unforgiving, working into a rhythm, his fingers digging into my hip bones. I gritted my teeth, trying to keep breathing.
His shaft dragged over my prostrate on every stroke, driving me fucking insane. Somehow I’d forgotten just how unreal this was with him, the absolutely unfathomable magnitude of pleasure he made me feel. Big enough to swallow me, to consume me, to break me apart into molecules.
It was different than anything else.
My eyes rolled back when he reached around to grab my dick, stroking me.
I was way too fucking wound up for him to be doing that shit right now.