Chapter 24-Micah
After I tell Sloane everything I did without her permission, I stand there waiting for the fallout.
For her to call me crazy.
To tell me to mind my own damn business.
To tell me to go fuck myself.
I'd deserve it.
Hell, I'd rehearsed every version of the argument in my head while driving back from the cryo barn this morning.
Instead...
She launches herself at me.
I barely have time to catch her before she's in my arms.
Of course I catch her.
I'll catch her every damn time. That’s a promise.
She buries her face against my neck and wraps herself around me so tightly it's a wonder I can still breathe.
Not that I'm complaining.
Christ.
Being held by this woman feels better than any medal I ever earned.
Her shoulders shake.
Tiny hiccupping sobs break against my skin, and between every shaky breath she whispers another thank you. Another reason I apparently deserve more credit than I do.
“You don't have to thank me, Princess,” I murmur, rubbing slow circles over her back.
“I wanted to.”
“No...” Her voice catches. “You don't understand.”
She leans back just enough to look at me.
Those beautiful brown eyes are swimming with tears.
“No one's ever cared what I felt or had to do. They’ve never taken care of me like that before.”
The words hit like a freight train.
I don't know what to say. I don't know if there even are words big enough.
So I do the only thing I know how. I hold her tighter.
Somewhere behind us, I hear chairs scrape against the floor.
Benji clears his throat.
“Ladies?”
Bit sniffs loudly.
“Oh, don't mind me. I'm just crying over here.”
Esme laughs softly.
“Come on. Let's give them some space.”
Sawyer claps me once on the shoulder as he passes.
“You know where to find us.”
I nod.
“Yeah.”
No one makes a joke.
No one whistles.
No one turns it into something it isn't.
They simply leave.
Closing the front door quietly behind them. And I am so grateful for them in that moment.
Jersey Iron takes care of its own.
The cabin falls silent.
Just me.
And Sloane.
She still hasn't let go.
Neither have I.
I slide one arm beneath her knees and lift her effortlessly.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice still watery.
“Taking you somewhere comfortable.”
“You don't have to carry me.”
“I know.”
She smiles through the last of her tears.
“I can walk.”
“I know.”
“But you're still carrying me.”
“Yep.”
A tiny laugh escapes her.
“I think you're impossible.”
“I've heard that.”
“I believe it.”
I carry her down the hallway to the bedroom.
She doesn't argue again. She simply settles against me, one hand resting over my heart, her precious head leaning on my shoulder.
Every now and then she glances up at me like she's still trying to figure me out.
Good luck with that.
I'm still trying to figure myself out.
I sit on the edge of the bed with her in my lap.
Neither of us speaks for a long while.
I just hold her.
Feel her breathing begin to slow. Feel the tension gradually leave her body.
Every so often she strokes absentmindedly through my beard, like the motion comforts her as much as holding her comforts me.
Maybe it does. Fuck, I hope it does.
Time loses all meaning.
The afternoon sunlight shifts across the hardwood floor.
The cabin settles around us with familiar creaks.
Outside, a breeze rattles the leaves.
Inside? The world shrinks until it's only us.
Being alone with her, it’s inevitable that one thing leads naturally to another.
I caress her face and she leans up to press her sweet mouth to mine.
Fuck, she tastes so good.
Like a toasted bagel with butter and jelly.
And fresh squeezed orange juice.
And sunshine.
I deepen the kiss.
She moans into my mouth and tugs on the collar of my shirt, pulling the snaps open one by one.
“Please,” she whispers and I can’t move fast enough.
Clothing is yanked off and tossed aside. I’m sure I tore one thing or other by the time we’re both naked.
“Fuck, Princess, can I kiss you here?” I growl, sliding my fingers between her slippery folds.
She whimpers and nods against my neck, where she’s kissing and licking me like I’m delicious.
I push her back into the mattress gently and she spreads her legs wide, submissive and trusting—and I fucking love it.
I grab my cock and give it a squeeze while I just stare at her—all that glorious peaches and cream skin. The smattering of freckles. The rise and fall of her heavy breasts as she breathes, watching me back with her warm velvet eyes.
“Fuck, you are so goddamn beautiful,” I tell her because it’s true. Because I can’t not let her know how gorgeous she is.
Then I fall face first into her sweet pussy and I breathe her in. Christ, she’s wet. Sweet and tangy and fucking amazing as I lick her from her small, puckered hole to that tight little nubbin that’s just begging for my attention.
Eating her out is definitely one of my top five favorite pastimes.
And my sexy little Princess?
Well, she lets me know exactly how she feels about my ministrations.
Yeah, she does.
Sloane isn’t passive in this.
She’s moaning and rocking her hips against my face. She is so turned on by me that she’s pulling my hair, calling my name—and I love every second of it.
So much that I’m leaking precum onto the sheets.
The second she starts to come, I move. I slide up her body and push inside with zero resistance.
“Micah!” she yells my name, and I have to admit, I love it.
“Fuck. You’re so tight,” I groan, rutting into her.
Her pussy clenches around my length. I reach between us, using our slick to rub her sweet clit.
I pound into her now, not even trying to control my movements. She feels so good surrounding me. So soft and warm and fucking wet.
“Micah! Oh my God,” she shouts—and one orgasm becomes two.
I rise up on one hand, watching her eyes roll back as I pinch her clit between two fingers, shoving my cock in as deep as I can go—then I start coming with her.
And it’s even better than last night.
Afterward? With Sloane tucked safely in my arms, I find myself wondering how I ever thought this cabin was complete before she walked into it.
We nap for almost an hour.
When we wake, she looks at me shyly, but I won’t have that. I kiss her long and deep and then, we shower, get dressed, and head into town.
Our first stop is her apartment.
She unlocks the door and immediately starts reaching for a clean shirt.
“Might as well pack a bag, Princess.”
She pauses.
“What?”
I lean against the bedroom door, folding my arms.
“I'm not letting you out of my sight.”
Her expression softens immediately.
“You mean because those guys are still out there?”
“There is that.”
She nods without argument.
“Okay.”
Then she starts packing a weekend bag.
Just a weekend bag.
I watch her fold jeans.
Grab a toothbrush.
A charger.
A couple T-shirts.
She thinks she's coming back here in a few days.
I should correct her.
Tell her the truth.
Tell her I'm already picturing every drawer in my cabin filled with her clothes.
Tell her I want her books on my shelves.
Her shampoo in my shower.
Her coffee mug beside mine every morning.
I should tell her I don't want weekends or dinner dates.
I want forever.
The words lodge somewhere behind my ribs.
I don't say them.
Coward.
I've got a strict no-lies policy. I promised her that.
Still, I wonder if lying by omission counts.
Because I sure as hell don't tell her I'm already planning how to move the rest of her things into my cabin.
But I sure as fuck am. Because Sloane O’Brien is mine now.
No take backs.