Chapter 58
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
I took the crazy pills. I don’t know what else to do. I want off this train.
Crazy how a small pill makes everything feel…
muted. I’m tired all the time, and my brain is zapping, but at least I don’t feel like putting my fist through the shower.
That’s entirely too much effort. I don’t feel better either, although my doc says it hasn’t been long enough.
Is feeling numb better than feeling everything?
I grind my teeth, staring up at that same ceiling. This is lame. Micah has done so much for me, and all I’ve done is lose my mind and lie around doing nothing.
I need to get out of here. Need to feel something. Anything.
I was told my ability to orgasm might disappear on these meds. I’ve yet to test it because I’m afraid of what I might find out.
I glance at the door. Micah is out getting food. I wonder what he’d think if he came back and I was beating one out?
Even thinking about Micah is making a bit of blood rush to my groin. I shouldn't be thinking about him; I should be letting him move on. Should be letting him find someone not quite so damaged.
Even the thought sends boiling rage through me.
Which just confirms I’m a selfish asshole because I don’t want Micah to be with anyone else. The thought makes me want to murder someone.
It’s crazy how quickly I’ve become attached to the game Micah wants to play. The one like the movies where maybe, just maybe, we can be happy.
If I can get my shit together.
Micah. Micah with his bright blue hair. I’ll admit, I love it. It just suits him, like the little ray of color that he is.
I remember the way his hand brushed mine today when he left for the store. His hand with the veins bulging. His strong hand, the one that was all over my waist to tattoo me.
My dick is already hard. It doesn’t take much with Micah. I’ve been hard for so long; I’ve just refused to do anything about it. Almost like I’m punishing myself.
My dick throbs, and I slip my hand into my pants. I’ll just edge myself. I don’t deserve to come. As I stroke, I glance at the door.
What if he came in right now?
The familiar tingle of pleasure runs through me. I know if Micah was caught in the doorway and I told him to come watch, he would. His pupils would blow. In the harsh light of the room, I’m sure it will make the circles under his eyes look even darker.
I pause. Micah has been looking stressed lately, although every time I talk to him, his eyes soften. When I ask him what’s wrong, he says nothing, and his eyes soften again. Then he gets us a snack, turns on the TV, and usually passes out well before me.
He’s exhausted. Maybe his bruises are still hurting?
I sit up straighter. There’s nothing really to do about bruises; you just gotta let them heal, but maybe he’s been going too hard and too fast. He has been picking up the slack with me, doing my laundry without comment, making all the food choices, and forcing Minky, Princess, and me to go out on walks.
While I’ve been wallowing in my own shit, he’s been the glue holding us together, even though that has to be hard as shit.
My chest feels tight, and a wet blanket of shame drops over my shoulders and back. Tucking myself back into my pants, I stand, spinning in a circle in the room. There isn’t much to tidy, but I make the beds anyway, disturbing Minky.
There’s the sound of Micah’s voice outside the door. He sounds happy, but I scan his voice for fatigue anyway. He unlocks the door and comes inside.
“She did, but that doesn’t mean you can act like you’re gonna spray her.”
I straighten.
Micah puts Princess down with a huff. “Pain in my tush, you know that?” He looks up at me and smiles wide.
Is it a real smile or is he trying to appease me? Or hide pain? I scan the corners of his eyes to see if they’re crinkling.
They are.
“Hey, hottie.” He moves as if he’s going to breeze past me. That hot body is lithe despite his fatigue. His tattoos are out today, and fuck, if it doesn’t make my dick harder. But he’s moving away from me. Moving out of my grasp.
I reach out and grab his hips, pulling him into me. Even his proximity lights up my entire body, and sparks fly where my hands are touching him.
Micah sucks in a breath of air and looks up at me with those blue eyes. They look more icy today, and I can’t tell if it’s the harsh lighting or maybe his mood.
“Hey,” I say, glancing at his lips to see what his reaction will be.
Micah swallows hard, watching the movement of my eyes.
I want to dig my fingers into his hips, but I don’t want to hurt him if he’s still healing, and I plan on finding that out. I want to pull him to me and press his hips into my thigh so he can grind against it, but then I stop myself, pulling him away gently.
“Jiminy Cricket,” Micah breathes, his eyelashes fluttering. “Well, hello to you, too.” He has that glazed look on his face that makes a bolt of pride shoot through me. I did that with just a touch. How far can I push him with more?
No! Focus.
“Take your shirt off,” I demand.
Before I can blink, it’s off, and Micah is looking up at me. Fuck, he has such a hot body, layered with slim muscle and ink. A body I want to sink into, to watch as it arches in pleasure. The pleasure I’m giving.
I bite my lip. “Bed.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Micah throws himself on the orange duvet.
I snort. I’ve never been called Daddy before, but Micah makes it sound so sassy and joyful. I can’t say I’m opposed.
No. Focus, Jesus.
“How are you feeling?” I move to stand next to him. I can still see a bit of bruising on the lower left side of his torso, although the color looks a hell of a lot better. It’s more yellow now and a lot lighter.
“Like a million bucks. A trillion if you put those hands on me.”
I will, but I tell myself it’s because I’m palpating his bruise and not because I want to feel Micah’s soft skin. Gently, I press along the boundary of the area. “Feel any pain?”
Micah’s breathing stays consistent. “Nope.” But as I touch, goosebumps erupt over his skin.
“Roll over,” I say, then realize I sound bossy as hell. “Please.”
Micah obeys immediately, and for a second, I’m relieved that his head isn’t facing me so he doesn’t see the boner I’m sporting. Micah turns his head to face it, his face right at the perfect level to be in my groin.
I pull in a breath. Okay, well, he’s gonna see it then.
I look over his back. I don’t see any visible bruising, but I’m concerned about bruising on his ribs, since they might not show. It’s harder to see his breathing here, so I say, “What are you feeling?”
“I uh…” Micah clears his throat. “Nothing appropriate, so maybe ask me something else, Mr. Doctor man.”
I press on his ribs. I definitely should ask him something else, but suddenly, all other questions have left my mind. What specific inappropriate thing was he thinking about?
But Micah has stopped talking, and I can’t see if the pressure is causing him to suck in a breath, so I say, “Tell me.”
“Well, I have a family history of heart attacks.” Micah pulls in a stuttered breath. I glance down at his face, at first concerned that the breathing pattern is because he’s in pain.
Only, Micah is stifling a laugh. “Oh, sorry, were you asking about the other thing?”
This little shit. I catch a glimpse of Micah’s eyes, and his pupils are blown. Blown like he’s aroused. Although it could also be from pain. And yet, the eyes that are usually stressed toss me a sassy look. That look shoots straight to my dick.
He’s challenging me.
I lean over, running my hand up Micah’s back until it sits at the base of his neck, where I squeeze just hard enough so he knows I caught that look. “As the healthcare professional, I asked you what you were feeling. Anything other than a detailed reply will be counterproductive to your healing.”
Micah pulls in a breath, and goosebumps erupt down his arms.
Ah, so I am reading him right–he likes this. I lean down so my lips are by his ear and ask, “What are you feeling, Micah? Be specific.”
There’s an audible swallow, then Micah says, “Hot. And cold, somehow.”
A thrill tingles under my skin. He’s obeying.
“More.” I run the hand that had been on his neck back down his back, careful to avoid any place I know he’s sore.
“I uh…hard. Very hard.” Micah adjusts his hips.
“Hard?” I raise an eyebrow. It’s my turn to be the asshole now. “What does that mean?”
Micah groans. “You know damn well what that means.”
“I’ve learned not to assume. Hard is an adjective that could be applied to things like breathing, seeing, feeling—“
“My dick! My dick is hard.”
I grin. What a satisfying little game he wants to play. My own dick is hard too, throbbing actually. I love his defiance even though he’s basically trembling under my touch.
“Good boy,” I say, earning an actual shiver. “Healing can be stressful on the body. Would you say you’ve been stressed?”
“Yeah.” There’s a pause, and Micah starts holding his breath, and then he backtracks quickly. “I mean, not really. Not comparatively, really, I’m fin—“
“Micah.” He’s talking quickly, and he’s started to tense again. “Healing can be stressful on the body. So the correct answer to that is yes. Say yes.”
There’s a pause, then Micah relaxes again. Like he’s taking in what I say and allowing it to calm his mind.
“Yes.”
That makes me feel warm inside.
I run my hands up his back. “There seems to be a lot of pent-up energy in your body. It’s not recommended that you maintain this state, as it can cause additional stress. Exercise or some form of release can always help with that.”
“Release?” Micah squeaks, then he buries his head in the pillow.
Now I’m remembering how hot it was getting Micah off in the car, the little sounds he made, and how sensitive he was.
How much his cock responded in my hand in the shower.
I wonder how his pretty little asshole would look stretched around my dick.
What if we finish what we started all those weeks ago?
Fuck. Even the thought has my heart racing. Would he let me?