28. Micah #2
“You told me to come over,” he says, voice rough like he’s been holding his breath since he left his dorm. His eyes drag over m e—bare chest, sweatpants tenting—and he swallows hard.
The door clicks shut. That’s all it takes.
I’m on him in two strides, slamming him into the wall and kissing him as if I’ve been starving for days. He gasps against my mouth, and I use it, sliding my tongue past his lips, tasting the faintest hint of mint and need.
His hands grip my waist. trying to hold on while I devour him. My cock grinds against his through our sweats, and he moans, hips jerking.
“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” I mutter against his mouth, already tugging his hoodie up. My hands find warm skin, his abs jumping under my touch. “Couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth, your hole—fuck, Colt.”
He shivers, and that little whimper escapes again—the one that kills me. “Micah…”
“Yeah, baby. I got you.” I nip his neck, slide a hand down the back of his joggers, fingers finding bare skin. He’s not wearing underwear. My cock jerks at the realization.
“You came here like this?” I growl, fingers sliding between his cheeks to tease his hole. “Bare under your sweats, ready for me?”
He groans, hiding his face in my shoulder. “I… yeah. I couldn’t stop thinking about it either.”
“God, you’re killing me.” I spin him toward the bed, pushing him down until he’s on his back, eyes hazy and wanting. He reaches for me, unable to stop himself, and I strip my sweats off in one motion, my cock springing free.
His gaze locks on it, pupils blown. “Micah…”
“Get those off,” I order, jerking my chin at his joggers.
He obeys, shoving them down, cock hard and already leakin g. My chest tightens at the sight. I grab the lube and condoms from the desk, dropping them onto the bed.
“You bring these for me?” I ask, kneeling between his legs.
“Yeah,” he admits, voice barely a whisper. “I wanted you to… y’know…”
“Fuck you?” I supply, grinning as I stroke my hand up his thigh, thumb brushing his balls.
He nods, shivering. “Yeah. Please.”
The word please snaps the last thread of control I had.
I lube my fingers and slide one against his hole, watching it twitch and welcome me. He gasps, back arching, and I press in slow, savoring the tight heat.
“God, you’re perfect,” I groan, leaning down to kiss him again as he clutches at my shoulders. “Gonna open you up so good, baby. Gonna make you mine all over again.”
He moans into my mouth, hips rocking, and my cock throbs with the promise of finally being inside him.
His body gives around my finger, tight heat drawing me in, and I can’t help the groan that rumbles out of me.
“God, you’re so tight,” I rasp, kissing him again, my other hand palming his cock, slick from his pre-cum. “You’re gonna feel so good around me, Colt. So fucking good.”
He whimpers, hips canting up into my hand, and I slide my finger in deeper, curling it just enough to make him gasp. His legs tremble against my sides.
“Micah,” he breathes, voice all cracked and needy.
“Yeah, baby. Say my name like that. Fuck, I’ll give you anything you want if you keep begging for me.”
I pop the lube open again, slicking my fingers, and press a second inside him. He hisses, gripping my shoulders tight, face flushing as his thighs spread wider for me .
“That’s it,” I murmur against his jaw, teeth scraping lightly. “Open up for me. You know I’ll take care of you.”
He nods frantically, biting his lip, his cock leaking against his stomach. My chest tightens—he’s trembling already, and I’ve barely started.
“You feel me?” I twist my fingers gently, scissoring him open, feeling him flutter around me. “You’re taking me so good. Gonna take my cock like a champ, huh?”
A moan tears from his throat, raw and helpless. “Y-yeah. God, Micah, I want it?—”
“Shhh,” I soothe, leaning down to suck a mark onto his collarbone, leaving him shivering. “I know what you want. I got you.”
By the time the third finger slides in, he’s a mess—panting, writhing, whispering my name. My cock’s so hard it aches, leaking against his thigh as I watch him open for me.
“You ready for me, Golden Boy?” I murmur, slicking a condom on with shaking hands.
“Y-yeah,” he gasps, nodding so fast his hair flops into his eyes. “Please?—”
Lubing my shaft up, I line up and push the blunt head of my cock against his hole, and the heat nearly knocks the wind out of me. I groan low, gripping his hips.
“Fuck—you feel like heaven,” I mutter, inching in, watching his pretty mouth fall open. “So tight, so perfect. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”
His back arches as I sink deeper, slow but relentless, until I’m all the way in and my chest is pressed to his. His cock trapped between us. I can feel his heartbeat hammering against me.
“Micah,” he whines, clinging to me. “Oh my God?—”
I kiss him hard, swallowing his noises as I start to move, slow a t first, then deeper, harder. The stretch, the slide, the way he squeezes me with every thrust—it’s all I’ve ever wanted.
“Look at you,” I groan, breaking the kiss to watch his flushed face, the way his eyes flutter half-shut. “Taking my cock like you were made for it. You love this, huh? Being my good boy?”
He nods, whimpering, and I feel him clamp down, his body’s answering for him. My hips stutter.
“Fuck—do that again and I’m not gonna last,” I grit out, kissing him filthy, desperate, unable to stop touching him. My hands roam—thighs, chest, neck—claiming every inch making it mine.
Every thrust makes him moan louder, and my brain short-circuits on the idea that anyone could hear him, that anyone could know he’s mine now, completely.
“Say it,” I pant, pounding into him now, chasing that edge. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m—fuck—I’m yours!” he cries, nails digging into my back. “Micah, I’m yours!”
And God help me, I believe him.
He’s trembling under me, sweat slicking his chest, his mouth falling open with every thrust. I can’t stop kissing him—his jaw, his lips, the corner of his mouth. I can’t get enough.
“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” I groan, hips slamming harder, the wet sound of me moving inside him filling the room. “You’re mine, you hear me? Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” he gasps, his voice raw. “I’m yours, Micah, I—fuck!”
I grip his thigh and push it higher, opening him even more, and the new angle rips a loud moan from him. His cock j erks against his stomach, smearing pre-cum across his abs.
“God, look at you,” I rasp, staring down at the mess I’m making of him. “My perfect little golden boy, spread out for me, letting me fuck you like this. Nobody’s ever had you like this, huh?”
“N-no—oh my God—” He arches, his hands fisting in the sheets. “Only you?—”
The words rip through me spreading the same as gasoline on fire. My chest aches with it.
I slide a hand down his stomach, gripping his cock, stroking in time with my thrusts. He jerks under me, muscles straining, and I feel him start to clamp down around me.
“That’s it,” I groan, teeth sinking into his shoulder, marking him where only we’ll know. “Come for me, Colt. Make a mess for me. I wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”
He wails, high and broken, and his whole body goes tight as he comes—hot and sticky over my hand and his stomach, his hole fluttering around me in perfect aftershocks.
The squeeze drags me over the edge. My hips stutter, and I bury myself deep, groaning into his neck as I spill into the condom, pulse after pulse of release leaving me shaking.
For a second, there’s nothing but the sound of our harsh breaths and the creak of the mattress under us. My heart’s hammering like I just sprinted a mile.
Slowly, I lift my head, watching him blink up at me, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to his damp forehead. He looks wrecked . Beautiful. Mine.
“Micah…” he whispers, voice raw. There’s something soft in his eyes that guts me, something I can’t let myself name.
I swallow hard, chest tight, and lean down to kiss him slowly . Different from the messy, hungry kisses before—this one lingers, as if I can’t help myself.
When I finally pull out, he whimpers, and the sight of him sprawled across the sheets, marked and spent, makes my cock twitch again. I tie off the condom and toss it, then grab a towel next to the bed to clean his stomach, my hands gentler than I mean for them to be.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. Just… holy shit.”
I smirk, but inside, my chest is a riot. I want to do it again. I want to keep him here all night, keep him shaking and begging until he can’t remember his own name.
Instead, I make myself lean back next to him on the mattress, dragging my hand through my hair.
This was supposed to be revenge. It was supposed to be me proving a point, taking him apart for how he destroyed me two years ago.
But now?
Now all I can think about is that I don’t want to stop.
Colton sags into the bed, boneless, his chest rising in shaky breaths. His skin is flushed and damp, his lashes heavy, and for a second I just lay there, staring.
I should get up. Clean us up. Put distance between us before my heart starts doing the thing I swore it wouldn’t.
But then he moves, slow and lazy, and presses himself into my side. His arm slides across my stomach, his head tucking against my chest where it belongs. I can feel his breath on my skin, soft and even.
“Colt…” I whisper, unsure if I should push him off or let him stay. My arms hover awkwardly in the air.
He makes a little noise, barely awake, more instinct than words, and curls closer. His leg hooks over mine, claiming me without even thinking about it.
I freeze. My chest is tight, and my heart’s doing double-time because this—this isn’t sex. This isn’t revenge. This is dangerous.
I tell myself to move. To shove him away.
Instead, my arms drop. One around his shoulders, one splayed across his back. My fingers find the soft curls at the nape of his neck, and I feel him sigh against me, sinking deeper into the mattress.
And God help me, I like it. I like the weight of him against me, the warmth, the trust. It’s addicting in a way I didn’t see coming.
I stare at the ceiling, listening to the slow shift of his breathing, the faint hum of traffic outside, the occasional shuffle of feet in the hall. My own eyes are growing heavy.
I came back to this college planning to get him out of my system. To take what I wanted and walk away. But with him curled against me, smelling like sweat and sex and us, I don’t move.
I let my hand drift in slow circles over his back. I let him hold me as though I’m something he needs. And eventually, against my better judgment, I fall asleep with him in my arms.
The soft chime of my phone alarm slices through the quiet, and for a second, I don’t know where I am.
Then I feel it—heat, heavy and solid, pressed against me. A bare arm draped across my stomach. A leg tangled with mine. The rise and fall of slow, even breathing against my chest.
Colton.
And he’s naked.
We’re both naked.
His cheek rests over my heart, his hair a soft mess against my collarbone. One of his thighs is slung across my hips, anchoring me to the bed. And the warmth of his skin against mine… Jesus.
My heart kicks hard, panic flaring so fast it leaves me dizzy.
This—this is not casual. This isn’t revenge. This is every fucked-up thing I ever wanted and swore I wouldn’t let myself touch again.
I stay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling as my alarm keeps buzzing on the nightstand. My chest is tight. My pulse is pounding.
I should move. Untangle myself. Pretend last night was just sex and nothing else.
But then he shifts in his sleep, rubbing his nose against my skin, attempting to burrow closer. His soft, warm cock brushes my hip as he sighs against my chest, and my body betrays me completely.
My hand is already in his hair, brushing through the strands, my thumb stroking the line of his spine where his arm drapes over me. His back is warm under my palm, smooth and strong. He makes this low, content hum, and it guts me.
If this was just about getting off, I wouldn’t be lying here memorizing the weight of him. The smell of him. The way he fits against me like he was always meant to.
I swallow hard, fighting the pull to stay. To keep him right here forever.
Instead, I force myself to breathe, to move slow. My arm slips from around him, and I carefully slide him off my chest. He murmurs in protest, his fingers twitching against my stomach, and it takes everything in me not to crawl back into him and never leave.
I grab my phone, silence the alarm, and tiptoe naked into the bathroom, heart still racing.
In the mirror, my hair’s a wreck. My neck is mottled with marks from his mouth, and my chest and stomach are littered with faint scratches. All of me smells like him.
Last night wasn’t just sex. And it sure as hell wasn’t revenge.
It was us .
And that terrifies me more than anything.