Chapter 19
MICAH
Ilay there on the pier with Joy curled against me, her head on my chest, her breath warm and steady against my skin.
The marsh whispered around us, the water lapping like some indifferent heartbeat, and for a few stolen seconds, I let myself pretend this was enough.
That the world could shrink down to this—her body soft and spent, the salt air thick in my lungs, the fading light turning everything gold and forgiving.
But it wasn't enough.
It never would be.
Images of my father flickered at the edges of my mind, uninvited ghosts slipping through cracks I thought I'd sealed years ago. His face—older, harder, but undeniably him—twisted something in my gut.
The man who'd taught me to shoot, to track, to survive.
The man who'd vanished like smoke from a family that needed him.
Dead, I'd told myself. Gone. Better that way.
But alive? Standing there in that room like he had a right to breathe the same air?
I shoved it down. Buried it under the feel of Joy's fingers moving on my abdomen, her touch light as if she knew exactly how to tether me without pulling too hard.
She was a drug, this woman—soft where I was jagged, open where I was locked tight. I could get drunk on her, numb the roar in my head with her scent, her sighs, the way her body yielded and demanded all at once.
Forget the betrayal burning in my chest, the rage simmering like a live wire. Go somewhere else entirely, where fathers didn't rise from the grave and sons didn't have to face the rot they'd built their lives on.
But contradictions clawed at me.
I wanted to lose myself in her, but every brush of her skin reminded me I didn't deserve the escape. She was light, clean, untouched by the shadows that clung to me.
And here I was, dragging her into the dark—literally, on this forgotten pier where the water could swallow secrets whole.
Part of me reveled in it, the possession, the claim.
Another part hated myself for tainting her.
She lifted her head, her eyes searching mine in the dimming light. "Micah?"
I forced a nod, my hand sliding up her back to cup her nape. "Yeah."
"You okay?"
No. Far from it.
But her concern wrapped around me like a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge. I kissed her forehead, tasting salt and sweetness. "Better now."
She didn't push. Didn't demand answers I wasn't ready to give.
Instead, she nestled closer, her body fitting against mine like it had been shaped for exactly that purpose. We lay there a while longer, the night creeping in, stars pricking the sky one by one.
The contradictions warred—peace in her arms, chaos in my skull. Father's voice echoing: Make it quick, son. Clean kills are merciful kills.
But nothing about this was clean.
Finally, I shifted, sitting up and pulling her with me. The pier creaked under our weight, a reminder we couldn't stay here forever.
"I want to take you back to the hotel."
She blinked, surprise flickering across her face. "Now?"
"Yeah." I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, my thumb lingering. "If that's okay."
She searched my eyes, then nodded. "Okay."
We dressed in silence, the air between us charged but not tense. Her skirt whispered as she smoothed it down, and I caught myself watching, memorizing the way her hands moved—graceful, unhurried.
When we stood, she slipped her hand into mine without a word. I squeezed, holding on like she was the only solid thing left.
She drove.
Her car was small, practical, smelling faintly of flowers and earth—like her shop had seeped into the upholstery. I slid into the passenger seat, feeling oversized and out of place, but when she reached over and laced her fingers with mine again, it settled something.
Her hand was warm, small in mine, but steady. A lifeline.
I stared out the window at the blurring lights of Charleston, the city sliding by like a half-remembered dream, while my thumb stroked her knuckles in slow circles.
Dad’s face tried to intrude—gray hair, tired eyes, that flinch when I'd snapped don't call me that—but I pushed it back, focusing on her. On this. Numbing the pain with the simple reality of her beside me.
We didn't talk much. Didn't need to.
The radio hummed low, some soft indie song about lost roads and found love, and I let it fill the space. Her thumb mirrored mine, a silent conversation in touch.
By the time we pulled up to the Palmetto Rose, the night had fully fallen, the hotel's brick facade glowing under streetlights like a sanctuary I didn't deserve.
Inside the suite, I locked the door behind us, the click echoing louder than it should have.
Joy turned to me, her eyes dark in the dim light, and something in her expression told me she knew what I needed.
Escape. Oblivion. Her.
I pulled her to me without a word, my mouth crashing down on hers. Urgent now. No slow build like on the pier. This was hunger—raw, demanding, chasing the numbness I craved.
She met me with equal fire, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer as if she could sense the storm raging inside.
My father's image flickered—standing in that doorway, alive, a lie—and I kissed her harder, drowning it in her taste.
"Shower," I growled against her lips, already backing her toward the bathroom.
She nodded, breathless, but then her hands were on me—pushing my shirt up, nails scraping my skin in a way that made me hiss.
We stripped in a frenzy—clothes hitting the floor in wet thuds from the marsh dampness clinging to them. The bathroom filled with steam as I cranked the water hot, scalding, the way I needed it to burn away the edges of my thoughts.
We stepped under the spray together, water cascading over us like a veil.
Joy's hair darkened, slicking to her skin, and she pressed me against the tile this time—her body pinning mine, small but determined.
I let her. Needed her to take control, to give me something other than the chaos in my head.
Her mouth found my neck, kissing, nipping, her hands roaming down my chest. I groaned, my head falling back against the wall as her fingers wrapped around my cock—bold, sure strokes that made my hips jerk.
"Joy—"
She looked up, water streaming down her face, eyes fierce. "Let me."
Fuck.
No virgin should know how to touch like that—teasing the head, twisting her wrist just right, pumping slow then fast until I was throbbing in her grip.
But she did. Like she'd unlocked some hidden part of herself, intuitive and hungry, knowing exactly what my fractured soul needed—her taking, me surrendering.
She dropped to her knees, water pounding her back. Her eyes met mine as she leaned in, tongue flicking out to taste the tip.
I groaned, one hand bracing the wall, the other tangling in her wet hair—not guiding, just holding.
She took me in her mouth—slow at first, lips stretching around me, tongue swirling. Then deeper, bolder, her hand working what she couldn't take. No hesitation. No shyness.
She sucked hard, hollowing her cheeks, her free hand cupping my balls, rolling them gently. The sensation hit like lightning—hot, overwhelming.
"Jesus—Joy—"
She hummed around me, the vibration shooting straight to my spine. Her eyes stayed on mine, dark with power, like she knew she had me undone. She took me deeper, throat relaxing in a way that made my vision blur, her hand stroking in rhythm.
I was lost.
Contradictions forgotten. My father's ghost silenced by her mouth, her touch, the way she owned me without apology.
She pulled back just as I teetered on the edge, standing and pressing her body to mine. "Not yet," she whispered, her voice husky.
I growled, spinning her to face the wall, but she turned in my arms, pushing me back instead. Her hands on my chest, guiding me to sit on the built-in bench.
She straddled me, sinking down onto my cock in one smooth motion—tight, hot, perfect.
We both groaned.
She rode me slow at first, grinding, her breasts brushing my chest. Then faster, her hands on my shoulders for leverage, hips rolling in a rhythm that had me gripping her ass hard.
"Like this?" she breathed, clenching around me deliberately.
"Fuck—yes—"
She leaned in, kissing me deep, her tongue mimicking the motion of her hips. One hand slid between us, fingers circling her clit as she rode harder.
The sight—her touching herself while taking me—pushed me closer.
I thrust up to meet her, but she controlled the pace, bold and demanding.
When she came, it was with my name on her lips, her body clenching around me, pulling me over. I spilled deep inside her, arms locking around her like she was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
We sagged together under the cooling spray, her forehead against mine.
I turned off the water, wrapping her in a towel, carrying her to the bed.
In the bedroom, the urgency shifted—deeper, slower.
She pushed me onto my back again, her eyes gleaming as she explored me like I was hers to discover.
She took me in her mouth again—slower this time, worshipful, her hands everywhere. She tilted my cock and buried her face under my balls, licking, sucking, demanding me to beg. I almost did.
Then she climbed up, turning to face away, sinking down reverse.
The view—her ass, her back arching—nearly undid me. Perfect. So fucking perfect.
I watched as her pussy lips stretched long every time she rose. Glorious.
She rode like that, one hand reaching back to grip my thigh, the other between her legs. I sat up, wrapping arms around her, one hand on her breast, the other joining hers on her clit.
Things I'd never done—never trusted myself to linger, to savor.
With her, I did.
Kissing the nape of her neck, whispering filthy praise in her ear as she ground against me. When she came again, I flipped her gently, entering from the side—spooning, deep and intimate, my hand splayed over her stomach like I could hold her together.
We moved like that forever—slow thrusts, her leg hooked over mine, my mouth on her shoulder. Lost in her, deeper and deeper, the contradictions fading as her body became my world.
Satiated. Sore. Sweating.
We collapsed together, her back to my chest, my arm draped over her.
For a moment, I was distracted—lost in the afterglow, the peace of her weight anchoring me. My father's ghost retreated, the pain numbed by her presence.
But it wasn't peace. Not really. Just a respite. A brief silence in the storm.
As my heart rate slowed, reality crept back. I couldn't stay here forever, tangled in her, pretending the world outside didn't exist.
The contradictions returned—wanting her, but knowing I brought danger to her door. The woman who'd visited her shop. Who was she? What did she want?
The questions gnawed, pulling me from the haze.
I had to find out. For Joy. For us.
Because whatever this was, it wasn't over.
It was just beginning.