Chapter 17 #2
He seems to understand. His hands move with deliberate gentleness, peeling away my shirt.
His palms replace the fabric, warm and calloused as they map my ribs, my stomach, the underside of my breasts.
Every touch is careful, tender, nothing like the rough urgency that left bruises I wore like badges.
This is different. This is him showing me what we could be if I let myself trust it.
My bra disappears. Then his mouth is on my breast, tongue circling my nipple with patient attention that steals my breath. He takes his time, sucking gently, then harder when I arch into him. The sensation shoots straight between my thighs, has me squirming beneath his weight.
"Micah." My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him there.
He hums against my skin, the vibration drawing a whimper from my throat.
His teeth graze my nipple and I jerk, pleasure spiking sharp and sweet.
He soothes it with his tongue before moving to my other breast, giving it the same devoted attention while his hand keeps working the first, thumb circling the wet peak until I'm trembling.
By the time he kisses down my stomach, I'm shaking for entirely different reasons than exhaustion. His fingers hook into my pants, pull them down along with my underwear in one smooth motion. The air against my overheated skin draws a gasp.
He positions himself between my spread thighs, broad shoulders forcing them wider. The vulnerability of it brings more tears, but these mix with anticipation instead of just fear.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, and the raw honesty in his voice cracks through my defenses. "So fucking beautiful, Sarah."
His breath ghosts across my inner thigh. I feel the heat of his mouth before he presses an open kiss there, tongue tasting skin. He works his way higher with torturous slowness, kissing and licking until I'm squirming, aching for him to reach where I need him most.
"Please." The word breaks on a sob.
"I've got you." His breath ghosts directly over my clit and I nearly come apart from that alone. "Just feel, Sarah. Let me take care of you."
When his tongue finally makes contact, I cry out. The sensation floods through me—wet heat and perfect pressure as he licks a slow, thorough line up my center. He groans against me like I taste good, like this is for his pleasure as much as mine.
His tongue circles my clit with the same patient attention he gave my breasts—slow circles, then faster, gentle pressure, then firmer when I gasp and my hips buck.
He slides his hands under my ass, tilts me exactly where he wants me, and works me with the focused intensity of a man who has all night.
The pleasure builds in waves. Each stroke of his tongue pushes me higher, draws whimpers and gasps and incoherent pleas. He learns what I like—the pressure that steals my breath, the rhythm that has me grinding against his mouth, the spot that obliterates coherent thought.
When he slides two fingers inside me, the stretch combines with the slick glide of his tongue and I shatter.
The orgasm rolls through me gentle and devastating, not the sharp-edged release from the analysis room but something deeper that has me sobbing his name while he works me through it.
His fingers curl inside me, finding that perfect spot, and another wave crashes over me before the first fully fades.
He doesn't stop until I'm boneless and quaking, aftershocks pulsing through me with each breath. Only then does he kiss his way back up my body, his weight settling between my thighs.
I taste myself on his lips when he kisses me. The intimacy of it sends fresh tremors through my oversensitive body.
His cock presses against my entrance, thick and hard and real. When he starts to push inside, the stretch is exquisite—slow and deliberate, giving me time to adjust to every inch.
"Still with me?" His voice is rough, strained with the effort of going slow.
"Yes." I grip his shoulders, pull him deeper. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He sinks in fully and we both groan. The feeling of him inside me, filling me completely with nothing between us, tears through the last of my carefully constructed walls. More tears spill but this time pleasure tangles with the emotion, sharpens everything.
He starts to move. Each stroke is slow and measured, a deliberate drag that lights up every nerve ending. It's not the rough claiming from before but something that feels like worship, like he's trying to prove with his body what words can't fully convey.
I wrap my legs around his waist, changing the angle so he hits deeper. The sensation steals my breath, coils fresh heat low in my belly despite the orgasm still pulsing through me.
"That's it," he murmurs against my mouth. "Take what you need."
His rhythm stays steady, unhurried. One hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit and circling with perfect pressure. The combination of his cock filling me and his fingers working my clit builds another orgasm faster than should be possible.
"I choose you," he says against my mouth, hips never faltering in their rhythm. "Every time. Every mission. Every risk. I choose you."
The words combined with the relentless pleasure undo me completely.
I come apart beneath him crying and shaking, clenching around his cock while he groans and buries his face in my neck.
The orgasm pulls from somewhere deeper than physical sensation, dragging years of loss and longing and desperate need to the surface.
He follows me over with a strangled version of my name, hips jerking as he comes. I feel the pulse of it inside me, feel him quaking with the same intensity I am. The intimacy of it—no barriers, nothing held back—draws more tears.
Afterward, he stays inside me, both of us trembling with the aftermath. His weight grounds me, his heartbeat thundering against mine.
Eventually he pulls out carefully, leaving me feeling empty and oversensitive. He shifts us so I'm tucked against him, one arm wrapped securely around me while the other pulls the blanket over our cooling skin.
"You're okay," he murmurs against my hair. "I've got you. You're safe."
Safe. The word should be laughable given everything we face. But wrapped in his arms, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek, feeling the wetness of him and me combined between my thighs, I believe it.
The tears slow. Exhaustion drags at me with irresistible weight now that the emotional storm has passed.
"Sleep," Micah says quietly. "I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He pulls the blanket higher, tucks me more securely against him. "I'm not going anywhere."
I close my eyes, let myself drift in the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing. For the first time in days, sleep comes without the nightmares chasing me under.
My internal clock wakes me. The overhead lights are still dimmed to night mode, casting the quarters in soft shadow. No windows, no sunlight—just the quiet hum of ventilation and the warmth of Micah's body against mine.
He's still here, exactly where he promised to be, his arms wrapped around me, his breathing deep and even in sleep. The stubble on his jaw has darkened overnight, and even in the dim light I can see the exhaustion lines around his eyes haven't eased.
I let myself have this moment, this quiet proof that he kept his word.
Then my tablet chimes with an incoming priority alert.
Micah wakes instantly, the operator in him shifting from sleep to alert in heartbeats. I reach for the tablet, open the encrypted message from Kane.
My stomach drops as I read.
"What is it?" Micah asks, already moving to read over my shoulder.
"Reeve's team." I pull up the tracking data Cross sent. "They've changed direction. They're heading toward this mountain range instead of continuing the search grid."
"He's narrowing the search." Micah's voice goes cold and flat. "Somehow he's eliminated enough territory to focus on this area."
"How?" My fingers tremble as I trace the new trajectory. "We closed the intelligence leak. We restructured the entire network. There's no way he should have—"
"It doesn't matter how." Micah's already reaching for his clothes, moving with lethal efficiency. "Kane's team needs to intercept before Reeve can get close enough to confirm anything. If he reaches visual range of this valley, Echo Base could be compromised."
I check the timeline Cross provided. "Days out. Maybe less if he increases pace."
"Then we have no time." Micah pulls on his shirt, reaches for his weapon. "Get dressed. Kane will want immediate briefing."
I move automatically, pulling on clothes while my brain tries to process the implications. Everything we built, every protocol we implemented, every safeguard we created—and Reeve still found us.
No. Not found. He's heading this direction but the data doesn't show confirmation. Just a trajectory change that could mean a dozen things.
But my gut says Micah's right. Somehow, Reeve knows.
"Sarah." Micah's voice pulls me back. "We did everything right. The protocols are solid. Whatever information Reeve has, it didn't come from our network."
"Then where?"
"That's what we're about to find out." He reaches for me, pulls me in for one quick, fierce kiss. "But first, we brief Kane. The operation launches today."
The weight of it settles over me like body armor. Kane, Dylan, Stryker, and Mercer are heading into combat against a Committee kill team. Micah's staying here to coordinate support and security while I maintain communications.
Everything we feared, everything we planned for, is happening faster than anyone anticipated.
I follow Micah through corridors already showing signs of pre-dawn activity. Within the hour, the team will know. They'll understand what the change in Reeve's trajectory means.
Within the hour, Kane's team rolls out.
All I can do is trust the network we built and pray Kane gets to Reeve before Reeve gets to us.