Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
DAKOTA
The morning light was bleak and gray, filtering through the pines surrounding Micah’s house.
I’d heard Mason leave last night while laying in bed with Micah, so we were alone in the house now.
A mostly-untouched bowl of cereal sat on the table in front of me and I swirled my spoon around, watching the milk eddy in the wake.
Thoughts of the demon—Aamon—had made it difficult for me to sleep much, and I felt all those restless hours now tugging at my eyelids, slowing my brain.
I had a million questions about it, but I didn’t feel ready to ask them.
I didn’t feel ready for anything. I wished I could go back in time, back before I fucked up so bad with both Mason and Micah.
But there was no way for me to undo any of what happened.
Micah was working on his laptop, and he hadn’t spoken much to me all morning. My stomach twisted with nerves and self-hatred, the same compulsive need for reassurance I’d felt in all my relationships thrashing around inside my brain.
I knew I wouldn’t get that reassurance now.
Not with Micah knowing what he knew.
Not now that he’d confronted me about it.
But knowing that didn’t make the feeling go away.
My brain was incurably infected with this sickness—among many others.
It spread like rot in my skull, digging deep and irreversible.
I didn’t want it to, but it did. And Micah wasn’t talking to me about anything, despite what he’d said in my ear with his and Mason’s fingers inside of me.
Go on, pretend this is your first time letting him touch you like this.
But remember I always know when you’re lying, Masters.
I bit down on my tongue, hard, trying to focus on breathing through my nose. Trying to find a way to get out of the mess I’d landed myself in. Trying to focus on being a more stable, rational, self-assured person.
Micah’s typing was too fast, too important-sounding, too sure.
Fuck.
I’ll never be that person.
I’m messy and annoying and needy and I can’t fucking stop myself from being that way.
Why would he say that then never bring it up again?
Why have me stay at his house, sleep in his bed, sit with him at breakfast, if he knew I’d been unfaithful?
Why do any of this? The cereal I was eating now had been bought solely for me.
There was shampoo and conditioner and body wash and a razor in his shower, also for me.
He’d bought it all for me, knowing what he knew.
Did that mean he wasn’t bothered?
I tightened my jaw, crushing my tongue harder between my molars, feeling the loop quickening in my brain, in my thoughts. The cyclical anxiety.
All of it was only made worse by the urgency I felt because of the demon. My own death was getting closer, circling me, leaving the distant horizon where it’d long resided to finally show itself to me. It’d been happening since the day I met Mason; I only realized it fully now.
How much time do I have left?
“Are you mad at me?” I asked before I could stop myself. Immediately, my lips rolled together as if I could somehow force the words back into my mouth.
I regretted it the second I said it, because I didn’t really want to hear Micah’s answer. Small, naive parts of me were still hoping he’d say no, and I wouldn’t be able to protect those parts once he answered.
It was a question I’d asked him before, but I had a feeling his response was going to be different this time.
Silver-blue eyes lifted, meeting mine, holding so many secrets I couldn’t even begin to untangle them. I knew next to nothing about Micah, and I felt it more with each second I spent in his company. Somehow, I even knew more about Mason than him.
“Yes. I’m angry with you.”
Despite expecting it, I still flinched.
My face paled and I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the handle of my spoon. The heat in the house kicked off, the room suddenly feeling so much quieter in the absence of air blowing noisily through vents. I hadn’t even noticed the background noise until it disappeared.
It took all of my bravery just to keep eye contact with Micah.
“For what?” I managed to ask because I needed him to confirm my exact wrongdoing, all my muscles wound up tight with the need to run. But we’d never last if we didn’t talk about this.
And I needed him to last. Needed it so fucking badly.
“For what?”
I kept quiet, shame warming my cheeks.
“If we talk about this, are you going to throw another one of my glasses on the ground?” He tipped his head to the side, his emotion unreadable.
“Both of you have that in common, you know. Breaking my shit when you’re mad.
I wonder why that is. Wonder what seems so disposable about my belongings to you both. ”
My lips twisted to the side, my heart beating hard and fast. Guilt injected tremors through my limbs, sparked a twitch in my fingers.
“To be clear, I’m talking about Mason. The man you’ve been fucking behind my back.”
Tightness spanned across my chest and my hands shook more, nausea turning my stomach.
Every physical reaction he dragged from my body pushed me further towards the yawning chasm of insanity I’d been trying to keep myself from falling into for weeks.
It was the sort of thing I’d never be able to claw out of on my own, and at this point, I wasn’t sure I had anyone left to help me back to the light.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered honestly. I was sorry.
“Doesn’t change anything.” Micah leaned back and crossed his arms.
“If you knew, why didn’t you do anything to stop it?
” Angry heat pulsed in my flushed cheeks, a million different irrational emotions racing through my bloodstream.
Micah could probably feel all of them, if he cared to look inside my head now.
I blinked away the tears threatening to gather in my eyes.
“Tell me something, Masters.” He sat forward, bracing his forearms on the edge of the table, leaning into my space, ignoring my question. My pulse kicked up even higher. He always had a way of making me feel cornered. “Did you think I was stupid, or I just didn’t care?”
“I don’t think you’re stupid,” I breathed shakily.
“Seems like you do.”
“I don’t.” My hands tightened into fists, fingernails pressing into my palms.
“Well I know you’d never think I wouldn’t care about this.
So you must think I’m a fucking moron who can’t tell when his girl is screwing another man.
In his own house, nonetheless.” He tilted his head, his tone shifting to be even meaner, almost like he was making fun of what I’d done. “All that sneaking around.”
Somehow, I was able to ignore everything he’d said except for two very vital words.
His girl.
My heart fluttered, a tiny spark of hope blinking through my panic.
Maybe everything would be fine. He was mad but he wasn’t done with me.
“I don’t think you’re a moron and I’m sorry—”
“Not sorry enough to stop, though, right?” His gaze was cold, observing me, picking apart my expression, reading every hope and fear and anxiety in my eyes. All the instability crashing over my thoughts.
“Micah—”
“Answer the question.”
“I don’t—”
“Hey. You spent weeks lying to me; don’t get shy now. Lie to me again.” He leaned even further into my space, and I tightened my fists until the pressure of my fingernails on my palms hurt. “Or tell me the truth. Up to you.”
“It’s a rhetorical fucking question, Micah. I’m not going to answer it,” I snapped, pushing my chair out and getting to my feet. My heart was back to pounding hard in my chest, slamming on my ribcage like a terrified, trapped bird.
I needed to leave, but I was afraid he wouldn’t stop me if I tried.
He would let me go, and that would be it.
But I couldn’t keep sitting here having this conversation, feeling like I was about to start hyperventilating because I couldn’t think straight around him. He was impossible to read, and it made me act in ways I knew I shouldn’t.
Without giving myself another second to overthink and doubt my decision, I turned and stalked out of the kitchen.
The sound of Micah’s chair scraping on the hardwood a second later both soothed me and terrified me.
I rushed into the living room, bare feet darting fast over the rug towards the stairs, Micah’s footsteps right behind me.
Good. This is good. He grabbed me and yanked me back into him, my stomach flipping with his harshness, then took a few long strides across the room before setting me on my feet again—in front of the mirror.
I stared at him through the reflection, my hair a mess and my t-shirt riding up where he held me.
“This isn’t over,” he said, one hand anchored on my hip and the other sliding up my front to collar my throat, his muscled body solid at my back. I leaned helplessly into his hold, panting softly.
It was near-instant, the way those words soothed me, the way his touch grounded me.
Like I was no longer spiraling out of control, dancing on the edge of insanity; I was spiraling right into him.
My endless forest. I wanted to be deeper with each breath into my lungs.
“I’m not done with you,” he continued. “You’ve burrowed your way to lethal depths inside my fucking brain, and I’m not half as worried about that as I should be. I’m never going to be done with you. I can’t be. No matter what you do to me.”
I nodded, eyes glassed over, heat building low in my belly, Micah’s darkness surrounding me. The speed at which his reassurance could calm me down was unreal. God, I need to get a grip on myself.
“But I’m not going to make this easy for you.” His hand flexed on my throat, grip tightening, cutting the blood flow to my brain and making me dizzy.
I shook my head, agreeing with his decision.
I don’t want easy.
I don’t deserve easy.
Not from you.
“How many times did you fuck him?”
A frown tugged on my lips, and I knew I should answer him, but…
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know. A lot of times.”
He sighed, hand sliding off my throat, down my chest, then up under my t-shirt. “A lot of times,” Micah echoed. His hand moved along my waist, tracing the divots between my ribs, warm against my skin. He dipped his head to press his nose to my hair, inhaling deeply. “You’re killing me, Masters.”
I stared at him desperately in the mirror.
I’m sorry.
“I told you I was going to take care of you, and I am,” Micah continued. The hand on my hip moved downward and I suppressed a whine.
He slid his fingers between my legs, pressing on me through my sleep shorts.
I squeezed my thighs together at the feeling of his fingers brushing my clit through the cotton.
His hands were so big on my body, so firm, so dominant, and I would do anything he wanted as long as he didn’t stop holding me like this.
Micah leaned his head down to put his mouth at my ear, lowering his voice. “But you wanted to play games.”
He pushed his hand up to cup my breast, making me whimper, even as dread coursed through my veins. I rocked my hips into his hand, the heat of his palm covering my pussy, his fingers touching the wet spot soaking the fabric. His cock pressed into the curve of my ass, hard and hot and angry.
“So we’re going to play fucking games.”
“What does that mean?” I breathed, warmth blooming in my core.
“You wanted to fuck with me,” Micah said, letting me grind on his palm. “And now I’m going to fuck with you.”
I sank my teeth into my lower lip, eyes heavy-lidded but still locked right on his.
“I know you don’t like it when I’m angry with you, but you’re going to have to learn to deal with that. You pissed me off. You fucked me up.” He skimmed his middle finger over to the hem of my sleep shorts, pushing them to the side, stretching the fabric to expose my pussy.
“You could’ve stopped me,” I moaned as he slowly pushed a finger inside of me.
“You could’ve been faithful.” He shoved his finger deeper, curling it towards my belly, making my thighs clench. “But you like lying too much.”
Micah added a second finger, his body surrounding mine, and I could hardly keep myself upright.
“That’s okay, though. You know why?”
“Why?” I managed to choke out through the pleasure blurring my thoughts.
He bent his head forward to lick a possessive line up the side of my neck, making me shiver, stopping at my ear again. His teeth scraped my skin when he spoke again. “Because I’ve lied to you a lot more than you’ve lied to me.”
In an instant, he’d entirely removed his touch from my body and was walking back into the kitchen, not turning back to look at me.
My heart sank, my pulse pounding in my ears, dread replacing the butterflies in my stomach, ice wrapping around my overheated body.
I stared at his back, shaken by his abrupt departure, still buzzing from the memory of his hands on me.
His words echoed in my mind. I’ve lied to you a lot more than you’ve lied to me.
They confirmed a truth I’d long suspected but never had proof for.
But I didn’t say anything else, didn’t try to go to him.
I was rational enough to know that wouldn’t work now.
There was only one choice left for me: let Micah Killshaw fuck me up even more than he already had.