Chapter 77 #2
“I don’t want to get my jeans wet.” I gestured to the rock, water still soaking its surface, splashing up over its ridges and divots periodically when the waves crashed.
“You can sit on my lap.” Micah didn’t wait for me to agree before he sat down and put me on his lap, still hugging me, holding me safe and always.
I breathed deep, all the way to the bottom of my lungs, and held the air there for a moment before exhaling.
The tightness in my chest unwound more on every breath, the darkness in my thoughts sweeping away with the wind.
Bad mornings didn’t need to become bad days. Bad nights. Bad weeks or months. It was just a bad morning.
I wasn’t blind to the fact that I needed real therapy. Micah had talked to me about it before—said he’d pay for whatever would help me. But I didn’t feel ready yet.
Soon.
Maybe Mason and Micah could go to therapy too.
Sometimes immortality felt like a noose, but with them, it was freedom. We had time. Time to learn how to deal with all of this bullshit. Time to learn how to love each other the right way.
I relaxed further into Micah’s body, allowing the lullaby of the ocean to soothe me. Riptide-hypnosis. Mason, but shallower.
“Why did you used to ignore me during lab?” I questioned, my thoughts wandering back to last year, when Micah was still Dr. Killshaw and everything was forming between us for the first time, all his branches growing into my space.
“I was getting a baseline for you. Your self confidence and ability to think on your own.”
“I think you were just playing with your food.” I smiled slightly, my fingers pressed to the warm skin of his torso, tracing invisible patterns of black veins that’d long-since faded.
“Maybe a bit of that, too. I’m not perfect.” He tilted his head down, brushing a few stray hairs off my face, a grin pulling at his mouth. “Will you ever forgive me?”
“I already forgave you. Long time ago.” I waved my hand vaguely. “I actually did like my mean, cold, and sexy Unit Ops professor. Even when he was being a dick.”
“That’s…good. I guess. It’s good because it’s me.”
We sat together on the rock for a while, not speaking much, but taking it all in.
I no longer fantasized about running away, getting as far away from this place as possible.
Even though I had my wings, given to me by the man with his arms around my waist, I didn’t want to leave.
Mason’s soul was anchored here, Micah’s soul was anchored here, and my soul would always yearn for this, too.
Pine trees, a gloomy sky, a tumbling ocean.
Raindrops on glass, lightning streaking wildly through clouds, thunder sinking into my bones.
I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else. Angel wings looked prettiest under Washington skies.
Eventually, we left my dreaming rock, making our way back up to Micah’s truck with no real hurry.
He’d texted Mason a few more times, which made me think he wouldn’t be done working as soon as I’d previously hoped.
I peered sneakily at Micah’s phone, catching glimpses of things that made my heart flutter and squeeze and tremble with love.
Exchanged messages of Miss you or Love you or Hopefully I’ll see both of you soon.
I laid down on the bench seat again as we drove, my head in Micah’s lap and his fingers sifting idly through my wind-tangled hair.
It didn’t take us long to get back to his house and also didn’t take long for me to be undressed, bound, and bent over his desk, rope pulling on the delicate bones of my wrists.
Euphoria washed over me as leather smacked down hard on the backs of my thighs, goosebumps scattering all over my bare skin.
Leather kisses, forehead kisses, heart kisses.
All the things I needed from Micah Killshaw.
He hit me harder than he did when I was a human, and the bruises still faded faster. But it was significantly more enjoyable this way. I could enjoy the feeling of fresh welts on my ass as often as I wanted, without having to be sore for an entire week. Sore for the rest of the night maybe.
And I didn’t mind being sore for a night.
It meant Micah would take care of me even more than usual, cleaning me and feeding me and holding me extra securely while I slept.
Mason, too. He didn’t often participate other than watching while Micah brutalized my ass, sometimes standing next to Micah and cupping his cock, kissing his neck.
But the pain was the central focus, and that couldn’t be dulled by anything else.
Before Micah, I hadn’t considered masochism much. I craved pain sometimes, but I always craved fear more. The edge of death.
But now, I loved it. Somehow, it was healing things inside of me I’d never been able to touch any other way. Like the snap and sting could reach the deepest, most hidden places of my soul. The oldest ones. Broken down to my most vulnerable core, taken care of in the way I’d always dreamed of.
I loved the mean look on Micah’s face when he hurt me, loved the flex in his muscles, loved seeing this side of him which so few people often got to see. Uninhibited and lost to instinct. Filling his own well while filling mine.
He was a sadist, yes, but more than that.
He liked pain in any form, craved it, needed it. Inflicting it on others, inflicting it on himself. It wasn’t only sexual, nor was it only punishment. It was love, trust, vulnerability.
It was everything.
━━━━━
“I don’t need both of you in my head,” Mason complained, slumping in his seat. We’d just picked him up in the truck after he finished his demon work. “I’ve been dealing with this line of work on my own for a long time.”
“You have no Sigeian Angelakia now,” I reminded him. “And you’re not on your own anymore.”
“What she said,” Micah echoed.
Mason dragged his hands over his face, groaning. “Fine. I will admit I feel pretty fucking good right now.” He laughed. “I mean, what the fuck. You’re fixing things I didn’t even know were splintered.”
There were no real fractures to seal, but sometimes murdering literal demons generated a bit of instability in his head. Some rough edges, made rougher by using his powers more than usual. Micah and I could easily smooth them out, allowing Mason to relax at a level he never had before.
One Sigeian was no match for true Thrausian instability.
But two?
I smiled, leaning over to kiss Mason’s cheek. “I love you,” I murmured.
“I love you, too. And I have something for you.”
He dug a permanent marker out of his pocket and handed it to me as he flipped the visor down in the truck.
“Write your name up there, baby,” he instructed.
“Are you sure?” I sucked my lower lip between my teeth, afraid to intrude on this part of Mason and Micah’s separate history. I didn’t want to vandalize their life before me.
“I’m sure,” Mason said.
“Yes, Masters,” Micah added, reaching over to squeeze my thigh as I knelt on the bench seat, tugging the cap off the marker and gripping it between my fingers. The smell of the permanent marker was sharp in my nose, my fingers trembling just a little bit.
I held the visor with one hand to stabilize it, then wrote my name with the other, turning A+K FUCK into A+K FUCK DAKOTA.
My cheeks were warm as I sat back down, dozens of butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
The strokes of my name were significantly darker than what’d come before me, only highlighting just how deep Mason and Micah’s history was.
It didn’t make me sad. They never made me feel like an intruder into their world together.
“It’s perfect, baby girl,” Micah reassured me, his palm gliding up and down my denim-clad thigh.
“Thank you.” I smiled, staring at the writing on the visor.
Mason held the side of my face, turning me to kiss him, his fingers gently woven through my hair. His lips were soft at first, but then he bit me hard enough that I gasped, and my smile only widened. Tough love.
When we pulled into Micah’s garage, Mason disappeared upstairs while Micah stayed in the kitchen to prepare dinner. I went up to change into my pajamas—and noticed Mason was filling the bathtub. I slipped into the bathroom, smiling as he lowered himself into the water.
“You’re having a bath,” I said.
“Hopefully not alone.” He slid lower, raising an eyebrow.
“Should I get Micah?” I teased, stepping closer, staring at the beads of warm water sprinkled on his muscular shoulders, like tears kissing his smooth skin.
Mason sat up, lunging forward fast, his hand locking around my wrist before I got a chance to jerk away.
He pulled me all the way into the bathtub with him, water splashing all over the floor and saturating my pajamas, making the wet fabric cling to my heaving ribs.
I gasped for breath, wiping dripping streams from my eyes, staring in disbelief at Mason’s smirking face.
“No,” he said. “Micah and I won’t both fit in here. I wanted you.”