Chapter 12
twelve
. . .
By the time I got inside, my whole body was still tuned to him.
The townhouse had gone quiet in that late-night way that usually settled me.
A lamp glowed near the sofa. City light slipped through the windows in soft pieces.
The refrigerator hummed low from the kitchen.
My sandals landed by the door, one after the other, and everything sat exactly where I had left it before I went out.
None of it was strong enough to compete with Micah still being all over me.
Not his body anymore.
The memory of it.
His mouth on mine. His hand around my wrist. The way he had looked at me after I asked whether he planned on kissing me again, like I had finally said something he had been waiting to hear.
And then the truck.
I shut my eyes for a second and saw it all over again.
Joe low in the speakers. My hand resting on his thigh, then drifting inward because at some point I had stopped pretending I was only curious.
I had not been teasing that man. I had been ready to give in.
Ready to see what happened if we stopped acting like grown people with sense and let the wanting have us.
I had looked over, seen that hard set in his face, followed my own gaze down, and when my hand passed over his dick through that denim, thick and hot and straining against my palm, my whole body had gone yes.
That was the truth of it.
Only Micah had kept us from spilling all the way into each other.
I admired him for that.
I hated him for it too.
Both feelings sat in me as I stood in my own kitchen with his presence still on my skin like he had never really let me go.
I set my bag on the console and went straight for water because standing still felt foolish.
The bronze dress clung lightly to my skin, too soft, too thin, too good at reminding me I was still carrying the whole night on my body.
My nipples were hard and overaware, still remembering his mouth.
Between my thighs, everything felt swollen and needy, my panties damp with my own slickness, my clit full and tender enough that every small shift made me more aware of what he had started and refused to finish.
I needed a shower, a prayer, and a little more self-respect than I currently had access to.
I drank half the water at the counter and still felt thirsty.
Because the problem was not only what had happened.
It was what almost had.
When my eyes closed again, there he was.
Those dark brown eyes locked on mine in the half-light.
The way he bit his lip when I touched him.
The curse that left him when I straddled his lap.
His fingers, thick and perfectly placed, working me open in the dark while his mouth made a mess of my nipples and my neck like he had all the time in the world.
The way I rocked on his hand and lost whatever was left of my composure while he held himself back with that same terrible patience that made him even sexier than he had any right to be.
He was a man.
Experienced. Skilled. Patient almost to the point of disrespect.
And I wanted him inside me now.
I had told him I wanted the whole thing. Time. Room. Something more intentional than us falling into each other just because we were too turned on to think straight.
I had meant it. Still meant it.
But now I was in my kitchen, slick between my thighs and biting my lip over the memory of his fingers because my own words had come back to test me.
I wanted the realness of it. Now I had to sit in that wanting and not fold the second it got difficult.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered.
The kitchen had nothing helpful to offer.
My phone buzzed.
I looked down too fast.
Micah: Settled in?
That softened something in me immediately. No little delay to look cool. No performative distance. Just a man making sure I got inside.
Me: Yes.
I stared at the one-word answer after I sent it because I was far from settled. My body was still humming from the truck, from his mouth, from the weight of his hand between my thighs and the almost of everything we had stopped ourselves from doing.
I picked the phone back up and typed the truth before my pride could stop me.
Come back.
Just those two words, sitting there with enough heat behind them to change the whole night.
I could see it too clearly. His truck turning around.
His body in my doorway. His hands on my waist before I had fully shut the door.
My dress shoved up. My back on my mattress.
His mouth on me in my own house, that big body finally between my thighs, his voice darker and rougher because there would be no parking lot, no clock, no reason for all that restraint.
My whole body throbbed at the thought of it.
I wanted him over me. In me. Wanted to taste him too. Wanted my mouth on that man’s dick just to hear what kind of sound I could pull out of him when it was my turn to make him lose his mind.
And still, I did not send it.
Because the heat was not the problem. The heat was easy to name.
The problem was that Micah already felt like the kind of man I needed to be careful with for different reasons.
Men had disappointed me too many times on the other side of access.
Too many of them looked right until your body opened the door, and then the steadiness slipped.
The attention got lazy. The care got thin.
The version they had shown you could not survive actually having you.
Micah did not feel like one of those men.
Everything in me said he was exactly what he looked like, and that was why I wanted one more look before I gave my body the final word. I liked him too much already to let my pussy make a liar out of my own mouth just because that man knew what to do with his hands.
I deleted the words and leaned my forehead against the cabinet over the sink, laughing low under my breath like a woman both blessed and irritated.
My phone buzzed again.
Micah: Now try to get some sleep.
That damn man.
Of course he would choose decency again. Of course that would make him even harder to handle.
Me: You too.
I nearly left it there.
Then I let myself be honest the safer way.
Me: I’m trying very hard not to tell you to turn around.
His reply took just long enough for my whole body to listen for it.
Micah: If I turn around right now, I’m not coming up there to sit beside you. I’ll need to be in you. Unless you tell me you don’t want that too.
I closed my eyes and tightened my grip on the phone.
He had put simple language on the exact ache sitting between my thighs, and my body answered it before my pride could even think of a comeback.
I could still feel his fingers inside me, thick and perfectly placed.
Could still see the look in his eyes when I touched him through those jeans. Dark. Focused. Holding on by a thread.
He had kept us from tipping all the way over, and I admired him for that almost as much as I hated him for it now.
Because I wanted that man inside me.
Now.
That was the truth of it.
Me: I know. And I do. But I liked you taking the time to let me feel how real this is.
His answer came back quick.
Micah: It’s very real. Now try to get some sleep, Talia. I for damn sure will be trying and failing to get some.
That made me smile into the quiet of my kitchen, and that smile felt like the last warning. Another two messages and one of us was going to stop acting grown.
So I set the phone down for real and took my ass upstairs.
The rest of my little routine should have calmed me. Jewelry off. Face washed. Moisturizer pressed into my cheeks and throat. Hair wrapped with the kind of care Mena had trained into me. Instead, every step gave my mind room to misbehave.
The shower helped some.
Barely.
Hot water ran over my skin while I replayed too much.
My hand sliding over his dick through the denim.
The way his jaw tightened. The little bite of his lip.
His mouth on my nipples, hot and patient in a way that made patience feel almost disrespectful.
His fingers working me open while I rocked on them and tried not to fall apart too fast.
He had handled me like a man who knew exactly how much he could take from a woman if he gave her the right pressure in the right place and waited half a beat longer than she could stand.
By the time I stepped out, I was still carrying him low in my body. Tender. Unfinished. Slick in memory.
I slid into bed and learned quickly that sleep was not coming easy.
My nipples were still too sensitive against the sheet.
Between my thighs, the ache had softened, but it had not left.
I pressed my legs together, then apart, then together again, and all it did was remind me that relief was not the same thing as being answered.
I needed sleep.
I needed God.
I needed that man to quit living in my body like he paid rent here.
The texts had taken the wild edge off, but what they left behind was worse in some ways. A slower burn. The kind a woman could feel in her bones while she stared at the ceiling and admitted she was already in trouble.
Because I wanted him. The full length of him.
The weight of him. Wanted to hear what his voice would do if he finally buried himself in me and lost some of that careful control.
Wanted to find out whether he would stay that patient once my pussy had him for real or whether he would give me the harder, rougher version I kept catching in the tight set of his jaw.
And still, I was not calling him back.
I had said I wanted the whole thing. I wanted to feel how real this was before we crossed into something neither of us could pretend was casual. My body was more than ready to eat those words and ask him to come fuck me into my mattress tonight, but the rest of me stayed put.
He was becoming too real to spend that fast.
Sleep came in pieces after that.
By the time it finally pulled me under, Micah Sutton was the last thing on my mind and the first thing waiting for me when I closed my eyes.