Chapter 15 #4
“Yes,” I breathed, and because I was too far gone already to sound delicate, I added, “Don’t stop.”
That tore something low and rough out of him.
He moved slow at first, but not to tease me.
Because he needed to feel it too. Each stroke landed deep enough to remind me how thick he was, how full he felt, how much room he took up once he got where he wanted to be.
His hand stayed firm at my thigh, keeping me open for him, and when the angle shifted, the next stroke hit so deep I cried out before I could stop myself.
“There,” I gasped.
His mouth found mine.
“Yeah,” he said against it. “That’s it.”
The rhythm changed after that. He started giving me more of it, harder now, deeper, his control still there but fraying where I could feel it.
The bed answered us. So did I. My nails dragged down his back.
My bangles sounded once when I reached up for him.
Sweat gathered between my breasts and at my neck.
Between my thighs, everything felt too slick, too full, too good for me to manage with any kind of dignity.
He kissed down my throat, voice gone dark against my skin.
“You know what you did to me in that truck?” His hand slid between us, fingers finding my clit with terrible, perfect precision. “You know what feeling that wet pussy grabbing my fingers did?”
My thighs shook.
He thrust deeper, and I arched under him.
“I wanted to feel you sink down on my dick that same night.” His thumb worked me harder. “Wanted your sweet ass over me, taking every inch. Been carrying that around ever since.”
“Micah—”
“I know.” He kissed my mouth once, quick and hungry, then dragged his lips to my ear. “Still got me fucked up. But I’m handling it now.”
Fuckkkk…
That sent me straight to the edge.
He kept his strokes deep and even, his thumb circling my clit while his voice kept wrecking me one line at a time.
“You feel too damn good.”
“You hear me?”
“Look at how wet you are for me.”
“Been wanting this the whole time.”
My body tightened around him again and again, and every time it did, he cursed like it was taking something out of him for real.
“Fuck,” he muttered, forehead dropping to mine. “Every time you squeeze me like that, you about to make me lose it.”
That should not have turned me on more than it did.
It did.
He felt it happen too, because his hand sped up just enough, the rhythm of his thumb lining up with the drag of his dick until I could not tell which part of him was undoing me faster.
“Come on,” he said, eyes on my face now. “Give it to me.”
I could barely breathe.
“Micah—”
“I know, baby.” His mouth brushed mine once, then again. “I know. Cum on this dick. Your dick.”
The room went bright and narrow all at once.
His hand.
His voice.
The thick, wet plunge of him inside me.
That filthy praise, low and exact and meant for me only.
My whole body gave way.
The orgasm ripped through me deep and hard, splitting me open under him.
My back arched off the bed. My thighs shook.
A cry tore out of me that had no business being that loud in a man’s condo and still came anyway.
He kept stroking me through it, dick still driving deep, still talking to me while I came apart around him.
“That’s it,” he said, voice wrecked now. “Just like that. I got you.”
He followed not long after, buried all the way in, hips going ragged for those last few thrusts while his mouth opened on a groan that sounded like it had been building in him for days.
When he finally stilled, his whole body stayed draped over mine for a second, trembling in small ways I could feel more than see.
After that, the room went soft in pieces.
He kissed the corner of my mouth. Then my shoulder. Then just breathed with me until my pulse stopped acting like it had somewhere else to be.
When he finally pulled out, slow enough to make me flinch at the loss, he handled the condom, came back with a warm cloth, and cleaned me with the same attention he had touched me with, like after mattered too.
That got me almost as badly as the sex.
When he lay back down and pulled me against him, I went easy. My head found his chest. His heart was still going hard. Mine too.
We stayed like that for a while, music still moving low somewhere in the condo, the city outside carrying on like people weren’t crossing all kinds of important lines above it every night.
Finally, he touched my shoulder once and asked, his voice rough with use, “You still with me?”
I smiled against his skin. “Barely.”
That got a laugh out of him, low enough to feel in my cheek.
Later, when I lifted my head and looked at him, his mouth still looked used. His eyes were still dark. That diamond stud caught one last strip of low light when he turned toward me.
“You all right?” he asked.
I smiled, slow and already in trouble again.
“No,” I said softly. “This made it worse.”
His mouth curved.
“Yeah,” he murmured, pulling me closer. “Me too.”
And lying there in Micah’s bed with his smell still on my skin and his music still in the air, I knew there was no putting this back where we found it.
Not now.
Not after this.