Chapter 24 #2
He started kissing me before I could answer.
My mouth first, then the corner of it, then down my throat with slow, open kisses that made my breathing change.
He kissed my shoulder, my chest, the tops of my breasts, then right over my heart, his mouth warm there, his hand spread low over my stomach like he meant to calm every last frightened thing in me by touch alone.
“No,” I whispered when he lifted his head enough to look at me. “Nothing hurts there.”
Something softened in his face at that, but he did not stop. His mouth kept moving lower, over my ribs, my belly, the inside of one hip, and by the time he reached my knees, I was already shaking a little because he knew my body too well now.
He kissed one knee, then sucked softly there, and I gasped because he had discovered early that my knees were treacherous, that one good pull of his mouth there could send heat all the way up my thighs and leave me open before he even got where he was going.
He smiled against my skin like he knew exactly what he had done, then kissed his way farther up until he was between my legs and I was already parting for him without thinking.
Micah looked up once, dark eyes steady on mine, then put his hands under my thighs and opened me wider.
His mouth found me slow at first. A long lick through my folds, broad and hot and patient enough to make my head tip back before he ever touched the place that needed him most. Then he went back and did it again, deeper that time, his tongue slipping lower, pushing into my opening with a deliberate little thrust that made me cry out and grab at the sheets.
He lifted his head immediately.
Serious.
Focused.
All that attention back in his face.
“Does it hurt there?”
My whole body tightened at the question, at the filthy gentleness of it, at the way he was looking at me like the answer mattered more than anything.
I shook my head because no, it did not hurt.
Not like that.
But it did reach something tender. Pleasure could do that when it found you already open. It could touch a bruise without meaning harm, could make the feeling too much and exactly right at the same time.
“No,” I whispered. “Just feels like a lot.”
Micah made a low sound against me, half understanding, half promise, and went right back to it.
He licked me again, then sucked my clit until my thighs tried to close on his head.
His tongue slipped into me once more, deeper this time, then withdrew only to drag through me again and again, tongue-fucking me in slow, sinful strokes while his mouth and beard and hands kept me pinned inside the feeling.
He opened me wider with both hands, thumb pressing my clit just enough to make the next cry tear right out of me, and every time I gave him one more helpless sound he answered it with another deep lick, another wet thrust of his tongue, another pull of his mouth that made my whole body feel too full of sensation to hold itself together right.
“Micah,” I gasped.
He only mumbled against my pussy, words warm and wrecked where I needed them most, then sucked harder, licked deeper, and kept at it until my hips were lifting off the bed and my legs were shaking around his shoulders.
By the time he finally lifted his head, his mouth was wet, his beard damp, his eyes gone dark with concentration.
“Let me make it all better,” he said.
Then he came up over me and slid into me with one slow, deep stroke that felt like it reached somewhere behind my lungs.
I opened under him all over again. My legs came up easy, and he took them, one at a time, lifting them higher until my knees were nearly at my shoulders, my body folded open for him in a way that felt shameless and intimate at once.
Then he started moving for real.
Deep.
Steady.
Merciless in that quiet, grown way of his.
He drove into me like he meant to push every last doubt out of my body through pleasure.
Every stroke hit hard enough to make the mattress complain, deep enough to feel like he was fucking straight through the hurt and into something cleaner underneath it.
My hands clutched at the sheets, then his arms, then the headboard, because there was nowhere to put all that feeling.
He kept my legs up, spread wide, his shoulders and chest flexing over me while he worked his way deeper and deeper into me until I could not tell where the tenderness ended and the intensity began.
“Take it,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “That’s it. Let me have it.”
I did.
What else was there to do when a man was fucking you like he meant to repair something and ruin you at the same time?
He was so deep it felt spiritual. So deep my body stopped resisting and just gave him everything.
By the time he found that perfect, punishing rhythm and stayed there, I was crying out his name with my head thrown back and my whole body arching up to meet him because he had fucked me into one long, helpless yes.
When I came, it hit hard enough to wipe every other feeling clean out of me.
My thighs trembled against his shoulders.
My back arched. My mouth opened on a sound I would have been embarrassed by with any other man in the world.
Micah kept going through it, still deep, still driving into me, still taking me apart with all that deliberate force until the orgasm burned through me and left me boneless and wrecked beneath him.
And when he finally finished, when the last hard strokes went ragged and his weight came down over me and his breath turned rough against my skin, I lay there blinking up at the ceiling and realizing he had done exactly what he said.
Nothing hurt anymore.
Not there.
Not anywhere.