Chapter Five
Micah
Roxy watches me from the doorway like I’ve lost my damn mind.
Maybe I have.
I’m getting ready for a date with a beautiful lawyer. Who would’ve imagined that?
I stare at myself in the mirror, clippers in hand, taking in the damage. My hair’s too long, a tangled mess, uneven where I’ve ignored it for too many months. My beard isn’t much better, thick and bushy.
I exhale, flip the clippers on, snap on the guard, and get to work.
Hair falls into the sink in dark clumps. I haven’t gone this short since the Marines. I run my hands over the short stubble of hair. If that’s not clean-cut, I don’t know what is.
I shut the clippers off and pick up the trimmer, turning my attention to my beard. I take my time with this part, trimming it down, shaping the edges, cleaning up the line at my neck. I want to keep the beard, but it’d be nice to look more like a well-groomed man than a grizzly bear.
When I’m done, I rinse my hands and look up again. Not bad. This is a guy who can stand next to Jenny without looking like a charity case.
“Well, Rox, what do you think?”
She huffs a sigh, thoroughly unimpressed.
“Just wait,” I tell her, turning on the tap to the bathtub. “Because you’re next.”
Roxy’s ears perk. Then flatten. She takes one slow step backward, as if sensing what’s up.
“Come on, girl,” I say, reaching for her. “It’s for Jenny.”
Roxy bolts out of the bathroom. She makes it halfway down the hall before I catch her by the collar. She plants her feet, all four legs locked, like she suddenly weighs a hundred pounds.
“C’mon,” I mutter, hauling her toward the bathroom. “We can’t show up with you smelling like a dead squirrel’s guts.”
She resists every inch of the way, nails scraping against the floor, tail tucked like I’m leading her to her execution instead of a bath.
The second she sees the tub, she digs in harder.
“Nope,” I say. “We’re doing this.”
I wrestle her in, one arm under her chest, the other guiding her back legs over the edge. She lands in the tub with a splash.
Then all hell breaks loose.
She shakes immediately, soaking me before I even get the dog-shampoo bottle open. I curse under my breath and grab the bottle, working it into her fur while she squirms and tries to climb out.
“Stay,” I order. She ignores me.
By the time I rinse her off, I’m soaked, the floor is wet, and she’s looking at me like I’ve betrayed her.
“Yeah,” I mutter, reaching for a towel. “I’m a monster.”
She lets me dry her with only mild protest, then shakes again, sending water everywhere one last time for good measure.
After a long, relaxing shower of my own, and half a dozen treats for Roxy, we’re ready to head to Jenny’s.
It’s only a two-mile hike from our door to hers.
Along the way, I pick a bouquet of wildflowers, wishing I’d had time to drive to the store for roses.
But making Roxy and myself presentable took longer than I’d expected.
I stop at the edge of the clearing of her backyard. The light is going golden through the trees, late afternoon sliding toward evening, and there's a light already on inside her place.
Roxy stops beside me, turning her face up to mine. She tilts her head, and I swear she’s saying, “We doing this or what?”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah, we’re doing this.”
I walk up to the door and knock once.
It opens immediately as if Jenny was standing there waiting for us. Maybe she was… ?
"You came,” she says, smiling. She’s wearing jeans that perfectly hug her hips and a spring green sweater that looks soft enough to sleep on. She’s curled her hair and swiped her lips with a pretty, pink gloss.
“Of course, we came.” I hold out the flowers for her. “For you, beautiful.”
She blushes, accepting the bouquet. “Thank you. You look amazing, Marine.”
I feel heat creep into my own face as I run a hand over my short hair. “Thanks, I—”
Roxy barks, interrupting me, demanding attention.
Laughing, Jenny kneels to scratch behind Roxy’s ears. “You look great too, girl.”
“She’s clean,” I say. “A task that took even more time than—” I wave a hand over my head and face “—this.”
She laughs. “You both clean up nice.”
I step inside. The place smells like delicious food again, something warm already on the stove. She moves past me toward the kitchen.
“I hope you brought your appetite,” she says.
“I always do,” I say, setting Roxy free as she makes a beeline for her favorite chair like she owns the place.
I follow Jenny into the kitchen, drawn in by the smell.
It’s something rich and savory—garlic, butter, and herbs—coming off a pan of seared chicken, with roasted vegetables and what looks like creamy mashed potatoes waiting on the counter.
She moves around the space with that same quiet confidence, checking the stove, stirring, like she’s done this a hundred times.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I say, leaning one shoulder against the wall.
“I wanted to,” she replies, glancing over at me with a small smile. “Besides, I had a little more time to plan tonight.”
Yeah. Me too.
She plates the food, handing me one of the dishes without hesitation like I belong here, like this is already something we do. I take it, our fingers brushing for just a second, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity through my entire body.
We sit across from each other at the small table, Roxy settling nearby with a satisfied huff.
The first bite—juicy chicken, buttery potatoes, and perfectly roasted vegetables—is even better than the meal last night.
I shake my head a little, looking at her.
“You keep feeding me like this, I’m never leaving. ”
Her cheeks grow pink, but she doesn’t look away this time. “That might be the idea.”
My eyes meet hers, and the attraction between us flares. I know now, with absolute certainty, that it’s not one-sided.
We clear the table together without discussing it. She rinses plates and hands them over, I stack them, and we work in a silence that's gotten comfortable in a way I didn't plan for.
She's standing at the sink rinsing the last of it when I step closer, wrapping an arm around her waist.
She freezes, and for a moment, I wonder if I’ve misread the situation. But then she leans against my side.
“Micah,” she says with a sigh.
"Jenny.” I turn her to face me. She comes easily, no hesitation, and when I look down, her face is already tilted up to meet mine.
So, I kiss her.
It starts slow, just to give her a second to change her mind.
Thank God, she doesn't change her mind. Her hands find the front of my shirt and hold on, and I feel the small catch of her breath against my mouth before she presses closer.
I slide one hand up her back, slow. She arches into it.
I break away from the kiss, though it kills me. "Tell me if I cross a line—”
“What line?" she says against my mouth. "There’s no line.”
I walk her back toward the wall, and her hands slide up over my shoulders, fingers curling at the back of my neck. When her back meets the wall, she makes a soft sound that makes my dick throb with need.
I pull back just far enough to look at her. Her hair is messed from my hands. Her eyes are a little dazed. And she looks like she doesn't mind that one bit.
"Hi," she says.
I almost smile. "Hi."
She tugs me back down until my lips are pressed to hers again.
This time there's nothing slow about it. Her tongue slides against mine as my fingers tangle in her soft hair.
“Bedroom,” I groan.
We stumble to the bedroom without breaking the kiss, knocking over a side table and toppling the vase where she’d put the wildflowers I brought her.
"Stay on the trail,” I tease.
She giggles, pulling me further down the hall.
The bedroom is dim, just the last slant of evening through the curtains. I take in the sight of her once more, hair loose around her shoulders. Eyes steady on mine, no second-guessing in them. She’s so fucking perfect.
"You're staring," she says.
"I want to see more, gorgeous.”
I reach for the hem of her shirt and pause there, giving her the chance to say no. She lifts her arms in answer, and I pull it over her head and set it aside. She's unreal. Soft curves, warm skin, the kind of figure that begs to be touched.
She reaches for my shirt next, fingers working the buttons with quiet focus. When she pushes it off my shoulders her palms drag down over my chest and arms like she's making her own inventory, unhurried, and I’m happy to let her do it.
"Micah." Her voice is low and a little unsteady.
I bring her down onto the bed and take my time undressing her.
When she’s completely bare, I cover every inch of her body with kisses.
I start at her lips and slowly make my way down each and every curve, from the crook of her neck to the peaks of her breasts, along the curve of her hips, until I’m finally exactly where I want to be.
Now this… this is the tastiest thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.
I explore her folds with my tongue, sucking gently on her clit. Her hips buck against my face and I firmly hold them down with my hands as I devour her. Every sound she makes is unguarded, and each one makes my cock throb with desire.
“Micah,” she moans. “I’m close… so close.”
I dip two fingers inside her, thrusting as I lap at her clit. She cries out, coming apart on my tongue.
I move over her, getting into position. “I need you, Jenny… please.”
“I need you, too—”
Before she’s even finished talking, I plunge into her. Maybe I should take it slow. Maybe I should exercise some restraint. But I can’t.
I. Fucking. Can’t.
I drive into her again and again and again. And she fucking loves it. She moans with pleasure, thrusting her hips up to meet me, stroke for stroke, until her head tips back and she says my name—drawn out and wrecked—her inner walls clamping onto my cock like a vice.
“Fuuuuuuck,” I moan, following right behind her, my entire body seizing up with the force of my orgasm.
We stay like that for a while. Me on top of her, gasping for air as we wait for the trembling to stop.