2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Micah
I always suspected I was different. Tragedy or no tragedy… it doesn’t matter. I was aware before I turned eleven that something was off about me. Before I almost lost Maison in the ice, before Olivia ruined my life, before the island happened. It’s a primal part of me, hidden in my inner psyche. I’ve fought it down for as long as I can remember, but it drives my need to control, to conquer, and to obsess over things until I master them. Whatever I choose to focus on in the moment so I don’t self-depreciate become my addictions.
I am driven by a relentless need for control, and I assert my dominance over anything I can manipulate. I suspect Maison knew… His instincts were never wrong. He let me be despite my demons. But when things slip out of control, that’s when I spiral.
It’s my vulnerability.
That realization this morning solidified how different I actually am. I spent the day shoveling snow and tending to the property. I don’t mind the hard work; I grew up in these hunting lodges. I appreciate them as much as the fancy houses—the simplicity of them—because deep down, beneath my complex personality, I have pretty basic fucking needs.
I decided we needed space around our door so we could at least get it open if we needed to leave. And by shoveling snow, I mean scraping it with a pot and moving it with my bare hands. My fingers registered the cold, knowing it should have hurt, but I didn’t move them. I kept my hands in the snow for as long as I could because the pain was a temporary relief from the emotions swirling inside me.
Before I head inside, I see London is awake through the singular window of the weathered shelter. She’s sitting up for the first time after sleeping for almost two full days and nights following our three-hour trek in the cold. She spent most of that time in a feverish state, moaning Maison’s name. She sits cross-legged on the bed, staring with her wolf blanket over her lap and wearing nothing but a spaghetti-strap tank top.
Damn, she looks delicious.
I can’t help but admire the swell of her breasts as she plays with the bandage of her broken hand. Her hair is matted and long, and she desperately needs a bath, but her pretty dark eyes are more full of life than I’ve seen in days.
Watching her, I pause for a moment, questioning whether she’ll be disappointed it’s me after dreaming about him for two nights. My insides clam up, knowing how fragile she is. Knowing if she breaks, it will be my fault. I hate how utterly pissed off I was watching her almost die, knowing I wasn’t the guy she was dreaming about.
I lift my hood and kick the snow off my shoes before creaking the door open and making my presence known. The moment our eyes meet, a flash hits her eyes. She can’t hide it—
She’s scared of me.
Or disappointed…
One is just as bad as the other.
We are in the most impossible situation—we are likely both going to die—yet my thoughts are wholly consumed by all the ways I can make this broken girl mine as she sits trembling like a kitten.
Like I said… I’m different.
It’s a part of me I’m sick of suppressing.
It’s also the part of me she fell in love with. Because London King sees me, too, and this girl is staring right at me like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to figure out .
Don’t bother, sweetheart. Even I haven’t sorted myself out.
She recovers quickly. “How long was I asleep?” she asks, giving me only a hint of a smile, even though she knows exactly how I’m looking at her. It’s not the smile I so desperately want to see; it’s sadness that still lingers in her eyes. I don’t make girls smile—it’s just not an emotion I bring out in them, apparently. But I’m determined to fucking change that.
“We’ve been here for a couple of days. You had a fever.” I fall on the bed beside her. “How’s your hand?”
She places her hand over her bandaged wrist. “It still hurts when I move it. Will it get better?”
I grab it and inspect it, moving her wrist around, trying to keep my fingers soft knowing it hurts her. “Now that you’re awake, we will have to start working on therapy, among other things…”
She smirks and pulls her hand away. “I suppose you know how to do that, too?”
I shrug and move a piece of matted hair from her forehead. “Not really, but I’m good at pretending.”
She slumps her shoulders and stares at the small door I just walked through—her only escape to the outside world. I underestimated her strength or how close I was to losing her entirely. I’ve already decided that when I see Nigel again, I will cut off both his fucking hands for what he did to her, or maybe his leg. Then I’ll keep him alive for a couple of days before killing him in the worst way possible so he can experience what it’s like to lose an appendage before his miserable life ends.
“How far away are we from the others?” she asks, looking around the cabin again as if seeing it for the first time. I get it; she hasn’t been lucid since we’ve been here, and it’s dark. It will be dark here moving forward, the closer we push to December.
“Far enough that they won’t bother us,” I tell her as I rise and light a fire on our wooden stove, turning my back to her. “Don’t worry. They won’t find you.”
A pause.
“Won’t they come looking for us, Micah? ”
“They better fucking not.” I turn and pull my shirt off. “They will have to figure things out for themselves now. They have everything they need to survive. I left them plenty of food, and they can take over my old shelter. I winterized it for them, so if they are smart and careful, they should be okay. The snow built up around the shelter will keep them warm enough, even through the worst parts of the season. People survive up here, London.”
She arches a brow, her eyes trailing down my abs to the waistband of my fitted sweats. “Do you believe they will live through this?”
I step toward her, grabbing a spare shirt and throwing it on before cupping her in my arms. “I don’t care. I told you, baby. I only care about you and me now.”
She frowns. “Micah, what about Thomas, Jade, Serena…” she pauses, “or Naomi? You don’t care about them?”
The other name we don’t talk about. London knows I have a sexual history with Naomi—one I will have to explain sooner or later. I’d be curious if I were in her shoes. The problem is that I can’t explain who Naomi was to me, no more than I can explain Olivia. The difference, however, is that neither of them were really mine. Not like London is… or will be.
“No, not even them.” I don’t blink as I say it.
They are dead to me.
Once the water boils, I grab the pot and sit on the bed. I pull off her blanket and stare down at her beautiful ivory thighs as she leans her head back. My groin starts to ache, watching her as she assesses me—like she’s been doing since day one.
This girl…
I haven’t been this turned on since I started fucking Olivia. I never expected a girl would turn me on like this again, but here we are… She has no clue how beautiful she is, which makes her even more endearing.
Her eyes soften, and she runs her hand down my arm. “Do you want to talk about him?”
I lean forward and press my hands on either side of her. “No.”
“Micah— ”
I slide my tongue into her mouth, and I don’t let her finish her sentence. She returns my kiss, but I sense her hesitation. If I keep kissing her, she can’t talk, and if I move my hand between her legs, her moaning will take over.
Keeping my mouth on hers, I slide the blanket off entirely, pull off her tank top, and slide her underwear down her legs. She gives me that sound I was waiting for, so I deepen my kiss and slide my right hand off her. Finding the pot of warm water I placed near the bed, I grab the shirt I put inside and place it right between her legs, cleaning her.
She flinches just a little, and it reminds me of the day I cleaned her wound—the day I realized I loved her. “You can’t avoid talking about him forever, Micah. We need to talk about him eventually… about what happened.”
I run the wet shirt down her thighs and each calf muscle, taking my time before placing it back in the hot water and dousing her belly with it.
“Not today, sweetheart.”
Her pupils flash, and she hisses. I suppress a smile when her body jolts from the hot water as it hits her skin. She hates it when I call her sweetheart , and she bristles every time.
She kicks at me. “Don’t, Micah. That hurts.”
That’s the point.
“Yeah, well, at least you don’t smell like a corpse.”
Her mouth gapes and her eyes narrow before her lips slide into a small grin. However, her anger is short-lived when the hot water becomes warm, and I soak her skin, massaging her belly and thighs.
Her body loosens, and she sinks into the bed, closing her eyes while I wash her. “When can we talk about him?” she finally asks as I scrub dirt off her. This island fucked her up, and now it’s up to me to make it better. London is completely at my mercy, but I’m not stupid enough to believe she doesn’t have little claws that scratch—I’ve been on the receiving end of them a couple of times.
I take my time, admiring every curve, not wanting to take any moment I have with her for granted. I remain silent as I clean every inch of her, making her roll on her belly so I can check her wound and clean her back, and I pointedly ignore her question. She doesn’t bring up Maison again, and I forget him as she distracts me enough with her tight little ass, focusing solely on how much I want to fuck it.
When I finish cleaning her, I pick her up and position her back toward me. Her deep brown eyes blink at me a few times, and she runs her hands through my hair before tickling the stubble on my chin. “What do you need from me right now, Micah?” she asks, and I tense.
She has no clue what I need yet… but she will.
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, moving my hands to play with each of her breasts before taking one into my mouth. I playfully bite her nipple, then suck on the fleshy part of her breast. “I need you to show me how much you want me, London,” I tell her, raising my eyebrows as she squirms from the jolt of pain from my teeth.
“Micah, I want you so bad,” she whispers. “You are the center of my universe. How have you not comprehended that by now?”
I pause my sucking before I kiss her cheek, then her ear, then work my way to her neck. “No, baby… but I need you to fully understand something. I don’t want to be the center of your universe; I want to be your universe . When I’m finished with you, you won’t be able to occupy your mind with anyone else. I’m going to train you, baby. You will understand exactly what I need; you won’t have to ask.”
She bites her bottom lip as her eyes widen, and her breath hitches.
It’s time to show her.
I run my tongue down her belly to the soft part of her leg, and finally, to the apex of her thigh and start to suck…
She giggles at first. I’m sure it tickles, and I make it pleasurable, kissing her softly, caressing her with my tongue. Her giggles stop when I keep sucking harder.
“You like that?” I murmur, keeping my lips tight on her skin.
“ Micah …” She grips the sides of the bed.
I grip her thighs harder, hinting for her to quiet down .
She doesn’t. She wiggles, squirms, and digs her fingers into my back. “Micah, what are you doing?”
I keep going harder… harder… and harder. The more she wiggles and cries out, the harder I suck. I release, licking and kissing her, and she visibly relaxes. She arches her back and starts to moan, and I keep my attention on the place she likes to touch when she gets herself off.
“Micah, please…” she moans, gripping my hair and practically pulling it out, which only turns me on more.
I arch my brows at her, and slowly, my kissing turns to sucking again.
“Micah…”
Eventually, she relaxes and her whole body goes limp. After a few extra seconds of trying to embed myself into her forever, I pull off.
She got the hint that fighting it would only make it worse. I peer down to the spots on her ivory skin and admire my handiwork. She’s practically bleeding—already a black bruise forming on that spot by the time I’m done with her.
Once I’m done admiring her body, I check to see her reaction. Her eyes are wide—no fear. Surprise maybe, but no fear. She’s frowning, looking at me quizzically. “Is that what you need, Micah? To mark me? To make sure everyone—who are not even here right now—knows I’m yours?”
I pull myself up so I’m flush with her pussy and slip my fingers inside, rubbing her clit. It’s no surprise that she’s dripping like a faucet.
She parts her lips to say something, but I run my lips down her body and my teeth along her clit. She cries out at the suddenness of it. “Fuck, Micah,” she moans as I run my tongue up and down the length of her, enjoying the fresh taste of her juices.
I smile and pull back. “Not yet, baby. You’re not strong enough for that yet. But we have all winter, sweetheart. And as you’ve probably noticed, I can fuck for hours. I need you to get your strength back.”
Her eyes reflect a hint of hesitation, as they rightfully should. However, I persist in teasing and pleasuring her until her body quivers, signaling she has reached her limit. After the moan that accompanies her third orgasm, her fingers grip my shoulders. She leans her head back on the bed in exhaustion, her breaths full and heavy. I can’t get enough of how full her tits are as they bounce. I get why Maison jumped on her the first day of school—he always moved quickly on the super hot ones.
Her body is perfection.
Her cheeks are flushed, and I resist the urge to fuck her silly. I don’t want to break her yet. She needs at least one more night.
It’s only the early evening, but I lie down beside her as the light of the fire simmers. The early December solstice is nearly upon us, the woods around us shrouded in darkness. I rub her forehead until her breathing evens out, and she falls asleep in my arms as shadows dance across the room. I lift her head and place it in the crook of my arm. I warned her that I would dominate every aspect of her life, and despite that, she’s still so trusting.
She doesn’t understand yet…
She murmurs something incoherent against my shoulder in that weak voice. Her body is warm beneath me before she passes out. I tease her freshly washed hair with my fingers, staring out the window, listening to the wind and the shuttering cabin door. As the light dwindles, I’m acutely aware that it is just the two of us now.
I pull her closer as I get more comfortable, and a deep tightness forms in my stomach. Her skin shines in the snow-glazed moonlight, and I watch her slender throat as she swallows. I can sense the pitter of her heartbeat under the arm I have wrapped around her as her breakable body conforms to mine.
She’s so fucking delicate.
I admire the little bruise I gave her, and I hate to admit how much it turns me on. My finger wipes away a single tear as it falls down my cheek. Ignoring the burning in my eyes, I press my lips to her head. “I’ll try not to kill you, London King,” I whisper as a fresh wave of panic tightens my core .
Losing her.
It’s a very real fear, especially now that Pandora’s box has been opened and there is nothing stopping me from marking every inch of her. And worse, knowing I won’t be able to stop now that I’ve started.