The question hit me like a dare.
My mind tried to reach for politeness.
For careful.
For the version of me that didn’t ask too much.
But my body—my newly awakened, no-longer-sweet body—had its own answer.
And I could feel it rising in my throat, unstoppable.
I licked my lips, my voice barely there.
“I want you to stay,” I whispered.
Micah’s jaw flexed.
“I want you to stop looking at me like you’re about to leave,” I added, because the words poured out once the door opened.
His eyes flashed.
“And,” I finished, cheeks burning, heart hammering, “I want you to kiss me again.”
Micah went still for one beat—like he was deciding something.
His voice dropped, rough and quiet.
“Okay,” he said. “But you’re going to tell me if you feel overwhelmed.”
I nodded, breath unsteady.
“I will.”
His gaze held mine for another long moment.
Then he leaned in.
And as his mouth hovered just above mine—close enough that my whole body lit up in anticipation—I realized something with startling clarity:
This wasn’t just sex.
This was attachment.
And for someone like me—someone who had spent her whole life learning how to be kept—that was the most dangerous thing of all.
14
THE VANGUARD
The man pressed a button and the images he’d taken when Micah and Joy walked past him on the street were sent to his superior.
He was expecting the call and picked up as soon as his phone buzzed.
“So, the last one is there,” the woman’s voice said, gravely as a porcelain ashtray.
“He is.”
“And he has a woman, just like the others.” The disdain in his superior’s voice spiked over the phone line.
