"Oh ... yes," I breathed, my head falling back as he pumped slowly, curling them to hit that spot he'd discovered last night—the one that made stars burst behind my eyes.
It was different out here, exposed under the open sky, the creak of the pier and the whisper of marsh grass adding to the intimacy. No one around, just us and the water.
He withdrew his fingers, and I whimpered at the loss, but then he was unbuckling his belt, freeing himself. His cock sprang out, thick and heavy, veins prominent along the shaft, the head already glistening.
I stared for a moment, still marveling at how something so intimidating had fit inside me, how it had made me feel so full, so claimed.
"Touch me," he said softly, guiding my hand to wrap around him.
I stroked tentatively at first, then firmer, loving the way he groaned, his head tipping back.
When I couldn't wait anymore, I rose up on my knees, positioning myself over him. He held my hips steady, eyes locked on mine. "Go slow, baby. Take what you need."
I sank down inch by inch, the broad head parting me, stretching that delicious burn as he filled me completely. It hurt a little—still so new, my body adjusting—but the pleasure overrode it, waves of it radiating from where we joined.
"Micah," I moaned quietly, starting to move, rocking my hips in the rhythm he'd taught me.
He thrust up gently to meet me, one hand sliding under my shirt to cup my breast, thumbing my nipple until it peaked hard. The other hand gripped my ass, guiding me faster. "You feel so good," he rasped. "So tight around me. Like you were made for this."
I rode him harder, chasing the building pressure, my breaths coming in pants as the pier swayed faintly beneath us.
It was primal, healing—him letting me set the pace, me giving him something to hold onto in his pain. When he shifted,angling deeper, hitting new places inside me, I cried out softly, burying my face in his neck.
"Let me turn you," he murmured after a while, voice strained. He lifted me effortlessly, turning me so my back was to his chest, my hands bracing on the pier's edge in front of us. I was bent forward slightly, skirt bunched around my waist, exposed to the night air as he entered me again from behind. This was new—deeper, more intense—and I gasped at the sensation, his cock sliding in to the hilt.
"Like this?" he asked, one arm banding around my waist, the other reaching around to circle my clit as he thrust slow and steady.
"Yes—oh, God, yes," I whimpered, pushing back against him, learning how to meet his movements. The angle made everything sharper, his body dominating mine without overwhelming, teaching me with every roll of his hips. Pleasure coiled tight, building until I shattered around him, clenching hard as I came with a muffled cry against my arm.
He followed moments later, burying deep with a low groan, pulsing inside me, his grip tightening as if I were his lifeline.
Later, wrapped in quiet and salt air and the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek, I knew something had shifted.
Not healed.
But changed.
And I understood something with absolute clarity:
The old fears weren’t what scared me anymore.
Losing him was.
19
MICAH
Ilay there on the pier with Joy curled against me, her head on my chest, her breath warm and steady against my skin.
The marsh whispered around us, the water lapping like some indifferent heartbeat, and for a few stolen seconds, I let myself pretend this was enough. That the world could shrink down to this—her body soft and spent, the salt air thick in my lungs, the fading light turning everything gold and forgiving.
But it wasn't enough.
It never would be.
Images of my father flickered at the edges of my mind, uninvited ghosts slipping through cracks I thought I'd sealed years ago. His face—older, harder, but undeniably him—twisted something in my gut.
The man who'd taught me to shoot, to track, to survive.
