Taking advantage of my change in position, he rubs a thumb along my lower lip, scuffing the sensitive skin with his calloused pad before sliding it into my mouth. I suck on it, working on instinct, watching his pupils expand as I draw it further inside.
Then he swaps his hand for his mouth, throwing one leg across my thigh as he claims my lips, first gentle, then pressing harder until I’m gasping for breath.
“God, you taste so sweet,” he says, ripping away just long enough to drag in air, then plundering my mouth again. The praise sends a flood of warmth throughout my body. Cascading into every dark corner until I feel like I’m melting.
His tongue makes advances as he deepens the kiss, his hand roving down the front of my shirt and tugging at the hem.
Everywhere he touches leaves a trail of mayhem. Aches and sparks and tingles and desperate, desperate need.
Alarms sound in the back of my mind but they’re drowned out by the cacophony of delight that his tongue and lips make as they meet mine. When his fingers slide along my abdomen, I thrust upwards, my hips obeying their own imperative while my mind is lost to the dizzying whirl of sensations that Micah conjures.
Then he slips beneath the waistband of my underwear, and I pull back, stiffening with uncertainty.
“Relax,” he says, his lips murmuring against mine, the word feeding into my mouth where I swallow it down like an audible treat. “I promise you, it’ll feel so good.”
His fingers delve into a place I’ve barely visited and certainly haven’t allowed any strangers to explore. There’s comfort in his surety as he caresses my tight curls before his middle finger slips inside my folds.
I jerk at the sensation, and he stops moving, cradling my head with his free hand, and staring into my eyes. Then I nod, and he moves his hand back and forth, the light touch morphing into a harder stroke, increasing the friction until my muscles are clenching and relaxing in a rhythm that I can’t stop, won’t stop.
“You’re so wet,” he murmurs as he drops his attention to my neck, grazing his teeth against the skin there before fixing his mouth and gently sucking.
I curl my shoulders at the words, ashamed by the implication.
“No, that’s a good thing,” he whispers, digging one hand deep into my hair while he continues his mesmerising stroke with the other. “You’re so sensitive, I love it.”
And that’s the last of his words that I understand because my mind spins out of control, falling under the spell of pure need that suffuses my body. I arch and clench and chase…something… I don’t even know what. Giving myself over to sensation as every touch builds on another and my thighs trap his hand, holding it where I need it, and my hips buck shamelessly towards his touch.
His mouth and fingers feel like they’re everywhere at once, pulling new reactions out of me until I cover his lower hand with mine and press it against me, harder and harder, rubbing with small motions until there’s a burst of release unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
So strong that I have to cry out even though his lips are covering mine, sobbing into him.
When they start the tears won’t stop.
I cling to him, even after he removes his hand and sucks me from his fingers. When he pulls me close to stroke my back in soothing motions, it propels me into another sea of tears.
Memories chase each other through my exhausted mind; meeting Gabriel, playing tag in the school grounds, whispering secrets, passing notes in class. The first time I recognised I liked him better than other boys. The first time he whispered he liked me.
Tugging my hair, tackling me during a game of rugby and holding me to the ground longer than he should, the weight of his body on mine.
Micah holds me as I sob, and I hate him for giving me this gift. Hate it because even as he gave it to me, he took it away from me and Gabriel because this was a moment we should have shared and now we won’t.
It’s not something I can call back.
Nothing Micah and I do together can be called back.
Not when I asked him to strip for me even without knowing why I ached to see his naked body. Not now when he’s holding me and guiding me through my first orgasm. Something he never should have been present for. Something that was always intended for someone else.
I resent him even while twisting my frame into a complicated shape that fits against his body and only his, accepting his caresses as comfort for the mess that he caused. Him and his selfish desires that are set at such right angles to my own.
Micah’s shirt is wet from my tears before I drag myself to a stop. Even when I do, he continues to hold me, to comfort me. I wish I’d never laid eyes on Gabriel, then I could accept everything without this guilt, this weird overlap between what is and what I expected to be.
“It’s okay,” Micah whispers. “This sadness won’t last forever.”
I sit upright, adjusting my clothing and wiping my face to get back to normal. My throat is swollen, and my nose runs, even after I grab a handful of tissues from the sidetable and blow.
Micah massages my neck and I wonder what I’m meant to do.For him. Isn’t there reciprocation due and how will I ever cope with that when I can’t even keep myself together?
Then his words register, and I hold a hand over his until he stops rubbing my shoulders. “I’m not sad. That was… lovely.”
