Silence. I could almost see the cogs in Meera’s brain turning as she deciphered my vague statement. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I’m not going to ask you to spell it out for me—I don’t think the details matter—but do you think you could try and tell me why it’s something you need to talk to me about instead of Sam?”
“How do you know I haven’t talked to Sam about it?”
“Educated guess.”
Damn her and whatever the certificates on her wall meant. “I’ve talked to him about it in my head, but every time I try to do it for real, I feel stupid.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s, like, a fucking god, and I’m this idiot who’s spent his whole adult life believing that getting my dick wet was real sex.”
I finished on a half shout that made me feel even worse, but every word of my rant was true. Sam never faltered. His hands and tongue were sure of their path, and every touch and caress was fucking perfect. I craved that perfection in places I hadn’t known existed before him, dark parts of my soul that only he could bring to life. Damn it, Ineededhim to fuck me.
A lightbulb lit up my brain. Meera raised an eyebrow and said more words, but I barely heard her. Jesus.Thatwas it? Had I been watching him fall apart around my dick this whole time consumed by jealousy cos I wanted it too?
It can’t be that simple.
But there was that word again: simple. Anxious minds were complicated places to be. Had I lost a primal urge to black thoughts and overthinking?
Figuring out the answer to that would take time I didn’t want to waste. I played Meera’s game for ten more minutes, then bid her a hasty goodbye. As I turned to leave, she caught my hand. “You’ve done well today, Micah. Think on this before our next session: you’ve spent a lifetime unable to say what you want and be proud of it. Perhaps it’s time to change that.”
* * *
Sam wasn’t home when I burst through the front door. The born-again virgin in me was relieved. The rest of me was so antsy I had to take a cold shower to calm the fuck down.
My leg didn’t appreciate the shock. My muscles seized, and I spent the next half hour apologising with heat and lavender oil. I smelt like an old people’s home by the time Sam came back.
He had a pizza box in one hand, a bag from the bakery in the other. “I take it you didn’t have any lunch?”
I didn’t know what I wanted more, the garlicky concoction in the box, the custard tarts I could see through the white paper bag, or him looming over me, his hard dick easing me open.
A heatwave rolled through me.
Sam tilted his head sideways. “Are you okay?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just, uh, hot from the shower.”
“And the heat pack?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t look convinced, but that was a face I was used to after the last few months. And for once, I had the answer to put it right. I just had to find the words.
Sam disappeared into the kitchen. I shoved the heat pack aside and limped after him.
He opened the pizza box. Prawn-garlic pizza appeared like magic, but the growl in my stomach had nothing on the roar in my heart. I had to be as close to him as possible.
I rounded the counter and pushed my way into his personal space. He dropped the bakery bag and gripped my wrist, tugging me to where I needed to be. “Hey there,” he whispered. “Something you want?”
“Yeah, but not what you think.”
He frowned, and the pressure of him crammed against me faded a touch.Fuck that.
I crowded him some more. “I need to say something, but I feel like a Class A twat saying it, so don’t laugh, okay?”
“I never laugh at you.”
“Not true. You laughed at me this morning.”
