"This. You."
"More specific." His mouth finds my breast, tongue circling my nipple. "Show me, Sarah."
The analytical part of my brain that catalogs patterns and builds probability models shorts out completely. "I don't know. I've never—" I stop, suddenly embarrassed.
Micah lifts his head, eyes dark. "Never what?"
"Been with someone who asked." I force myself to meet his gaze. "Most guys don't."
"I'm not most guys." His hand slides lower, between my thighs, and I gasp. "And I want to know exactly what makes you come apart."
He touches me with the same focused intensity he applies to everything, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me arch, what makes coherent thought impossible. His fingers slide through my wetness, circling and teasing until I'm writhing beneath him. When he moves lower still and settles between my legs, I try to pull him back up.
"You don't have to?—"
"I want to." He presses a kiss to my inner thigh, then higher. "Let me taste you."
Any protest I might have made dies when his mouth finds me, tongue sliding through my folds with deliberate precision. He's methodical about it, paying attention to what makes me moan, what makes my fingers tangle in his hair, what makes my hips buck against his mouth. When he seals his lips around my clit and sucks, I nearly come apart right there. The man who plans tactical operations with ruthless efficiency is applying the same approach to taking me apart with his tongue, and I'm helpless against it.
When I finally come, trembling and gasping beneath him, my thighs clenching around his head, my entire body goes boneless.
Micah moves back up, kissing me so I can taste myself on his mouth—salt and sex and something uniquely mine. "Not done with you yet." He positions himself between my legs, and I feel the thick head of his cock pressing against my entrance. "Still okay?"
"More than okay."
He pushes inside slowly, giving me time to adjust, and the sensation of being filled by him—stretched and full and complete—is almost overwhelming. I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper until he's buried to the hilt, and he groans against my neck.
"Sarah." My name sounds like a prayer and a curse. "You feel incredible. So fucking tight."
We move together, finding a rhythm that's both familiar and brand new. He's not gentle, exactly, but he's careful in a way that tells me he's paying attention to every response. When I shift my hips and gasp at the angle, he adjusts immediately, driving deeper, hitting that spot again and again until I'm clinging to his shoulders and begging.
"That's it." His voice is rough in my ear, hips snapping harder. "I've got you. Take it."
The coil of tension winds tighter with each thrust. I can feel every inch of him, the drag and slide, the way he fills me completely. When he reaches between us and finds my clit with his thumb, circling in rhythm with his thrusts, I shatter.
I come again with him deep inside me, crying out as the orgasm crashes through me in waves. He follows moments later, his rhythm breaking as he drives in deep one final time, gasping my name against my skin while he pulses inside me.
We lie wrapped together afterward, catching our breath. Micah's weight is solid and warm above me, grounding in a way I didn't expect. When he finally moves, rolling to the side and pulling me with him, I curl into his chest and listen to his heartbeat slow.
"Stay," he says quietly.
"I'm not going anywhere."
We don't talk about what comes next. Not yet. Right now it's enough to be here, in his bed, his arms around me while the city moves on outside the blackout curtains.
I wake to pale light filtering through gaps in the curtains and Micah's body wrapped around mine. His breathing is slow and even, still asleep, and I let myself have this moment—memorizing the weight of his arm across my waist, the warmth of his chest against my back, the way our legs are tangled together like we've been doing this for years instead of hours.
Reality will intrude soon enough. Deployment orders and operational timelines and all the reasons this is now much more complicated. But right now, in the gray morning light, I let myself pretend this is simple.
Micah stirs behind me, his arm tightening briefly before he seems to realize where we are. "Morning," he murmurs against my shoulder.
"Morning."
"Sleep okay?"
"Better than I have in months." I turn in his arms to face him. "You?"
"Same." His knuckles brush my cheekbone, studying me in the dim light. "No regrets?"
