"Micah." My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him there.
He hums against my skin, the vibration drawing a whimper from my throat. His teeth graze my nipple and I jerk, pleasure spiking sharp and sweet. He soothes it with his tongue before moving to my other breast, giving it the same devoted attention while his hand keeps working the first, thumb circling the wet peak until I'm trembling.
By the time he kisses down my stomach, I'm shaking for entirely different reasons than exhaustion. His fingers hook into my pants, pull them down along with my underwear in one smooth motion. The air against my overheated skin draws a gasp.
He positions himself between my spread thighs, broad shoulders forcing them wider. The vulnerability of it brings more tears, but these mix with anticipation instead of just fear.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, and the raw honesty in his voice cracks through my defenses. "So fucking beautiful, Sarah."
His breath ghosts across my inner thigh. I feel the heat of his mouth before he presses an open kiss there, tongue tasting skin. He works his way higher with torturous slowness, kissing and licking until I'm squirming, aching for him to reach where I need him most.
"Please." The word breaks on a sob.
"I've got you." His breath ghosts directly over my clit and I nearly come apart from that alone. "Just feel, Sarah. Let me take care of you."
When his tongue finally makes contact, I cry out. The sensation floods through me—wet heat and perfect pressure as he licks a slow, thorough line up my center. He groans against me like I taste good, like this is for his pleasure as much as mine.
His tongue circles my clit with the same patient attention he gave my breasts—slow circles, then faster, gentle pressure, then firmer when I gasp and my hips buck. He slides his hands under my ass, tilts me exactly where he wants me, and works me with the focused intensity of a man who has all night.
The pleasure builds in waves. Each stroke of his tongue pushes me higher, draws whimpers and gasps and incoherent pleas. He learns what I like—the pressure that steals my breath, the rhythm that has me grinding against his mouth, the spot that obliterates coherent thought.
When he slides two fingers inside me, the stretch combines with the slick glide of his tongue and I shatter. The orgasm rolls through me gentle and devastating, not the sharp-edged release from the analysis room but something deeper that has me sobbing his name while he works me through it. His fingers curlinside me, finding that perfect spot, and another wave crashes over me before the first fully fades.
He doesn't stop until I'm boneless and quaking, aftershocks pulsing through me with each breath. Only then does he kiss his way back up my body, his weight settling between my thighs.
I taste myself on his lips when he kisses me. The intimacy of it sends fresh tremors through my oversensitive body.
His cock presses against my entrance, thick and hard and real. When he starts to push inside, the stretch is exquisite—slow and deliberate, giving me time to adjust to every inch.
"Still with me?" His voice is rough, strained with the effort of going slow.
"Yes." I grip his shoulders, pull him deeper. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He sinks in fully and we both groan. The feeling of him inside me, filling me completely with nothing between us, tears through the last of my carefully constructed walls. More tears spill but this time pleasure tangles with the emotion, sharpens everything.
He starts to move. Each stroke is slow and measured, a deliberate drag that lights up every nerve ending. It's not the rough claiming from before but something that feels like worship, like he's trying to prove with his body what words can't fully convey.
I wrap my legs around his waist, changing the angle so he hits deeper. The sensation steals my breath, coils fresh heat low in my belly despite the orgasm still pulsing through me.
"That's it," he murmurs against my mouth. "Take what you need."
His rhythm stays steady, unhurried. One hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit and circling with perfect pressure. The combination of his cock filling me and his fingersworking my clit builds another orgasm faster than should be possible.
"I choose you," he says against my mouth, hips never faltering in their rhythm. "Every time. Every mission. Every risk. I choose you."
The words combined with the relentless pleasure undo me completely. I come apart beneath him crying and shaking, clenching around his cock while he groans and buries his face in my neck. The orgasm pulls from somewhere deeper than physical sensation, dragging years of loss and longing and desperate need to the surface.
He follows me over with a strangled version of my name, hips jerking as he comes. I feel the pulse of it inside me, feel him quaking with the same intensity I am. The intimacy of it—no barriers, nothing held back—draws more tears.
Afterward, he stays inside me, both of us trembling with the aftermath. His weight grounds me, his heartbeat thundering against mine.
Eventually he pulls out carefully, leaving me feeling empty and oversensitive. He shifts us so I'm tucked against him, one arm wrapped securely around me while the other pulls the blanket over our cooling skin.
"You're okay," he murmurs against my hair. "I've got you. You're safe."
Safe. The word should be laughable given everything we face. But wrapped in his arms, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek, feeling the wetness of him and me combined between my thighs, I believe it.
The tears slow. Exhaustion drags at me with irresistible weight now that the emotional storm has passed.
