Chapter Twenty
Savage
The way Micah is looking down at me—long shadows cast on his face by the little bedside lamp—is predatory. Which should probably make me nervous, but instead it just brings back a trickle of the arousal that fled me so abruptly before.
I don’t know what happened. Everything felt amazing. I loved the way he was watching me, and the unabashed way he had started the whole thing. I was worried he was going to force me into several mind-bending conversations about what this all means, but instead he let us go with the flow.
It was perfect. Until the stray thought crossed my mind about what would happen if my boner fled the scene. Which made me nervous. Which triggered an immediate cascade of sensations marked by panic and the curling, quivering shame that led to me wanting nothing more than to crawl away and hide so he couldn’t see my soft, useless cock.
But Micah didn’t freak out, like I expected. I’ve had girls have different reactions, and even though most of them at least tryto be nice, they’re normally at best super uncomfortable, and at worst offended. Micah seemed to get it.
Although maybe that wasn’t so much because he isn’t a girl, and more because he’shim.He knows me already, inside and out, and isn’t some random stranger I dragged home.
And now he’s looking at me like I didn’t just ruin everything by being pathetic, and he still wants to do whatever it is—this new thing between us is.
Do you trust me?
He’s the only person I trust. I don’t even trust myself, but I trust him.
Micah leans over and fucks with a drawer for a minute, pulls out something I can’t really make out, and then quickly drapes his body over mine. I try not to look. I don’t want to know what he’s doing. If I know, I’ll think about what it all means, and then my brain will win.
I just want to feel. And to make him feel.
Micah kisses me again, just as deeply as before. His hips are in between my legs, and for some reason the fact that he’s fully dressed while I’m completely bare-ass naked isn’t making me feel exposed and vulnerable. It feels right.
Like I’m spread out for him to take whatever he wants. Which sounds fucked up when I articulate it in my head. But the thought of himtakinggives me a deep sense of peace that I’ve barely even glimpsed in my previous life.
His kiss is heady and insistent. His hands run up and down my sides, and he grinds his hips into me a little as I let myself wrap my thighs around him and squeeze. We rut together like that until I’m breathless, and if he’s trying to overwhelm me with sensation, he’s succeeding.
Then he fucks with whatever he got out of the drawer again, his body still over me but his hands elsewhere, before leaning in to kiss me one more time.
He breaks away, his gaze intently boring into me.
“Just remember to trust me, doll. You deserve good things,” he whispers.
I furrow my brow as I try to work out what he means, but I don’t have time for thinking then because Micah’s fingers are roaming. He hitches one of my legs up higher around his waist before trailing cold, wet fingertips over the crease of my ass and finding my hole.
My breath stutters, because this is probably the most alien sensation I’ve ever experienced, but I focus on shoving all the big thoughts out of my head and letting him do whatever he’s going to do. And fuck me, he does. Micah doesn’t hesitate. He watches me intently the whole time, but I think something in him recognizes that the more space he gives me to freak out, the more likely it is that it’ll happen.
I trust him.
Micah’s fingers circle my hole briefly before pressing into it. Again, I feel like he’s trying to overwhelm me with sensation so I can’t think, and it’s working. I can’t think. All I can do is adjust to the vibrating need formorethat’s already kicking up in my chest, even while my nerve endings deal with the insane combination ofpleasure-pain-weirdthat he’s causing.
He gets one finger into me swiftly, making me gasp. It sends a tingling through my body everywhere, and I don’t know if that’s adrenaline or desperation or what, but I don’t hate it.
Micah fucks me with that finger for a while as he goes back to kissing me—big, messy, open-mouthed kisses that seem to hit me in every nerve-ending as well. Then he presses in a second finger. It burns as I adjust, but I’m used to pain. I can handle pain. It’s pure and simple. What I can’t handle is the confusing waves of something like pleasure that this is also bringing with it.
But not like the pleasure I’ve felt before. This is different. I’m used to pleasure that’s sharp and focused, but slippery. It lives in a point in your body, and you have to grab onto it with both hands before it wiggles away and escapes.
This is a low thrumming glow that’s setting up residence in every inch of my skin, spreading from where he’s touching me outwards. It’s making me tingle and quiver and look at the world in a hazy sort of way. Like I’m high or something. Not like after an orgasm, when you just feel relief. But like actual, genuine pleasure.
Then he touches something inside of me, and the hazy tingle turns electric. My legs jerk and my cock, which was interested, but still at half-mast, fills out. It’s like a lightning bolt of something rolls through me, and Micah keeps doing it over and over until I’m writhing on the sheets and rocking my hips to try to keep his fingers as deep inside me as possible.
I don’t think about what I look like. I don’t think about what it means. I think about the fact that this is Micah, and this feels better than any way I’ve ever been touched.
“That’s it, doll,” he whispers. “Fuck, I thought you might be responsive, but this is something else.” He reaches up with his other hand to brush some hair away from my sweaty forehead, and I can’t help it when a whine slips out of me as his fingers stroke what must be my prostate again and again. “You’re so fucking sensitive. Does that feel good?”
My thighs are fully quaking now, and my stomach is twisted in knots while my chest heaves. I don’t think I can talk, but I lick my parched lips and look him in the eye when I nod.
