“Yeah, that's why I hide all this.” I playfully flex my bicep. “So Sasha doesn't see me as competition.”
“Smart! You're flying under the radar until you can blow her out of the water.” Micah's eyes twinkle with his laugh, and I'm halfway to leaning toward him when I realize that we're standing out in the open, where anyone could see.
“Do you wanna go for a walk?” I rush the words out, looking around. No one is paying us any attention.
I don’t wait for his answer, pulling him with me. Micah laughs but catches up easily with his long legs.
I steer us to where the lakeside curves, creating a natural basin. At the far end, there's a pier, normally reserved for the fishermen. No one will be there in the middle of the day, butit's the small group of trees right behind that's my goal. I throw another cautious glance over my shoulder. From here, the rest of the beach already feels distant.
Emboldened, I pull Micah close by his hand and stretch up onto my tiptoes, pressing my lips against the edge of his jaw. The contact is light and brief, just a tease. Then I step back and squeeze through the bushes seaming the bank.
Quiet wraps around me, as if I stepped into a church. A breeze rustles through the leaves above my head. Some of the willow’s branches hang low enough that their foliage brushes the water’s surface, causing tiny ripples.
Micah steps up behind me, bumping into my back.
“Oh wow,” he breathes, taking in the scenery, even as he has to duck his head not to get leaves tangled in his hair.
“Yeah,” I agree, my heart jumping into my throat as I let go of his hand to climb up the slope, grinning when I reach the tree I've been looking for: it's split into two trunks, the slimmer one arching almost horizontally over the ground toward the lake.
Micah swings his legs over to sit on it, dangling his feet with a grin. He’s high enough that I have to grab his knees to be able to stretch up to him. Stepping between his legs makes me feel small, but not unpleasantly—more like he’s wrapping all around me. Especially when Micah steadies me, cupping my cheek with one hand, the other coming to rest on my shoulder at first, then gliding down over my chest.
I shiver in my wet shirt, despite the warmth that floods through me when our lips meet, tentative and soft, like all our kisses start. Our mouths taste of lake water when we open up to each other. When we tilt our heads the same way, our noses bump together.
Soft laughs and gasps fill the otherwise quiet space. My hands wander up Micah’s thighs, squeezing here and there, drawing quiet moans out of his throat.
One of his hands cups the back of my neck, playing with my hair. When he tugs on some of the strands, an unexpected shiver races down my spine, making me throw my head back with a loud groan.
I almost pull back in embarrassment, but Micah’s lips are pressing against my throat, making me instantly forget about it. He sucks on my skin, his unshaved cheek scratching deliciously.
My fingers, distracted by the feeling of his thighs flexing and the bare skin of his stomach and chest, find their way to the front of Micah's swimming trunks. I easily pull open the drawstring.
I want to feel his warm skin not just under my palms, but against my lips. I want to taste him. Feel that glowing warmth against my tongue, trace where he’s most sensitive, and hear his moans. The first time, my nerves got the better of me because of all the expectations that I had created for myself. But right here, out under the trees, there aren’t any expectations. I can just try. And if I can’t do it, I can try again.
When I rub my palms over his shorts, there is a hardness beneath, rising toward my touch.
Groaning hoarsely, Micah shifts, his legs straightening reflexively to keep his balance. I carefully wait until he’s relaxing again, still sitting on the tree while I’m leaning up against him. Then I grin up at him, ridiculously pleased about the reaction I caused.
“Don’t fall off,” I tell him as I tug his trunks down. Just a sliver, barely enough to sneak my hand inside, then another inch, exposing the endpoint of that sharp V-line leading down from his hips.
When we were in the back of my truck, it was dark, and there were too many clothes in the way, but now, as I slowly pull him free, I can finally look at him. Micah’s thick and uncut, the skin of his dick smooth and hot against my palm.
It feels forbidden to look openly.
I blink up at Micah, who’s holding his breath, letting it out slowly while we keep eye contact. Both his eyes seem the same now: dark because his pupils are blown wide, watching me hungrily.
One of his hands reaches for me again, his fingers brushing my cheek. He gently cups my neck, applying the most tentative pressure, barely more than a suggestion.
His lips move, but there’s no sound.
I don’t want him to ask if I’m fine. I just want him.
Breathing in, I groan at the thick scent of arousal that’s mixing with the soft, earthy note of the trees around us, the wet moss nearby. I lower my head, kissing the tip. Anticipation thrums in my chest, but this time it doesn’t make me freeze up.
Instead, it spurs me on.
Micah’s fingers tense in my hair. He immediately lets go again, so I reach up to hold his hand against my head, unwilling to lose the contact.
“Hold me,” I tell him, not daring to lift my head. It’s easier to tell my desires to his exposed crotch.
