“Even me?”
“Duh?” His grin doesn’t twitch. The scent of coffee wraps around him, mixing with the smell of spice that always surrounds Micah.
“Uh-huh, right.” I don’t know why it bothers me right now that Micah teases me about this. Maybe because when we first started this, it…was kind of nice that he thought I was the more experienced one? That I got to hold the reins for once, unlike the other guys I was chatting with, who expected someone meek.
Even Colin.
But this is Micah, I tell my stupid brain. He’s just teasing me. The fact that it’s getting under my skin means it’s working, which is probably why he’s keeping up his act—and feeling doubly smug about it!
“Mhm, yeah, you’re right. I was just waiting for a strong, handsomemanto stroll into my life.” I nod, reaching out to innocently rest my hand on his hip.
Micah’s smile is blinding when I join in on his game. “Oh, I dunno about handsome, but you're right, Iamstr—WHOA!”
I use his distraction to slide my hands from his hips to his thighs. Grabbing him tightly, I step forward and heave himup. Micah’s heavy—all that height and muscle—but I’ve lugged hay bales and machinery all my life. Compared to that, it’s easy to lift him onto the half-high wall of the stall, his thick thighs wrapping around my waist, squeezing on instinct—and nearly taking my breath away.
For a moment, he sways, searching for balance. I keep hold of him until he’s settled.
Triumphant and feeling pretty smug myself, I grin at him. To drive home my success, I pat his knees.
Micah’s eyes are wide and round. I laugh when he makes a sound between a croak and a groan. “Linden,whatthefuck?!” he finally says, his voice rough enough to grind my spike of confidence into dust.
“I…sorry, I just…” I fall back from my tiptoes to my heels to make room for Micah to hop down from the box, but his strong hands grab my shoulders, holding me in place.
“No! No, don't, that…that was sohot!”
The words don't quite make sense, even as I keep staring at Micah's lips, like seeing their form will make me understand.
“Hot? Me?” I laugh. I don't think anyone's ever called me “hot” before. Not that I'm “cool” either. More like lukewarm tap water. The flutter in the pit of my stomach desperately wants him to say it again.
Micah's brows draw together. He grabs for my wrist, plucking my hand off his thigh and places it over his groin. There's an unmistakable hardness under my palm.
He’s this aroused from somethingIdid!?
“Oh fuck.” I swallow thickly, tracing my fingers along his length. “I…I mean, you mentioned that scene,” I add, glancing up at Micah, biting my lower lip. “Is that what you want? Getting down and dirty in the barn?”
“I mean…I don’t have any other plans for the day. Do you?”
“Hmm, no, no plans yet, but let me tell you one thing about hay,” I hum, keeping my voice low to draw Micah down to me.
“Yeah?” he prompts me, his warm breath tickling my cheek. It’s so tempting to give in. I could simply continue to feel him up, eventually pull his pants out of the way…
His lips graze mine. It's almost second nature to press our mouths together, opening up to Micah's tongue with a sigh. We fit together seamlessly, easily. I groan freely against him when his teeth tug on my lower lip.
Leaning back to catch my breath, I trail my hands down over Micah’s thighs, squeezing his knees, then his calves until I reach his ankles. I could spend all day kissing him, but there's another temptation that's simply too powerful to resist.
“Because, hay—tickles!” I pull Micah's feet up, disrupting the delicate balance that kept him on the edge of the stall. For a moment, Micah flails, his mouth open, but eliciting no sound until he tips backward. “Linden!”
I laugh as he drags my name out into a curse word.
It doesn't save him.
Micah falls and lands in the fresh hay I had piled up in the stall earlier. It’s more than enough to cushion his fall so that he lands with a rustle—and an indignant huff.
I hook my arms over the wooden barrier, grinning down at him.
“You little—” he growls, but at the same time can’t keep his lips—still swollen and glistening from our kiss—from quirking into a smile.
“You look good like that. On your back, I mean.”
