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“I’ll fix it,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my brow. “I’ll make it better.”
No acknowledgment that he was the one who caused this, but a burning sorrow radiates from him. I can’t shield him from that pain; he should endure it, and I hope it lingers until his last breath.
He bends my wrist, and I gasp as he tries to bend one finger. Every finger is swollen and bruised, the veins of my hand popping out. He frowns as he reaches over to the medical kit nearby and re-wraps my hand tighter than before, and it instantly feels better.
“We have to get some ice on it,” he says, laying his head down and pulling my head down with him.
I enjoy his hot breath on my ear and neck. His erection is pressing against me, which causes heat to build in my core, adding to the already blazing fuel coursing through me that is my anger. My anger builds and intensifies with each passing second. He really thinks soft strokes and gentle kisses will make this all better?
He’s relentless as his hands begin to roam my stomach, teasing their way up to my breasts where he cups one of them before moving back down to my belly.
Down.
Down.
Down.
“Micah, I can’t do this right now,” I protest, even though his soft hands are the medicine my body needs.
He runs his hand over my thighs. “I know, London. I’m warming you up; you’re freezing.”
The same way he left me—cold and alone. Now, suddenly, he cares?
“I’ll rub you all night if I need to, baby,” he whispers, nibbling on my ear. It sounds like an apology, although there is an edge to his voice.
I know Micah Matei well enough to tell when he’s livid with me—his fingers hit all the right chords. And right now… he’s raging.
This is usually the version of him where I get my best orgasms, which says more about me than it does about him.
My body reacts by leaning into him as if I can’t control it. I crave him, even though I hate him right now. I hate how badly I want this.
His strong hands, which cover much of my withered body, rub every part of me, and my skin starts to thaw. The big fire he made us also helps as the flames heat my face.
He plays with the drawstring of my pants, and I clamp my fingers around his before he can get any further. “Fucking me isn’t going to make me forgive you,” I whisper.
He arches a brow and hits me with a pouty smile. “But you will fuck me? Because I’ve gone five days without sex, baby. I don’t think I can hold back right now.”
I don’t respond, but I definitely don’t say no as his fingers edge closer to the apex of my thigh. I close my eyes and revel in the heat, doing my best not to arch my back and give him any reason to believe I like it.
I don’t stop him.
I’ll let him make me feel good. I’ll let him beg and grovel for once—it’s the least he can do.
I’m not sure whether it’s the heat from his body or from the fire, or the burning sensation in between my legs, but I begin to melt. The softness overtakes me. So much that I can ignore the rocks scraping into my side, the freezing earth beneath me, and the anger that just moments before consumed me.
After a few minutes, Micah’s stroking stops. “You like these warm hands, don’t you, baby?”
I don’t like the way he says it, so I don’t answer.
“Yeah, I know you do, sweetheart.”
Goosebumps form on my skin despite how hot my body is.
He kisses my neck and teases his tongue on my earlobe, nipping it. “Because you will die out here without these hands, and you know it. So tomorrow, when I say we are leaving, you are going to come with me without saying a fucking word. Do you understand what I’m telling you, baby?”
My whole body freezes. Why can’t Micah understand that we need to be with the others? That both our mental states are too fragile to be away from them. That they are really our lifeline, not each other.
“Micah, quit acting like this,” I choke out a whisper as his hands move up to my neck. He doesn’t squeeze, but the mere motion of it scares the shit out of me. The whisper is more like a sob because he is making me so helpless that it causes my heart rate to spike.
