Page 83 of IRL: In Real Life
I knew that.
She knew it too.
So I kissed her once more, lighter this time, and let her go.
She looked at me then. Really looked. Like she knew exactly what I wasn’t doing and what it cost me not to.
That softened her face.
“Goodnight, Micah.”
“Goodnight, Talia.”
I stood there until I heard the lock click behind her.
The whole drive home, all I could think about was the sound she’d made, the way her body had trusted my hand, and the taste of her still on my fingers after I licked them at the next red light like I had no damn sense.
Her pussy had clutched and released around me like it was already trying to tell me what really having her would feel like.
God help me.
That was going to haunt me tonight.
twelve
. . .
By the timeI got inside, my whole body was still tuned to him.
The townhouse had gone quiet in that late-night way that usually settled me. A lamp glowed near the sofa. City light slipped through the windows in soft pieces. The refrigerator hummed low from the kitchen. My sandals landed by the door, one after the other, and everything sat exactly where I had left it before I went out.
None of it was strong enough to compete with Micah still being all over me.
Not his body anymore.
The memory of it.
His mouth on mine. His hand around my wrist. The way he had looked at me after I asked whether he planned on kissing me again, like I had finally said something he had been waiting to hear.
And then the truck.
I shut my eyes for a second and saw it all over again. Joe low in the speakers. My hand resting on his thigh, then drifting inward because at some point I had stopped pretending I was only curious. I had not been teasing that man. I had been ready to give in. Ready to see what happened if we stopped acting like grown people with sense and let the wanting have us.
I had looked over, seen that hard set in his face, followed my own gaze down, and when my hand passed over his dick through that denim, thick and hot and straining against my palm, my whole body had gone yes.
That was the truth of it.
Only Micah had kept us from spilling all the way into each other.
I admired him for that.
I hated him for it too.
Both feelings sat in me as I stood in my own kitchen with his presence still on my skin like he had never really let me go.
I set my bag on the console and went straight for water because standing still felt foolish. The bronze dress clung lightly to my skin, too soft, too thin, too good at reminding me I was still carrying the whole night on my body. My nipples were hard and overaware, still remembering his mouth. Between my thighs, everything felt swollen and needy, my panties damp with my own slickness, my clit full and tender enough that every small shift made me more aware of what he had started and refused to finish.
I needed a shower, a prayer, and a little more self-respect than I currently had access to.
