Page 139 of Micah

He reaches for me and sucks my nipple into his mouth hard while I clutch at his hair.

Then I start to ride.

Micah flexes his hips, rubbing against my sensitive clit with every thrust and it’s so good.

Pressure builds fast. And thank God, he’s right there with me.

“That’s it, Princess. Show me what you got,” he growls against my breast.

I pull on his hair, yanking his face to mine, and I slam my lips to his. Our tongues dance together, and we kiss until we’re not kissing at all anymore.

It’s like our lips and tongues are just touching. Like we need to maintain contact, even if all we can do is just exist in the moment.

We’re breathing one another’s air.

And it feels so intimate.

So dirty.

So hot.

And I fucking love it.

We’re both vulnerable like this.

Both open and unguarded.

And it is so completely unlike anything I've ever shared with another person.

For years I'd convinced myself that chemistry was all there was—that attraction was attraction, and everything else came later if it came at all.

I was wrong.

This isn't just desire.

It's more.

It’s trust. Affection. Emotions I refuse to name right now.

Every time Micah looks at me, he makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the room.

Not because I'm perfect, but because, somehow, I'm perfect to him. Every insecurity I've carried for years seems to fall away beneath that steady blue gaze of his.

I never knew being wanted could feel this safe.

I never knew giving someone my trust could feel this freeing.

Sweat coats our bodies, and the smell of sex fills the air. I've never done anything like this. Never felt so uninhibited with another person.

Somewhere along the way, this stopped being about proving I was desirable. It stopped being about the fear of tomorrow or everything that almost happened tonight.

Micah groans, and the sound pulls me back into the moment.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. You feel so good, Princess. So damn good.”

When he says my nickname, it doesn't sound corny.

It sounds like home.