Page 84 of IRL: In Real Life
I drank half the water at the counter and still felt thirsty.
Because the problem was not only what had happened.
It was what almost had.
When my eyes closed again, there he was. Those dark brown eyes locked on mine in the half-light. The way he bit his lip when I touched him. The curse that left him when I straddled his lap. His fingers, thick and perfectly placed, working me open in the dark while his mouth made a mess of my nipples and my neck like he had all the time in the world.
The way I rocked on his hand and lost whatever was left of my composure while he held himself back with that same terrible patience that made him even sexier than he had any right to be.
He was a man.
Experienced. Skilled. Patient almost to the point of disrespect.
And I wanted him inside me now.
I had told him I wanted the whole thing. Time. Room. Something more intentional than us falling into each other just because we were too turned on to think straight.
I had meant it. Still meant it.
But now I was in my kitchen, slick between my thighs and biting my lip over the memory of his fingers because my own words had come back to test me.
I wanted the realness of it. Now I had to sit in that wanting and not fold the second it got difficult.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered.
The kitchen had nothing helpful to offer.
My phone buzzed.
I looked down too fast.
Micah: Settled in?
That softened something in me immediately. No little delay to look cool. No performative distance. Just a man making sure I got inside.
Me: Yes.
I stared at the one-word answer after I sent it because I was far from settled. My body was still humming from the truck, from his mouth, from the weight of his hand between my thighs and the almost of everything we had stopped ourselves from doing.
I picked the phone back up and typed the truth before my pride could stop me.
Come back.
Just those two words, sitting there with enough heat behind them to change the whole night.
I could see it too clearly. His truck turning around. His body in my doorway. His hands on my waist before I had fully shut the door. My dress shoved up. My back on my mattress. His mouth on me in my own house, that big body finally between my thighs, his voice darker and rougher because there would be no parking lot, no clock, no reason for all that restraint.
My whole body throbbed at the thought of it.
I wanted him over me. In me. Wanted to taste him too. Wanted my mouth on that man’s dick just to hear what kind of sound I could pull out of him when it was my turn to make him lose his mind.
And still, I did not send it.
Because the heat was not the problem. The heat was easy to name. The problem was that Micah already felt like the kind of man I needed to be careful with for different reasons. Men had disappointed me too many times on the other side of access. Too many of them looked right until your body opened the door, andthen the steadiness slipped. The attention got lazy. The care got thin. The version they had shown you could not survive actually having you.
Micah did not feel like one of those men.
Everything in me said he was exactly what he looked like, and that was why I wanted one more look before I gave my body the final word. I liked him too much already to let my pussy make a liar out of my own mouth just because that man knew what to do with his hands.
