Page 114 of Micah
Get a grip.
She's just taking a shower.
The woman survived the worst night of her life.
The least you can do is act like an adult.
The doorknob turns.
Slowly.
The bathroom door eases open.
Sloane steps into the hallway, wrapped in one of my old flannel shirts.
And just like that, I know I’m done for.
It hangs almost to the middle of her thighs, the sleeves rolled twice to keep them from swallowing her hands.
Her damp red hair spills over one shoulder.
Her cheeks are pink from the hot water.
She smells faintly of my soap.
My shampoo.
My cabin.
For one impossible second, she looks like she belongs here.
Like she's walked out of my bathroom a thousand times before.
Every drop of blood in my body forgets where it's supposed to go—and yeah, it travels right to my cock.
My chest tightens so hard it almost hurts.
Fuck. Me.
She's beautiful.
No makeup.
No fancy dress.
Just beautiful from the top of her pretty red hair to her pink painted toes.
Soft.
Real.
Here.
Christ, she really is here. Standing in my home, wearing my clothes—and all I know is I have never wanted another woman the way I want her.
Her eyes meet mine.
There's uncertainty in them.
