Page 133 of Micah

I don't hesitate.

I yank it over my head, desperate to feel her touch against my skin.

She whimpers and pride surges through me.

I don’t need her to admire me, but I’m glad she likes what she sees.

I know I do.

I reach for her, skimming her curves with greedy fingers because I need the reassurance that she's here and she’s real.

Safe.

Whole.

Mine.

That this isn't another one of the fantasies I've tortured myself with while lying awake in bed thinking about her.

I move us backward until the backs of my knees hit the couch.

I sit, bringing her with me until she's standing between my splayed legs.

She's so much smaller than me.

So damn perfect.

I can still kiss her like this while my hands find the buttons on that flannel she's wearing.

It’s the one I'd left hanging in the bathroom earlier, and I’ve never been so grateful for a shirt.

Somehow seeing it on her transforms it into something entirely different.

Something intimate.

Something that belongs to this moment.

To us.

My fingers slow.

Not because I don't want to keep going.

Because I do.

God, I do.

But because I want her to know she can stop this at any second.

She can change her mind.

Walk away.

Tell me no.

And I'll let her.

Always.