Page 136 of Micah

No one has ever done that.

And it’s so damn sexy. I feel his fingers spreading me, spearing me as he sucks and licks and eats my pussy.

Not just eats.

Micah is feasting on me.

In every sense of the word.

And I might just die from it.

But I don't.

Not exactly.

I've heard an orgasm was called la petite mort—the little death.

I'd always thought it was just another one of those overly dramatic French expressions people used to make sex sound more poetic than it really was.

I get it now.

I finally understand.

“Oh God, I’m coming,” I shout as pure pleasure spikes through me.

Micah groans, his tongue swirling around my clit like it’s his new favorite obsession.

He’s relentless in his pursuit of my pleasure—and I am so fucking here for it.

My orgasm rolls through me like an avalanche cascading down a hillside.

Unstoppable.

Fierce.

Earth shattering.

His arms tighten around my hips, and I wonder if I might actually be killing him in the moment.

But I can’t stop this.

I can’t even speak.

All I can do is feel.

No one has ever made me feel like this.

Not just physically.

Emotionally.

Completely.

It's like every wall I've spent years building around my heart is crumbling, brick by brick, until there's nothing left between us.

Only trust.

Only longing.