Page 237 of Micah

His voice is rough from the early hour.

God, I love that voice.

I let him pull me to my feet.

Willingly.

Happily.

The coffee mug barely makes it onto the porch table before his arms are around me.

I melt into him.

Like I was made to fit there.

He tips my face up and kisses me.

Slowly.

Deeply.

Unhurried.

It's a kiss that says he missed me.

A kiss that somehow manages to make the whole world disappear.

When he finally lets me breathe again, I rest my forehead against his chest.

His shirt is clean.

His hair is still damp.

He showered.

I don't ask where he'd been before that.

I don't question why he left so early.

I simply breathe him in.

He always smells incredible. And I love the feel of him wrapped around me even more.

Warm skin. Tender touches. Gentle kisses.

Micah.

He settles into one of the porch chairs and gently tugs me down until I'm sitting sideways across his lap.

I go without hesitation.

Curled against him like it's the most natural thing in the world.

I feel small, tiny even—and that’s not common for a plus size girl to feel.

But I do.

He makes me feel cherished.