Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

It's nearing the end of summer and I'm adamant about finishing the garden box. I don't believe Micah ever envisioned what to do with it, but it seems to be a recurring theme around this house. He never had an intended purpose or plan in mind on the renovation, only deciding on its fate until someone confronted him with it, or surrendering when I barged in to tackle it.

I feel Micah's eyes burning a hole at my back as I bend down into the box, digging my fingers into the soil. I'm covered in dirt up to my elbows, but I haven't let it stop me. The cold soil is therapeutic in a way. My nails are lined with black dirt, and my hair is piled into a sweaty mess on the top of my head, but digging through the dirt touches a dormant piece of my soul. One that is a far cry from the life I've lived before coming here. Far from the limelight and glamorous lifestyle of the modeling world.

The day I had the run in with my mother at Ember's studio, I spilled the entire story to Micah as if I were recounting a summary of a book I'd read. I felt disconnected from my mother, realizing I'd come to terms with the fact I will never meet her with mutual understanding. At least not for all the ways she's defended my father, even at her children's peril. Micah held me while I cried. He didn't speak much, allowing me to spill my conflicted feelings about seeing her again. I was thankful he held me, not feeling the need to offer his thoughts, only allowing me to feel every emotion.

When I was done telling Micah about my conversation with my mother, I told him about my mother's relationship with my ex. I kept my fears about Dad coming after me to myself, but I did tell Micah about my mother's defense of Maddox.

The thought of seeing him again turns my stomach sour, but I've been in constant contact with Ruby, and she's assured me that he was seen a few days ago at a party in The Valley, with his arm wrapped around a model visiting from Paris.

I can't say I'm certain, but I feel the threat of Maddox showing up at Micah's doorstep is slim. Perhaps he's moved on like I have. Perhaps he's let go of the idea of him and me. Perhaps I never meant enough for him to chase after me.

Good.

I've pushed away the tiny bit of fear about Maddox coming for me, not wanting to give it any credence. I don't want to live in fear or paranoia anymore. I refuse. Not when I'm finally happy and at peace.

My life in this bubble with Micah isn't worth losing simply because I'm living in constant anxiety.

Instead, I've turned my focus on what brings me joy.

Seeing my mother brought up old wounds—ones I've since been able to heal since running into her.

I'm determined to plant as many flowers in the garden box as possible. Over the past few weeks, I've been researching different types of soils, and which ones are best for certain plants. I even went as far as creating a vision board and drawing up a sketch while playing my favorite crime shows in the background.

Although Micah and I have crossed a bridge in understanding one another when I tried to leave several weeks ago, we're still existing in this bubble of our own creation.

I left my career behind in Los Angeles and with that comes a sense of insecurity. I've mostly been avoiding my bank account, only spending money when absolutely necessary, but I know this can't last forever. I can't hide from my responsibilities. I'm not certain if modeling is my future anymore, and that realization is terrifying. Modeling is all I've ever known. All I've ever wanted. A life without modeling is like standing in a pitch-black room, feeling for the light switch, hoping to find what brings light to my life.

While gardening may not be a passion that leads to a lucrative career, for now, it brings me joy. But living in this bubble with Micah is like holding a needle above a balloon, waiting for the moment it will burst.

How long will this fairy tale last?

Telling Micah the truth about the life I lived at home with my parents has also stirred up feelings of my big brother. A deep longing filled with regret tugs at my stomach. A million different scenarios played in my mind, wondering and imagining if even one single moment had changed, how different would our relationship be? Would we be closer? Would we talk more?

In recent weeks, Archer's messaged me and shared pictures of his travels across Europe. Envy tugs on the same string of regret. Envy for a life he's living. The freedom from a trauma only I experienced, simply because I was born twelve years later.

Archer's messages are filled with false promises of meeting up with me, spending time with me to make up for the time he didn't show up for coffee before flying back home. I haven't held my breath, knowing my brother isn't the most reliable.

Micah stands against the house now, watching me tend the garden. I stuff my hand into the bag and grab a fistful of dirt, then sprinkle it over the last remaining corner before bending over and spreading it out. I sweep my hand across the dirt, closing my eyes as the scent fills my nose. I listen to the sound of the birds in the trees. The warm, sticky, sea salt breeze dances across the branches, reminding me of the day I showed up on Micah's doorstep.

I bend down again and hear Micah make a sound behind me. Smiling to myself, I picture his face. I know exactly what he's thinking. His stare burns a hole in my back, and my thighs hum in response.

Still grinning, I stand and inhale a deep breath while wiping my hands along the front of my bare legs. Streaks of wet soil are painted across my thighs, but I don't care. The sun beats against my skin as more dots of sweat stream down my face to my shoulders, a drop slipping in the space between my breasts.

"There." I huff, planting my hands firmly on my hips. I point to the garden box and glance over my shoulder. "I've taken out all of the bad soil and replaced it with new, and I've removed all of the roots that were buried deep."

"I told you." He grins while leaning against the house, shielding himself from the beaming sun. "I could have hired a landscaper to take care of all of this."

Squinting against the harsh sun, I turn and cross my arms. My heart flutters as if it were stuffed with a bundle of feathers.

"And I told you," I tease. "I'll appreciate it more now knowing I was the one who brought it back from the dead."

"Is that what you're doing?" he asks, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.

A drop of sweat trickles down the back of my neck. "Yep." I pop the ‘p', exaggerating the sound it makes coming off my lips.

We simply stare at one another, the sound of the ocean breeze creating a symphony with the birds and trees.

Finally, Micah pushes off the wall, closing the space between us. He glances at the neighbors' houses briefly. Last week, he hired Jude to install a new security fence, changing out the rotted wooden paneling with a taller brick fence that had an additional wrought iron detail wrapping around the top. Not only does it fit better with the house and the surrounding neighborhood, but it also offers a better sense of privacy and security.

I guess after my father trespassed his yard, Micah lost a sense of safety here. Along with the fence, he's gone one step further and installed the best security system possible, with cameras located at every corner of the house, recording every angle of the outside perimeter.

He says his next job is installing a front security gate within the next couple weeks.

The steps Micah's taken to increase my sense of comfort and safety since my father's unexpected appearance has made it easier to fall for him… as if I wasn't already.

Slow and torturous. That's how my love for Micah has blossomed. But there's beauty in the pain of falling in love with him.

And that's what I've done. I've fallen in love with Micah Harding.

A fantasy I never believed would come true.

His devastatingly beautiful eyes search around the yard and the neighbor's houses on each side. Gerald, the old man in the house on the right, is spending the summer with his grandchildren in Maine. Heidi, the one who lives in the house on the left, has a line of tall trees separating her property from his, making it impossible to see into the yard. A similar boundary of trees run along the rear of the house, thick and wooded, meaning there's no one who would be able to see in.

When he reaches me, he immediately presses his hands to my face.

Rolling onto the balls of my feet, I stand on my toes, trying my best to bring my mouth above his. "I'm dirty, Micah," I breathe over his lips.

"Do you think I care?" His fingers dip into my hair and grip the back of my neck.

His hands are on me, and he doesn't stop. A sense of euphoria washes over me, his touch burning my skin in the best way.

"Is that how you want me?" I ask.

He presses his hips into me, his hardened erection against my stomach. I feel the length of him, and the space between my thighs hums with need.

"I want you in every possible way," he confesses.

I smirk, then I press my mouth to his, nibbling on his lip until I pull my mouth away. I look down at my feet before casting my eyes back up. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"I want your mouth on me. I want to watch your pretty mouth sucking on my cock."

"How do you want me?" I ask softly.

He massages the back of my neck before tilting my head up. "On your knees."

I do as he says, falling to my knees in front of him, heart racing.

My face is in line with his erection, the outline of it evident beneath his dirty jeans.

Nervously, I take another look around, ensuring no one is watching. The last thing I want is old man Gerald to be sitting on his second-floor balcony, sipping on his cup of coffee while watching me on my knees in front of Micah.

My cheeks heat, but there's no sight of Gerald.

Two fingers hook under my chin, pulling my focus and attention back to him. "Eyes on me."

A heavy breath falls from my mouth when I look back at his erection straining against his jeans. I unzip and free him. His cock springs straight out, hard as a statue. My eyes widen at the sight of it, stomach fluttering and my pussy getting wetter with need. It isn't the first time I've done this with Micah, but it's the first time we've done this outside.

I wrap my hand around his length, running the pad of my thumb over the mushroomed tip. A deep sigh falls from Micah's mouth followed by a deep, hungry growl. His hand is on the back of my head, massaging me as he patiently waits for me. Slowly, I slide my hand all the way down to the base while looking up at him with hooded eyes.

His jaw ticks, and his neck swells. Sweat coats his skin, a dot dripping down his neck. Keeping my eyes on him, I open my mouth, taking him in. His hand on the back of my head guides me. He groans the second my tongue slips against the tip. Letting go of him, I move my hands to the backs of his thighs, and he slides himself deep into the back of my throat.

"I love watching you on your knees for me."

I don't move as he stares down at me with darkened eyes that flutter as he groans.

"Your mouth feels so fucking good. It's even prettier when it's wrapped around me."

I suck my cheeks in and pucker my lips while he threads his fingers back through my hair, pulling me back.

I moan as I continue to suck and lick, pulling him in, then pulling him back out. Keeping my eyes pinned on him, I flick my tongue across the tip. "You taste so good."

"Fuck!" He hisses between clenched teeth when I go back in for more until he hits the back of my throat again. "Just like that, baby."

He thrusts into my mouth over and over again. My jaw falls open, relaxing to allow him to move faster, but the more he fucks it, the tighter I get. I take him inch for inch, moaning and sucking, licking and tasting. Every time I allow him back in, he slams the back of my throat harder than the last time. His cock pulsates in my mouth.

"Fuck, baby." He groans, full of pleasure, stiffening. "I'm going to come."

I grip the back of his thighs tighter, holding him in place as I swallow, the muscles of my throat forcing him over the edge.

His orgasm slams into him with full force, and his cock pulses and vibrating. I hold him as he comes in my mouth and it lands at the back of my throat, making me widen my eyes and swallow. When he's finished, I pull out and lick the corner of my mouth. Micah watches me with fascination, and something in him clicks. He's suddenly hungry for more, not wasting any time when his hands are on me again. He leans down and wraps his arm around me, lifting me high enough to fall back into the garden bed. My back meets the cold, damp soil, but I don't care.

My hands are immediately on him, too, sliding under his shirt. I frantically lift it over his head and drag my long, pink-painted nails down the length of his chest and abs. His rock-hard muscle under my fingers adds to the wetness between my thighs.

"I want you so fucking badly, Micah."

"How bad?" His mouth lands on my neck, tasting me, where the tip of his tongue grazes the length of it. When he reaches my shoulder, he bites down, and I let out a small whimper.

Filled with need, I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him against me.

His cock presses against my dripping wet pussy. Disappointingly, I'm still wearing my shorts and panties—a barrier between us.

"This bad. I want you this bad," I whisper. "Can you feel how wet I am through my shorts?"

"Not yet." He groans with a devious smile. "But let's find out."

He makes quick work of popping the button of my shorts. With his knees pressed into the soil, he falls back on his heels and slips them down my legs. Once they're gone, he tosses them over his shoulder, discarding them on the ground outside the garden box.

He grinds his hips into me, his stiff cock pressing against me again. This time, the feeling is more intense. The only remaining barrier left between us is my black lace thong. The fabric adds another tickling sensation, intensifying my need and hunger for him.

"You're fucking soaked," he says, feeling my wetness seep through the thin fabric. He reaches down and hooks his fingers under the material, grazing them along my folds. Then without much effort, he tears them from me.

I gasp.

He tosses the shredded thong aside, and now there's nothing left. My ass is pressed into the dirt, but all I care about right now is having Micah as close as possible. I want to feel him inside of me, filling my heart in places no one else ever has.

Wrapping my hands around the back of his neck, I pull him down to me. He moves his hips back and swiftly slides himself into me.

My head falls back into the dirt as my mouth falls open on another gasp. The air is knocked from my lungs as he pounds into me.

"Oh, my God, yes," I breathe out, tipping my chin back down. My nails dig into the back of his neck as he pulls out nearly all the way before driving back into me.

I move my hips in time with his, matching him thrust for thrust, meeting him with as much power as he's giving me. Our movements are rough and rushed in the soft dirt. I can't get enough of him. I feel like I'm chasing a high—one I know I'll withdraw from later, only to chase my next fix. But this is an addiction I don't want to recover from.

His large hands press into the wet soil on either side of my head. We're completely dirty, every inch of our bodies littered with dirt, but we don't care. My bare ass is pressed into the fresh garden bed I just finished laying out. Luckily, I haven't planted any seeds yet.

The scent of damp earth fills my nostrils as white-hot heat blooms. My legs tighten around Micah's frame, my orgasm coming. I hold him against me, his lower stomach grinding against my clit. I cry out, the feeling of him inside me sending a shock through my body, then he slams his mouth to mine, catching my moan with his kiss.

He pounds into me harder. Deeper. My body tenses, and my breathing is shallow, the vibration of my orgasm reaching fever pitch. I shudder when I fall over the edge.

My body is wracking with my orgasm as he thrusts a few more times before he falls apart inside me. His cock pulsates, and his jaw tenses, the feeling more intense with this second orgasm. His cum spills inside me and he falls against me, burying his face in the crook of my neck to catch his breath.

Once he's regained some control, he pulls himself out of me and looks over his shoulder for my shorts before grabbing them and carefully slipping them back up my legs. Lying still with my back in the dirt, watching him admire me, I feel myself smiling.

"I hope I didn't mess up all your hard work," he says, reaching the bottom of my ass.

I raise my hips as he slides my shorts the rest of the way up and over my curves. Once they're back on, I lift myself up onto my elbows, and he sits back on his heels.

"If you did, I'd say it was worth it."

The smile he gives me reaches his eyes.

I love Micah Harding. I've always loved him. But unlike when I was a kid, with just a hopeless, meaningless crush, this feeling I know won't disappear.