11. Dark Desires （Talia）

11

DARK DESIRES (TALIA)

I barely register the bell over the shop door jingling.

Not when Grandpa and I practically have our heads knocked together, poring over a sample book of wood grains and finishes and fabrics, debating color, texture, and etching methods.

We've been at it all morning, ever since I showed him my revised sketches and asked his opinion on adding Xavier's indoor water installations without making everything too awkward.

He just lit up.

I love when he's like this, how he still sparks alive with a creative challenge.

Honestly, his energy feels contagious, and I've been buzzing all day.

We've just settled on wall fountains with trickling basins embedded in tiled alcoves and framed in leaf carvings when I notice there's something else grabbing my attention.

I lift my head, squinting against the light like a mole person coming out of the cave.

It takes a few seconds more to realize the bell jolted me from my trance.

"Oh, customer!" I glance back at Grandpa. "I'll be right back."

"Mm-hmm. Thanks, Tally," he murmurs, bent over his sketchbook and scribbling away.

I smile.

He won't even notice I'm gone.

I straighten my babydoll-pink baseball tee and wipe a little sawdust off my jeans, then put on my best customer service smile and step into the front. "Welcome to A Touch of—oh!"

My heart leaps up my throat.

Micah .

As always, he looks a little out of place in the daylight, this inverted shadow man cast in permanent moonlight. Yes, he's still staggeringly handsome, especially in the sleek trim of his uniform.

Something about his stance makes me think of a gunslinger from the Wild West translated to modern times. His hips slouch forward and his heavy belt rides low, giving him this lazy swagger. He's got his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, and his attention snaps to me when I gasp.

"Miss Grey," he greets me, his lips twitching in that subtle way that says this is a thing now.

He knows better. I don't even hesitate.

" Talia ." But I stop, giving him a closer look, frowning. Even if he's giving me that not-smile I crave so much, there's something heavier and darker there today.

Worry furrows his brows and my frown deepens.

"Micah? What's wrong…?"

He purses his lips, then glances over his shoulder, though I can't make out what he's looking at. "Is there somewhere we can talk? Alone?"

Hello, alarm bells.

But I nod, taking a step back. "This way—our loft is right above the store."

"Let's go."

I turn to lead him into the workshop, although there's a part of me shriveling up as I remember Grandpa grilling me about the ‘date' I never had. Hopefully, he's still too caught up in work to notice I'm not alone.

Ha, good luck.

The instant Micah steps into the workshop, his silvery eyes scanning curiously, Grandpa lifts his head and looks at him with a slow, knowing smile.

"Who's this fine young man?" he asks. "You a friend of my Tally-girl? Or are you just here on business?"

Micah doesn't miss a beat.

He steps forward, offering his hand.

"Officer Micah Ainsley. Only Talia can tell you if we're friends. You must be Gerald Grey. I've always admired your work when I've seen it around town."

Grandpa chuckles loudly.

"The boy starts with flattery. Smart." He shakes Micah's hand firmly—then stops, still clasping his hand, giving him a long look. "Strong handshake."

"The only respectful kind." Micah inclines his head.

"Yes, yes, it is."

Whoa.

There's some secret man ritual passing between them, something I don't get. Their hands clasp together almost like warriors meeting off the battlefield.

But I remember now.

A long time ago, before I was born, Grandpa left Redhaven. He doesn't talk about it much, his old combat memories from Vietnam. But upstairs in the albums there are photos where he's young and dapper. Decked out in his uniform, even if his eyes are haunted by war.

That's the way he and Micah look at each other now.

Like soldiers.

Like two men who share a certain strength that makes them kin, even though they've never truly met before.

Soon, Grandpa pats Micah's hand with his other hand, then lets go, smiling brightly. "It's good to see you, young man. Well, up close, I should say, since you didn't come in last night."

Oh. My. God.

"Grandpa, no. He was just walking me home." I drop my face into my hand.

"All I'm saying," Grandpa says innocently, "is that he could've popped in to say hello."

Micah smiles blankly. "Truth be told, I wasn't entirely sober, sir. I wouldn't have made the best first impression."

"Hmph. Not all sober yet he still thinks to walk a girl home after dark, huh?" Grandpa's eyes twinkle. "Tally-girl, you've found a good one."

Oh no .

No, no, no, I do not want Micah knowing about my silly little crush.

I definitely don't want to think about how he almost kissed me last night or how maybe he didn't and I just misread the signals.

I don't want any of this and I step forward quickly, breathlessly catching Micah's wrist in my fingertips.

"We need to talk about something for work," I say quickly. The man in question stares at me with the most startled look I've ever seen, blinking down at my hand around his wrist and then up at me. He even stumbles a step as I tug him desperately toward the stairs. Please just go along with it . "We're heading up."

"Don't forget to make tea!" Grandpa calls after us as I try to drag Micah upstairs. "I'll be going out, so behave yourselves!"

I stop a few steps up, eyeing him past Micah's shoulder. "Where are you going?"

"Errands, girl." He's still feigning innocence. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."

Even if he's feigning innocence… there's a real worry there.

He knows it, too.

He knows I worry when he goes out alone, wondering if he'll have a bad spell and wander off, but he really does seem okay today.

So I nod slowly while he gives me a heavy look.

"Go on," he says.

Sighing, we go before Grandpa has another chance to embarrass me forever.

Once we're up in the loft, I release his hand and stumble away from him.

I feel like I'm going to pass out if I blush any harder. I groan, scrubbing my hands over my face.

"Sorry about that," I say. "He's terrible with me making friends. You know, the sheltered childhood thing and all. I was never much good at it."

"Didn't mind. He seems pretty charming." Micah glances back at the stairs with a discerning look. "He's doing well today?"

"…yeah. Well enough. He's lucid and living in the present." I smile slightly. "The good days really are good." But if I think about that too hard, my emotions will turn me into a wreck, and then I'll end up blubbering all over Micah without even finding out why he's here. So I gesture to the kitchen table, breezing past it to put the kettle on. "What did you come to talk about? I haven't been back to see Xavier yet. We're finalizing some concepts before there's any need to stop by the house again."

"It's not about Xavier. Not exactly," Micah says cryptically. He settles down at the raw wood table, lacing his hands together, his posture perfect. "I caught Ephraim Jacobin lurking around outside your shop."

I blink at him.

His words don't compute.

"…what?" I feel faint, dropping the kettle and moving to the window, looking out on the street. I tweak the pale-yellow curtains aside, trying not to be obvious.

I immediately bounce back with a strangled sound.

There's no mistaking that lean scarecrow figure across the street.

Jesus, he's right there.

Just staring up at the window from under the wide brim of his hat, plain as day.

I don't think he saw me. I hope not.

But my slamming heart can't be sure.

"Why?" I whisper. "Why's he staring at the shop?"

"So you know they're watching," Micah says, his voice heavy. "Nothing good ever happens when the Jacobins get interested in a girl involved with the Arrendells. Before Ulysses and Culver were arrested, Ephraim and Culver weren't shy about stalking Delilah Graves."

I can feel my chest caving in.

So quick my fingers go numb.

I don't even think to reach for my inhaler.

All I can do is stare at the closed curtains, feeling doom descending like a cloud.

No matter where I hide, that freaky beanstalk man is looking.

I remember reading the news about what Ulysses and Culver did before they were stopped, when they caught another man who tried to get in the way of their creepy business.

…could that be me?

Gutted like a farm animal?

"Grandpa—" It hits me so hard it almost knocks me over.

No, he can't go out on errands today. He can't go where Ephraim Jacobin can find him and hurt him.

"Talia, breathe." Suddenly, there's a tall body in my way and strong arms holding me in place. "Your grandfather's going to be all right. They wouldn't dare do anything in the middle of town. It's safer to pretend you don't notice them. If you or your grandfather start acting suspicious, they might wonder. If you react, they'll know you know something."

"But they might—" I fight Micah weakly, but I'm about to hyperventilate. My limbs are noodles, and all I can do is sag against him with a miserable sound that feels like I just had my heart torn out. I drop my head on his shoulder, struggling to breathe. "If they hurt him and it's my fault…"

"They won't. I won't fucking let them."

I can feel his vow rumbling through me, the closeness of his body making his voice a physical force.

His hand curls against the back of my neck, gently roaming my hair.

His other hand slides down my back, and I tremble.

A nervous rush goes through me—until I realize he's slipping his fingers into my pocket, delving in so close to my skin to find my inhaler.

A few seconds later, the cap pops off and he's pressing it between my lips.

There's something oddly intimate about letting him slide this slick plastic thing into my mouth.

"Breathe," he growls. "Breathe until you're okay."

I'm so not okay.

But for him, I'll try.

I close my eyes and let the mist open my lungs. I have to remember Micah Ainsley is as good as his word.

He'll never let anything happen.

With him, I'm truly safe.

And I've never felt safer than now, wrapped in his arms.

Slowly, I steady my breaths and the terror in my chest eases.

That's when I realize he's holding me so close, resting his chin to the top of my head, fully enveloping me.

I can feel his heartbeat.

His chest under my palms, and a heartbeat so strong it makes me dizzy.

His scent screams cool, raw masculinity, just as sharp as Micah himself.

"Do you need more?" His voice is heavy.

"N-no." I shake my head, keeping my eyes lowered. I don't know if I can look up at him when we're this freaking close. "I'm better. I just… I had a moment. Thanks for helping bring me out of it."

"Wasn't my smartest move when I don't know your dosage, but I'm glad I didn't guess wrong." Instead of letting go, his grip tightens, gathering me closer. "Talia, fuck."

The way he says my name .

My heart races even faster than his.

"Yes?" I curl my fingers against his shirt.

"You don't have to keep eavesdropping on Xavier. Not for me, not for anyone. If you back out now, they'll decide you aren't a threat and they'll leave you alone. You're not bound to this shit. Fuck, I can't stand putting you in danger. Just do your work. Keep as much distance as you can. Take care of your grandfather. That's all that matters."

"What?" I blink, pressing my palms to his chest and pushing back to look up at him. "You can't be serious. What about your brother? What about the drugs, the people they've hurt?"

Micah's eyes are impenetrable grey clouds as he looks down at me with his brows like thunderheads. "I'll figure out another way that doesn't involve you."

Anger flares, quicker than an asthma attack.

"Because you think I'm fragile?" My eyes slit. "You think I can't handle this."

"What? No, I—"

"I don't want to hear it!" I snap. I can't stand it. I can't stand that even Micah Ainsley sees me as this broken little girl who can't do anything, who has to be sheltered for her own good. I shove at him, scowling. "I can handle the Jacobins. I can handle Xavier flipping Arrendell. What I can't handle is you patronizing me—"

The only warning I get is Micah's lips thinning.

His eyes flashing.

His feral grip on my arms.

Then he seizes my mouth and shuts me up with one brutal kiss.

For a single breath, I freeze.

I don't know how to process what's happening.

I remember his lips on mine that day in the square, remember how my mouth tingled, but it was nothing like this.

Nothing like this force of a man's naked desire, all fire, his mouth hot and firm on mine, coaxing my lips apart.

The heat sears me in the space of one breath.

I'm melting.

My entire body turns into hot honey, leaving me clutching him to keep standing as I stretch on my toes and lean into him.

I'm so greedy it scares me, taking that kiss I've wanted for what feels like a lifetime, as his tongue flicks against my mouth.

Holy shit!

When I was a girl, I used to daydream about falling in love. In those dreams, kissing was always this nebulous thing with a vague sense of forbidden pleasure, but the reality?

Pure inferno.

And Micah baptizes me with flames, dragging me in roughly, growling heat into my mouth.

I'm deliciously crushed against his body until I feel every inch of him.

I'm too aware of him, from the hot texture of his lips to the wetness of our mouths gliding together to the roughness of his tongue.

His powerful height.

His arm, as hard as steel across my back.

His fingers, strong and controlling as they fist my hair.

My head falls back in surrender.

There's a demand in the way he seeks deep inside me with slow taunts, sweet plunging caresses, searching strokes.

God.

I'm about to spontaneously combust.

"Micah," I moan against his lips, and he groans.

There's a faint clatter past the haze of my perception—my inhaler hitting the floor, I think—and suddenly Micah's fingers touch the small of my back with nothing between us.

His palm feels so hot it's like I'm already naked. Even my shirt can't buffer the burn of his touch.

"Say it again. Say my name again, Talia, and I can't turn back," he breathes raggedly.

The thought of what can't turn back means hits like a lightning bolt.

I curl my hands against his arms, pulling back enough to look up at him, breathing so hard I'm shaking.

Yet instead of my lungs hurting, it feels good , this sweet rush electrifying nerves I never knew I had.

"So don't?" I whisper. "Do whatever you want with me."

He stares at me with his eyes boiling, all liquid mercury. "Talia, you don't want to be with me."

"You don't get to decide what I want." I don't even know what I'm doing. I'm being reckless, being wild, and I don't care.

I lean into him, pressing my body to his, shivering as I savor his hard muscle molding against me.

"Talia—fuck!" His cock grazes my leg through his pants.

I almost die right there.

"You… you only get to tell me what you want," I whisper. "Do you want to be with me? Would you regret it?"

Micah searches my face.

I wish I could read him more easily.

There's something there .

Something vulnerable behind the wolfish hunger.

Something almost afraid yet so brave and certain.

"I thought you were shy," he rasps.

"I am." I smile shakily but don't pull away. "Honestly, I'm scared out of my wits, but I still want it. I want you. Even if it means getting hurt when you say no."

"I don't fucking want to say no." His voice comes even rougher than his touch when he presses the pad of his thumb to my lower lip, his gaze fused to my mouth. "But, woman, I don't want you to regret saying yes. I'm no good for you—no fucking good for anybody—and I don't want you figuring that out after I've hurt you."

I swallow thickly.

"You've been nothing but good. Micah. I wish you could see it…"

He strokes his thumb to the corner of my mouth and his lips curl faintly. "And how do you see me?"

No words.

I don't have words to tell him how every time I see him, my world gets just a little bit brighter.

How I feel alive.

How protected I feel, how I trust him to watch over me, to shelter me.

How I know that no matter how he struggles, he's guided by a moral compass made of steel, a righteous sense of justice so strong it could drive him to do terrible things for the innocent.

For me.

I also think he's been told so often that he's a freak of nature that he started believing it.

His father's ugliness crawled down inside him and still whispers in his ear, telling him he's no good. He doesn't know he's so right for me, it's actually insane.

So no, there's no telling him, not with words.

Only another way.

Stepping back, I break his hold and reach for his hand, lacing our fingers together. I tug his hand lightly as I walk to my bedroom, an open invitation.

To be with me.

To destroy me, if he must.

He could pull free so easily and storm away when we're barely touching.

But he doesn't.

With a rough breath, he follows, never releasing my hand.

My heart leaps, thunder building with a power that feels too great for my small body.

The power to make this man undone.

When I meet his eyes and realize it, I'm almost giddy.

He's almost helpless with thirst.

That's the strangeness I saw before.

This man is so lonely, so disciplined, that when someone reaches out and offers to break down his walls, how can he resist?

I hurt for him as much as I want him.

And as I step backward into my bedroom, crossing the threshold, I stop and tug on his hand to draw him in closer, then rise up on my toes and press my lips to his.

"Close the door," I whisper before retreating deeper into the room.

There's no turning back now.

Before I can second-guess, I catch the hem of my babydoll tee and pull it over my head, baring the cups of my bra in pink lace rosettes.

"Fucking pink all over," he growls with amusement. "You're a born tease, Shortcake."

Blushing, I shake my hair loose from the shirt and toss it aside. I bite my lip, watching him and praying he'll like what he sees.

There's a trembling silence.

A dead moment where I worry Micah will turn his back and walk out the door, and in that moment, I love and hate the nerves eating me alive.

This impulse, this risk , taking a leap of faith instead of playing it safe—it could come crashing down right here.

I could find out the hard way that risks are never worth it.

But then he steps closer, prowling toward me.

His eyes are barely even human.

" Talia, " he rumbles, taking me into his arms and kissing me so hard my vision blurs.

He pulls me up until my feet aren't on the floor.

Then I'm devoured.

His hands on my bare skin.

His lips claiming mine.

Everything— everything! —about his touch feels so possessive, and it's all so raw and new that I'm ready to scream just from feeling his uniform shirt scraping my bare flesh.

Just from feeling my breasts against his chest as he pulls me closer and sucks my bottom lip until I'm delirious.

He's got the devil's own tongue.

I can barely kiss him back when he's turning me inside out with slow, wet thrusts that leave my lips so tender.

So sensitive that when he nips at them with those sharp teeth, I gasp. My thighs shake as I fall against him with a moan.

There's a dark, raspy laugh when he does it again, catching me with rough hands on my hips as my entire weight collapses against him.

"Did you come already, girl? All from a kiss?"

"No!" I gasp, then stop. "At least, I don't think I did… What does it feel like?"

Sad.

But how do you describe an ocean sunset to the blind?

Does it feel like this wet sugary sensation inside me, clenching up tight, hot and molten and quaking between my thighs until my whole flesh simmers?

Does it feel like the way my whole body comes alive?

Every sensation stronger than before, stronger than ever, throbbing in my fingers and toes and nipples, and the heavy, full sensation in my breasts?

Micah's eyes flash with awe as he stares at me.

"Have you never?" he asks softly.

Part of me wants to crawl away and die.

God, he'll mock me for this.

He'll laugh and tell me to take my little girl self somewhere else and leave him to find a real woman with experience. The kind of worldly woman he probably knew back in New York.

"Never," I admit, lowering my eyes.

I'm expecting a snort.

A startled chuckle.

Pure derision.

Rejection, however polite.

What I don't expect is the reverence in his voice as he sighs my name like a prayer and curses.

"Talia, fuck."

Then he kisses me again.

This time, it's different.

Slower and softer and tender, caressing my mouth in gentle strokes.

I feel like he's trying to tell me something, but my brain is so hazed up right now I don't understand. I can't.

Nothing except for how good he feels.

Everything about him feels divine.

His weight, his kiss, the careful way he handles me as rough palms slide down my waist. He hefts me up with an easy strength that scrambles my senses.

Suddenly, I'm weightless again, my body floating as he raises me up.

I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist—then let out a startled sound as my jeans, my panties, press against me.

I'm aching with wet heat, firmly pressed against the ridge of something hard and thick against his slacks.

And harder still as his hands slip down to my ass.

His fingers dig into my flesh, leaving no mistake.

He wants this.

He wants me .

I don't know what to do, even if I know what I want—and even as he bites my mouth, I can't help squirming, grinding against him.

Wanting more of that sensation that feels like flint on steel, striking sparks every time his friction sweeps my skin.

Oh, it's glorious.

This needy pleasure pulsing inside me.

Every time I do it, I feel his hardness more.

His hands tighten while his chest heaves against mine, his shallow breath rushing over my lips, soft growls in the back of his throat.

"Hold still, Talia. Before I lose my fucking mind," he grinds out in a tortured snarl—then snaps his head down and strikes.

Protector.

Beast.

Vampire.

His teeth sink into my throat, catching the tender skin and holding me prisoner.

I arch against him, crying out.

Terror and pleasure bolt through me until my entire body sings, but there's no pain here.

He's rough, yet so gentle, too, biting down softly.

His tongue traces my captured flesh in devilish caresses as he sucks my neck with a pulling rhythm that reaches down inside me. He tugs at something so tight and hot I feel like I'll go up in cinders.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I curl forward, gasping as he teases me, barely aware that he's carrying me to my bed.

Barely aware of anything but his ravenous red mouth fastened on my throat, making me feel every sucking lick.

It's the daydream of yesterday and the better reality of now.

Micah Ainsley isn't a night-creature who can pierce my flesh smoothly with razor teeth and make me love the pain.

He's a real man, holding tight and trembling in a way that feels so powerful.

I love how just touching me makes him react—and he's touching me like a real man, kissing me like a real man, delivering pleasure with his teeth the way only a real man can.

Still, I don't expect it when he bites me again, this time a little harder.

Again and again, he's covering my neck with hot rings, only for gravity to upend itself as he tumbles me down on my bed.

I fall on my back, gasping, but he's already covering me with his body.

He fits between my legs, weighing me down with hard muscle.

His hands grasp my thighs and his hips rock down hard into mine, stroking between my thighs with the full pressure of his body.

A fire burst washes through me.

And just as he twists his hips to grind, to tease, to ruin me, he bites me again.

Lust imprinting my skin.

A fever burning us both down.

I dig my fingers into his hair and toss my head back, writhing under him, completely trapped and yet God, I don't want to escape.

Not now.

Not ever.

If Micah is a monster, I'm his willing captive.

But as his teeth hold on, I scream, hugging my thighs against his hips and digging my fingers into his shoulders.

He pulls back, leaving my neck throbbing.

He breathes harshly, staring at my throat, his thumb grazing over the pulsing spot on my skin before those feral eyes flick to my face.

"Too much?" he asks, husky and gritty. "Did I scare you?"

"No." I shake my head quickly, reaching up to touch my trembling fingers to his lips.

It's hard to speak.

Not because I'm afraid, but because I'm overwhelmed.

"I couldn't be scared of you, Micah. Never. It just startled me, but… it felt good." It takes all my courage to say that out loud.

His lips curl faintly under my touch.

"So, there really is a little wild thing under all the pink," he whispers.

"Show me how wild I can be," I whisper back. "And then, next time, show me more."

Next time .

Part of me wants reassurance that there'll be a next time.

That he's as caught up in this as I am, this madness that feels like a spell. But that small, eager smile is all he gives as he kisses my fingertips.

"Next time, yeah."

He lowers himself over me to claim my mouth again.

It hits deeper this time with his hips rocking in slow, dragging thrusts between my legs, grating against my jeans.

His hands stroke my belly, my ribs, cupping my breasts.

I whimper as his huge, strong hands cover my flesh, bathing me in this creeping pleasure as he makes me so aware of his touch.

His tongue delves deeper, stealing my breath, silencing me as his thumbs tease my nipples through my bra, working them in circles.

Every last one sends an arrow to that hot, wet place inside me, hungrier than ever.

With every stroke, he inches my bra down until it's skin on skin.

Then I feel the roughness of his work-weathered fingers, teasing my flesh until I'm tender.

Until I'm breathing in whimpers.

Until I'm clutching his hair each time his tongue thrusts deep in matching rhythm to the sway of his hips.

Until my entire mind sears to ash while my body ignites with wanting.

I want him.

I don't need experience to know that, to crave our bodies crashing together in a demonic rhythm until I'm a wrecked mess.

I want to feel him thrust.

And when he pinches my nipple between his forefinger and thumb, a sensation so raw arcs through me that it's like he's given me exactly what I'm craving.

I jerk up until my back arches, rubbing against him, grinding my hips against his, raking my nails over his uniform shirt.

I'm so desperate.

Quivering.

"Micah," I gasp against his lips. "Don't treat me like I'm fragile…"

"Hush." The word itself a kiss, even as he gives my nipple an electrifying tug. I dig my knees into his sides. "I'm not treating you like glass, Talia. I'm treating you like you're one of a kind."

Oh.

Oh, wow.

Butterflies swirl as I open my eyes, looking up at him—and a wicked smile bares those teeth that make me go wild.

It's the only warning before he dips down.

Then it's not his hands on my breasts, it's his lips, kissing and turning those teeth loose.

He makes my skin sting with shocks of pleasure, even as his hands stray lower.

Lower .

And there's a harsh uncertainty as he unzips my jeans before I make myself relax as much as I can when he's teasing and tormenting me with every bite and every play of his fingers over my belly.

Lower still.

I forget how to breathe as he slides those long, strong fingers inside my panties—just as he closes his mouth around my nipple, between his teeth, and sucks hard .

No words.

I don't have words for how it lances deep like a sword thrust, cutting me in places never touched before.

A single finger roams outside my drenched, tingling pussy lips before he finds my clit.

It's like being bathed in raw pleasure.

This raw, erotic hellfire erupts from that finger toying with my clit.

I'm—oh God, oh fuck , I'm tossing and jerking under him and I don't know how to do anything else.

I just know I'm shaking as I strain toward him, fighting not to flinch away.

It's too much—too much—but it's also everything and I want more, more, more —

"Micah!"

I've stopped clenching my thighs.

They're flung open now, wanting and shameless.

I'm ready to scream.

His tongue laves over my nipple, his roughness tormenting me, making my flesh draw tighter and tighter.

He works my clit in circles every time he sucks, and the rhythm takes me over.

My entire body becomes one hot throb of madness.

Then he slips two fingers inside me, his thumb still flicking and teasing my clit while those long, white, searching fingers turn me inside out.

I'm gone.

Hot, storming, as quick as a whiplash and as powerful as a hurricane.

It hits me so hard it pins me to the bed with the weight of pure feeling.

Oh, my pleasure has teeth , taking and taking and taking but giving back ecstasy.

I'd give anything to hold on to it forever.

I almost don't even realize I've come until it's over, leaving me dazed, gasping.

I open my eyes, staring hazily at Micah with my blood running slow as molasses.

He watches me intently, his fingers slowly sliding out of my aching flesh.

My eyes go wide.

"Oh!" I manage to pry one clenched hand free from his shoulder to cover my mouth. "I didn't… I didn't mean to—"

"I wanted you to." Micah's smile is almost dangerous as he leans down, brushing his lips over mine. "It'll feel that much better when you come for me again."

Holy hell.

That kiss melts me into the bed, sighing.

My eyes close as his lips trace mine, before opening again as he pulls away.

"How do you know my own body better than me?"

"Experience," he answers, and that dangerous smile widens into wicked teeth. "Enough questions. I don't want to get kicked out before I have the chance to taste you."

Taste me?

Every question about how many people he's been with before, his past relationships, what those women were like fall away as I realize what he means.

I just watch, stunned as he lifts his glistening fingers to his lips and licks them clean, running his tongue over each digit with such shameless hunger I freeze.

But I'm wrong.

I still don't truly understand.

Not until he's licked his fingers clean, holding me hypnotized the whole time, only to catch the belt loops of my jeans and tug them down.

I'm paralyzed, realizing how in over my head I am with this man.

But I certainly don't resist as he strips them away from me.

My panties, too, leaving me naked except for my bra pulled down around my ribs, the straps hanging loose against my upper arms.

My legs feel like velvet and raw sex as Micah strokes my thighs.

There's something so alluring about this, him kneeling with his uniform dark against the pale-pink sheets of my bed and my own pale skin.

Yet he's whiter still, all winter enchantment.

In the back of my mind, I still think of him as a little more than human. And what he does to me next definitely feels like black magic.

That crown of snowy hair dips down.

He uses his shoulders to nudge my legs apart, and then—oh God , it really hits me what he meant by taste me.

His tongue traces every fold of my pussy with a knowing touch, alternating so randomly I never know if I'll be holding my breath or gasping in a rush every time he thrusts.

He paints mad, hypnotic circles on my skin, probing me until there's no part of me he hasn't licked completely.

I barely last a couple minutes.

Not when I'm so sensitive, so hot, and so starved.

Not when I'm still wrung out from the first time.

And it's almost painful to come again this soon, but the pain is the sweetest kind.

I hardly realize I've got handfuls of his hair, tugging roughly.

I hardly realize I'm crushing my thighs around his head, digging my feet into his spine.

I hardly realize I'm barely even still on the bed, arched so taut my shoulders hardly touch the mattress, head thrown back, broken cries escaping my throat.

I can't think .

I can only feel.

And Micah Ainsley makes me feel everything.

The second orgasm comes on harder than the first.

If the first O was a whiplash, the second is an avalanche, burying me until I'm a thrashing mess.

I can feel him in my depths, vibrating through me, turning my vision white.

For an instant, I'm pretty sure I'm gone —because when I come back, I'm struggling to breathe on a bed so hot it feels like a furnace.

Micah lifts his head, dragging his thumb across his gleaming red mouth with a satisfied smirk, so tense he looks like he's about to snap.

"You good?" His voice could set the world on fire with the heat in it. "Not pushing too far?"

I shake my head quickly, if only because I can't speak when I can't breathe.

But it's so different from an asthma attack.

It's not my body failing me, but lifting me up.

For once, this tight ache in my chest feels just right instead of heralding panic.

After I catch my breath, I manage to talk.

"Not too far," I whisper, even if the throbbing between my legs might disagree after two climaxes so close together. "What about you?" I ask.

And I can't help how my eyes dip down.

There's no missing the hard ridge of his cock against his blue slacks, tenting the fabric.

I don't even need to see it to tell he's huge.

Of course, he is.

And if I didn't know better, I'd think there was a wet spot against the fabric.

Is he really that turned on? By me ?

I've never felt more desirable as his slow, dark smile returns and carnivorous eyes rove over me.

I must look wrung out, shivering under him, already so well used.

"We're getting there," he growls. "Just want to make sure you're keeping up."

"Hey, I'm not that delicate." I pout at him.

"Talia."

And he's hovering over me again—shrugging out of his shirt and the tight-stretched undershirt beneath, all dense muscle under white velvet.

His body cages mine, his hands cradling my face.

His fingers weave through my hair as he gazes down with skin-stripping silver eyes that could leave me in white-hot flames forever.

"Stop," he growls. "Stop being defensive. Stop thinking I see you as something small and weak. I'm not coddling you, woman. I'm not sheltering you. I want you to feel good, and I want your body." His lips press against my brow, a tenderness at odds with the blaze between us. "I couldn't live with myself if I lost my mind in you and found out you didn't enjoy it."

I shiver.

There's something searing in his voice, this subtle hint of real emotion. I'm so starved for it.

"It's new," I admit, leaning into him. His closeness is a comfort and a sweet, sexy torment. "But it's a good new. I feel kinda wrecked, but I like it."

"Just wait, sweet girl." Another kiss brushes my forehead, then down the bridge of my nose before feathering over my lips. "I'm not even close to done with you yet." He stops, though, going tense. He drops his head to rest his brow to mine, eyes closing as he curses. "…fuck. I don't have any condoms."

"Oh. I don't either." Disappointment sweeps through me—but then I catch a breath, biting my lip, touching his stark cheekbone. "Micah, I'm on the pill."

It was just a formality when I never really dated.

My doctor said it would help with the steroids in my inhaler and the effect they have on my hormones, but it never really felt necessary before.

Now, as hope blooms in my chest, I've never been more glad.

Micah pushes himself up sharply, staring down at me.

"Yeah? No shit?" His gaze is almost greedy , a wild question flicking in his eyes.

It takes all my courage to answer.

"I want to," I whisper.

God, if I wasn't already sweltering, I'd probably detonate with the blush ripping through me.

Micah's smile returns, but there's more—a warmth in his eyes, melting their glacial ice. He leans down and kisses me, then nips my upper lip.

"Dirty girl."

I shudder, leaning into him. "I just want to feel everything my first time. Nothing between us."

"Happy to oblige." His body settles on mine, his fingers skimming down, tracing fresh warmth over my skin before I hear the jingle of his belt buckle.

The rasp of his zipper.

And his mouth comes down on mine as the rest of his clothes fall away.

I crumble at the sensation of his heat and my own words given back against my lips.

"…nothing between us. Are you ready for this dick?"

I'm lost.

Lost for speech.

Lost for thought.

Lost for breath.

Lost for anything but the feeling of my body tangled with Micah's, the way his kiss guides me, shows me how to arch, how to spread my legs so we fit together.

His cock presses against me, totally ravenous.

The tremor of anticipation tears me apart before he's even in me.

Our tongues twine together.

My body goes liquid.

Another split second of hesitation right before his entire muscular frame tenses under my palms, barely held in check like a beast straining on its leash.

"Yes?" he whispers, all animal. "Shortcake, fucking tell me."

"Yes!" I hiss back, giving him permission.

Giving him me.

Groaning roughly, his hands tighten on my hips as he moves.

As he takes .

It's like nothing I've ever felt before.

Like being pierced with steel wrapped in silk, filling and stretching, pure intimacy and obscenity, wonderful and terrible, leaving me in flames.

He strokes so deep inside me.

My cry becomes a shrill purr as I rise up against him, wrapping my arms tight around his neck, digging my nails into his shoulder blades.

I'm being fucked by a ghost and I think I like it.

It feels like it never stops , inch after brutal inch sliding deeper, caressing me in places I didn't know any man could reach.

With every inch, Micah kisses me deeper, not just taking me but taking me with him.

"Micah!" I whimper against his lips, over and over again as we flow into each other, deeper with every movement, coming together in vicious rhythm.

I don't know how I fell into this but I don't ever want it to stop .

There's no sound except our racing breath and rubbing skin and the wet slick murmur of our mating lips.

We're like one animal, moving to the same heat, the same tempo, rising and falling together until this thing between us shreds time.

Holy hell.

An endless crescendo.

My body sings with every thrust that makes me hold on to him tighter still.

I don't know how Micah managed to get so deep inside me, so fast, but he makes me feel the full majesty of every thrust.

Wild.

Tender.

Lust.

Fear.

Desperation.

It's like flinging open a Pandora's box that's been sealed for my entire life.

Now it's wide open and everything floods out, washing us away, ripping my breath from my lungs.

Right now, I don't care if I never breathe again.

Not when all I need is him .

Micah, and this sticky sweet madness we find together.

Urgency, tumbling, faster, falling, falling .

Coming!

"Let it fucking go, girl," he whispers with a firm hand pressed against my throat. "Give me your fireworks."

He doesn't stop as I thrash under him, a punished mess, drunk on his ecstasy.

And my eyes slip open as I realize he's watching me.

He's been watching me this whole time, looking at me like there's nothing else in the world.

For just a moment, that look catches me off guard, strikes my heart, and it's that moment of distraction that's his undoing.

He bares his teeth and pours his gaze into mine.

There's one final thrust, plunging to my depths, where it's impossible to go further.

His back stiffens like a human hammer slamming into me, a reverberating strike.

"Fuuuck!" He's roaring when his cock swells.

His eyes pinch shut, his head whips back, his fingers bite my skin, and his hips bruise mine.

I feel like shattered crystal, thrown back into a full force of a new orgasm before the first one ever finishes.

I dissolve into bliss, clenching and shuddering and fighting to breathe, alive with one thought as I experience the greatest high of my life.

Somehow, I fell in love with Micah Ainsley.

And this mistake is going to tear me apart.

Micah feels good wrapped around me.

I snuggle deeper into the sheets with him pressed to my back, his arm tight around my waist.

The sweat on my skin should be chilling, but all I can feel is warmth from the place where his palm imprints against me to the lingering burn of the bite marks on my throat and shoulders.

I'm honestly not sure what to say right now.

I never thought he could even see me that way, no matter how close he came when he was drunk.

This was Micah sober.

This was heart and soul.

I'm not even sure how to ask what this means.

After a lazy, quiet moment, he kisses my shoulder. "I suppose I should stop arguing with you about being my femme fatale spy."

"That's what it takes to convince you? Sex?" I giggle.

He lets out a low growl and lightly bites the back of my shoulder. "That may have had some influence."

"Oh, good. Now I know how to get you to do what I want."

"Yeah?" I feel his smile curving against my shoulder. "Is there something else you want from me, Miss Grey?"

" Talia ." I laugh, snuggling in closer. "And no, I think right now, I have everything a girl could want."

"You'd better." He nips me again, then settles, leaning his sleek chest against my back a little harder. "I actually wanted to thank you."

If I was warm before, my face nearly combusts now. "For having sex with you?"

" No ." His laughter vibrates against my back. "Not to say I'm not grateful for that, but it's more." His laughter fades and his voice sobers. "I was in a situation today. Had to tell a girl that her boyfriend was dead." He pauses before his voice deepens. "…possibly murdered."

I stiffen.

I think I get why Micah was so worried for my safety now.

Another Redhaven murder.

But he's not done.

"I don't know how to deal with things like that. Not on a human level. Never figured out how to be as gentle as I should be with the victim's kin. I've been so focused on finding who was responsible for Jet's death for so long that I forgot how to care. How to connect." Yet he's connecting with me now. Every word makes my heart wrench, warming my soul. "Today, I managed, thanks to you. I managed not to hurt her any more than necessary. I managed to show her comfort because I kept asking what you would do." He hesitates. "…and what you would want me to do, to be the kind of man you think I am."

Oh, Micah.

Soft emotions rush through me. I shift in his arms to face him.

There's something I've never seen on his face before.

Openness.

That impenetrable shield gone from arctic blue-grey eyes, leaving them the color of a winter sky, unguarded and almost lost as he meets my eyes.

"The man you are," I whisper.

"I still don't believe that."

"I do," I answer, pressing my palm to his cheek as I lean in to kiss him.

It's so wonderful to be allowed .

To be free to kiss this man who's been in my thoughts nonstop from the moment we met and to have him kiss me back without reservation.

His mouth feels gentle against mine, yet it still stings delightfully with lips he bruised as he'd taken me.

It just reminds me how sore I am everywhere else and how I've never felt anything like that moment when he held me down and claimed every molecule of my flesh.

And with his hands against my back, I'm ready to find that feeling again—but we barely kiss for a minute before a new sound startles me.

The side door opening.

The jingle of Grandpa's keys.

And his voice drifting up the stairs. "Tally?"

Micah never got around to closing the door .

We break apart like a lightning strike, staring at each other for a second before I break away and go vaulting out of bed so fast I tumble to the floor on my knees.

I scrabble along with my butt in the air and my hands pulling across the floorboards, then launch to my feet and slam the bedroom door shut before he sees us naked.

"Just a minute, Grandpa!" I yell through the door, wheezing—only to stiffen at a stifled snicker behind me.

I whirl around and glower.

There he is, standing there shamelessly naked, his gorgeous body gleaming like ivory in the pale sunlight streaming through my curtains. He looks like Michelangelo's David in every place but one—the hard-on jutting toward me.

"Nice view," he says.

I sputter.

"Dude, I tripped !" I snag his uniform pants and throw them at him before snatching my panties and hopping into them one clumsy foot at a time. "Hurry and get dressed. Right now!"

"Working on it."

Liar.

Still smirking like Sex Lucifer, he fishes around on the floor until he finds his boxers and steps into them.

"Shame to put all this back on when all I want to do is rip it off you again."

"…yeah?" I freeze with one leg in my jeans, just staring at him.

God help me, I smile, shimmying my jeans up around my hips before I reach for my bra. "I wouldn't mind doing this again. Just don't get too crazy about it."

Oh, but that smirk turns cockier.

"Later then? After you've convinced the old man we were just having tea?"

I sigh, hating and loving the giddiness bubbling up inside me.

"Definitely later," I whisper.