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Except we all know that’s an illusion. A temporary arrangement that’s going to leave me completely ravaged on the inside in the end.
I know the main reason he’s displaying me in the open is to provoke Romano, but sometimes I lie to myself it’s more than that. Butterflies skitter in my stomach every time I think about it. Also when I think about the conversation I had with Cecilia, and the things she told me about how she—and everybody else—thought Micah felt about me. I also talked to him about the Chase situation, and he said he would do anything I asked if I sucked his dick like I really wanted it. Humoring him wasn’t hard to do, especially since he demanded it with a haunted look in his eyes that sent thrills all through me.
I moaned and came all over my thighs while his hand fisted my hair, his balls tightening, my jaw hurting from his thick girth. I reached up and splayed my hand over his chest as he leaned his head back against the sofa, looking like a young god being pleasured by a worshiping slave. I go wild whenever he lets go of control and lets me see what I do to him. I love it even more when he throws me on my back right after he comes down my throat, brings my knees up and penetrates me hard, going so deep that I can feel him all the way up my pussy. And when he picks up that vicious, unrestrained pace, I scream out my ecstasy without restraint, my toes curling, his large palms pressing my knees to my chest so he can reach that death sentence of a cock as deeply as possible.
And then, when I come down from my orgasms, the look in his eyes tips me over the edge again. Haunted, intense, manic. As if I’m the most fascinating creature in the world, and my pleasure is the thing he feeds on. As if he needs to watch me climax so he can breathe another hour—when he wants it again.
We rarely ever talk outside of these wild lovemaking sessions that often go on all night until I fall prey to absolute exhaustion. And I call them that because there’s no way that’s just fuckery, no matter how filthy it gets. It sure isn’t for me. I’m falling in love with the daredevil, fast and hard, but I hold back demonstrations for fear of overwhelming him.
And of getting my heart smashed into pieces. I mean, I can imagine that he doesn’t feel the same way, but knowing it for certain would break me.
Still, I try to read the signs and get an idea about what he might be feeling, but it’s difficult, because there are hardly any signs outside of those intense moments. He comes to the apartment every evening, and mostly spends his time watching me work, but I find it difficult to be myself around a man who is so intensely focused on me—which I told him two days ago. So, he suggested that we try to loosen things up with some Netflix. Apparently, he’d never engaged in frivolous pastimes such as Netflix and chill before.
That night I caught another glimpse of his smirking villainous self. It happened when he opened the door half naked to get the pizza we’d ordered, and Santi was just coming out of his apartment. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Micah flexed those muscles harder, making the devil tattooed on his back come to life.
I took a step back at the sight of those horns seeming to rise, and those eyes seeming to slant further upwards, the fanged grin turning eerie. I realized that the tattoo had been designed that way—to change when his owner flexed, but Santi can’t see that from the front. Still, judging by the way his head dipped between his shoulders and the look on his face, he was no less terrified for it. Micah paid the delivery guy, including a generous tip, which must have been a flex in and of itself, and held out an arm for me.
“Oh, look babe. It’s your friend, the statistics professor. Come and say hello.”
I didn’t hesitate because I was afraid of what that would mean for Santi. I knew better than to antagonize Micah when he was making a point.
I swear to God I’d never seen Santi like this before. Shoulders up to his ears and his feet angled inward. He wrung his hands like a scared little boy.
“Hey there, Santi,” I greeted him faintly, knowing that Micah wanted me to.
“What are you up to this weekend, Professor?” Micah said with that wicked grin in place, those irresistible dimples making their appearance. “Hooking up or searching for the love of your life this time?”
Santi cleared his voice and scratched the back of his head. “I...No, I—I was just going to see some friends.”
“Well, I hope those friends finally fix you up with a nice girl,” Micah said mockingly. “I mean, I know you’ve been doting on Eva here, but she’s with me now.” His arm tightened around me, holding me so close that my cheek pressed against his ironclad pec. “And I think this is it for both of us, isn’t it babe?” He looked down at me with that hot smirk on. “Many men get their hopes high whenever the window opens and she’s single for a while, but now that window has closed for good.” For a moment, I could see all hell rippling in his eyes. “And we shuttered it, too. We’re considering cementing it.”
“Cementing?” Santi repeated, his eyes widening and flying from Micah to me. He was shocked, and so was I. But Micah didn’t care to explain what he meant, not that night, and not in the nights since.
All I know is that Santi now barely even dares glance at me, and during our last staff meeting, everybody looked at me with the deference they do at powerful benefactors when they come to visit. It took me a few moments to understand why. The Kings are gods to them, and I am the eyes and ears of one of them. Instead of ruining my reputation, my affair with Micah only gained me respect that makes me feel like I’m at the top of the world—so when I fall, I’ll fall hard, so I better be ready for it.
The guy who caught us fucking in the hallway actually did show pictures around, which only got him caught and beat up to a pulp.
But whispers have been growing louder about my boyfriend’s mandatory marriage to a heiress chosen by the Elders, which is why anguish has been squeezing my heart. It doesn’t help that Micah has been strange ever since he bent me over the bed and fucked me savagely. He kept me down like a bitch in heat, and introduced a butt plug into my ass which he said I’d have to wear for a few hours every day so that he can soon do what he promised me in that hallway, against the locker.
Fucking my ass and slapping my pussy at the same time.
“People are talking,” I whisper against his chest as we lie down on my bed.
“About what?” he says absentmindedly.
“About the fact that we have an expiration date.”
Micah folds an arm under his head, staring up at the ceiling as my fingers stroke patterns on his abs. Gosh, how will I ever be with another man after I’ve been with him? Everything in me recoils at the idea.
I try to push myself up and go get some water, but his hand turns into a vise on my shoulder, and he keeps me down. Then he reaches next to the bed and retrieves a bottle of water, as if he were perfectly attuned to my needs.
It’s heartwarming and scary at the same time.
I gulp down the refreshing, cold liquid, and then lie back down on his chest, where he traps me until morning. I wake up several times during the night when my body finds itself unable to move. His arms are shackles around me, his body a prison of taut muscle. I look up at his face to find his perfect jaw clenched, and deep lines between his furrowed eyebrows. I want to reach up and smooth them out, but he flexes his hold, trapping my arms on his body, and moans something unintelligible. His head moves from side to side but, no matter how much I strain to make out what he’s saying, I can’t.
Yet moments later, it makes sense.
He’s not speaking properly because, in his dream, he can’t speak yet. He’s back in time, when he was a toddler, being separated from his mother by a cruel stepfather. In the hopes that he would soon die. My heart breaks, and I wake up again and again from the tears I shed in my sleep onto his warm body.
