I deleted the words and leaned my forehead against the cabinet over the sink, laughing low under my breath like a woman both blessed and irritated.
My phone buzzed again.
Micah: Now try to get some sleep.
That damn man.
Of course he would choose decency again. Of course that would make him even harder to handle.
Me: You too.
I nearly left it there.
Then I let myself be honest the safer way.
Me: I’m trying very hard not to tell you to turn around.
His reply took just long enough for my whole body to listen for it.
Micah: If I turn around right now, I’m not coming up there to sit beside you. I’ll need tobe in you. Unless you tell me you don’t want that too.
I closed my eyes and tightened my grip on the phone.
He had put simple language on the exact ache sitting between my thighs, and my body answered it before my pride could even think of a comeback. I could still feel his fingers inside me, thick and perfectly placed. Could still see the look in his eyes when I touched him through those jeans. Dark. Focused. Holding on by a thread.
He had kept us from tipping all the way over, and I admired him for that almost as much as I hated him for it now.
Because I wanted that man inside me.
Now.
That was the truth of it.
Me: I know. And I do. But I liked you taking the time to let me feel how real this is.
His answer came back quick.
Micah: It’s very real. Now try to get some sleep, Talia. I for damn sure will be trying and failing to get some.
That made me smile into the quiet of my kitchen, and that smile felt like the last warning. Another two messages and one of us was going to stop acting grown.
So I set the phone down for real and took my ass upstairs.
The rest of my little routine should have calmed me. Jewelry off. Face washed. Moisturizer pressed into my cheeks and throat. Hair wrapped with the kind of care Mena had trained into me. Instead, every step gave my mind room to misbehave.
The shower helped some.
Barely.
Hot water ran over my skin while I replayed too much. My hand sliding over his dick through the denim. The way his jaw tightened. The little bite of his lip. His mouth on my nipples, hot and patient in a way that made patience feel almost disrespectful. His fingers working me open while I rocked on them and tried not to fall apart too fast.
He had handled me like a man who knew exactly how much he could take from a woman if he gave her the right pressure in the right place and waited half a beat longer than she could stand.
By the time I stepped out, I was still carrying him low in my body. Tender. Unfinished. Slick in memory.
I slid into bed and learned quickly that sleep was not coming easy. My nipples were still too sensitive against the sheet. Between my thighs, the ache had softened, but it had not left. I pressed my legs together, then apart, then together again, and all it did was remind me that relief was not the same thing as being answered.
I needed sleep.
