Page 13 of Breathe Like Hell

I needed to leave, but I was afraid he wouldn’t stop me if I tried.

He would let me go, and that would be it.

But I couldn’t keep sitting here having this conversation, feeling like I was about to start hyperventilating because I couldn’t think straight around him. He was impossible to read, and it made me act in ways I knew I shouldn’t.

Without giving myself another second to overthink and doubt my decision, I turned and stalked out of the kitchen.

The sound of Micah’s chair scraping on the hardwood a second later both soothed me and terrified me.

I rushed into the living room, bare feet darting fast over the rug towards the stairs, Micah’s footsteps right behind me. Good. This is good. He grabbed me and yanked me back into him, my stomach flipping with his harshness, then took a few long strides across the room before setting me on my feet again—in front of the mirror.

I stared at him through the reflection, my hair a mess and my t-shirt riding up where he held me.

“This isn’t over,” he said, one hand anchored on my hip and the other sliding up my front to collar my throat, his muscled body solid at my back. I leaned helplessly into his hold, panting softly.

It was near-instant, the way those words soothed me, the way his touch grounded me.

Like I was no longer spiraling out of control, dancing on the edge of insanity; I was spiraling right into him.

My endless forest. I wanted to be deeper with each breath into my lungs.

“I’m not done with you,” he continued. “You’ve burrowed your way to lethal depths inside my fucking brain, and I’m not half as worried about that as I should be. I’m never going to be done with you. I can’t be. No matter what you do to me.”

I nodded, eyes glassed over, heat building low in my belly, Micah’s darkness surrounding me. The speed at which his reassurance could calm me down was unreal. God, I need to get a grip on myself.

“But I’m not going to make this easy for you.” His hand flexed on my throat, grip tightening, cutting the blood flow to my brain and making me dizzy.

I shook my head, agreeing with his decision.

I don’t want easy.

I don’t deserve easy.

Not from you.

“How many times did you fuck him?”

A frown tugged on my lips, and I knew I should answer him, but…

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know. A lot of times.”

He sighed, hand sliding off my throat, down my chest, then up under my t-shirt. “A lot of times,” Micah echoed. His hand moved along my waist, tracing the divots between my ribs, warm against my skin. He dipped his head to press his nose to my hair, inhaling deeply. “You’re killing me, Masters.”

I stared at him desperately in the mirror.

I’m sorry.

“I told you I was going to take care of you, and I am,” Micah continued. The hand on my hip moved downward and I suppressed a whine.

He slid his fingers between my legs, pressing on me through my sleep shorts. I squeezed my thighs together at the feeling of his fingers brushing my clit through the cotton. His hands were so big on my body, so firm, so dominant, and I would do anything he wanted as long as he didn’t stop holding me like this.

Micah leaned his head down to put his mouth at my ear, lowering his voice. “But you wanted to play games.”

He pushed his hand up to cup my breast, making me whimper, even as dread coursed through my veins. I rocked my hips into his hand, the heat of his palm covering my pussy, his fingers touching the wet spot soaking the fabric. His cock pressed into the curve of my ass, hard and hot and angry.

“So we’re going to play fucking games.”