Page 131 of What We Become

“You’re a menace.”

“And yet.” I drop to my knees.

Her breath catches. “Micah⁠—”

“Baby girl.” I look up at her, my hands sliding along her thighs. “Let me taste you.”

Her fingers curl into my hair as she lifts one thigh over my shoulder, opening herself to me. I kiss the inside of it, then higher, until my mouth finds her and her soft gasp echoes off the brick.

I circle her clit with the steady pressure she likes, giving her more when her hips roll toward my tongue. Her grip tightens, her thighs begin to shake, and when her breathing breaks, I slide two fingers inside her and curl them.

“Fuck—Micah—you’re so fucking good at⁠—”

I hold the rhythm until she comes against my mouth, her thigh clamping around my shoulder as my name tears out of her. Only when her grip loosens do I ease the pressure, kiss the inside of her thigh, and stand.

“Micah,” she says, reaching for my belt.

“That’s for me to do.” I catch her wrists and pin them gently against the brick above her head. She has been making decisions since six this morning—every table, every face, every man through that door. She doesn’t get to make another one for ten minutes. That’s the whole gift. Her eyes widen with recognition. She knows this version of me.

I undo my jeans with my free hand, watching the hunger sharpen in her expression. When I release her wrists, she leaves them where I put them.

“Good girl,” I murmur.

Her pupils blow wide.

I grip her hips and lift. Her legs wrap around my waist as I settle her against the wall, the tip of me pressing against her pussy.

“Please,” she whispers.

I push in slowly, watching her face as her mouth falls open and her legs tighten around me.

“Move,” she breathes. “Micah, move.”

I do, keeping the first strokes deep and measured until her hands leave the wall and grip my shoulders.

“Harder.”

The command breaks the last of my control. I tighten my hold on her hips and drive into her harder, swallowing every gasp with my mouth as she meets each thrust.

She comes with her lips against mine, clenching around me until I follow her over the edge, burying myself deep with her name caught in my throat.

We stay tangled against the wall, breathing hard while the bass pulses through the brick behind us.

She laughs first, soft and breathless. “I’m starting to think I have a thing for alleys.”

“Should I be jealous of the one behind the diner?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay. But did any of those times also involve flowers?”

“Milo brought me flowers once.”

“Didn’t he buy you a funeral wreath that got stolen while you two were getting busy?”

She grins. “Still counts.”

“Maybe. But our alley fuck had drinks and dancing.”