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“I know I can.” His smirk returns.
“Your chin is tough. But my right hook is devastating.”
He knows what I’m doing. Getting lost in everything that could go wrong. So he talks shit about my chin until I want to prove him wrong. It works.
“I will slip the hook.” I map the strong line of his jaw with my thumb. “I will step inside your reach and put a knee into your ribs. You know how hard it lands.”
“You can try.” Micah leans in, closing the fraction of an inch between our faces. “But I fixed that hole in my defense.”
“I will find a new one.”
“Good. I want you to.”
His breath ghosts over my lips. I want him again. We spent the last hour wrecking each other on these sheets, leaving our bodies utterly spent. My muscles tremble from the sheer physical exertion. Yet, the friction of his bare thigh sliding against mine sparks a fresh wave of undeniable need.
I need to feel him. I need to hold him before the sun rises and the handlers arrive to drag us back into separate corners of the lie. I need him close enough to drown out the lingering echoes of Dan Kendall’s voice.
“Tomorrow night,” I whisper, my voice low. “After the bell rings. After the cameras catch the fallout.”
“Yeah?”
When we get back to Ravenwood, I want three days with you.” I slide my hand down his chest, resting it on his hip. “No interviews. No training. No fucking interruptions.”
Micah’s eyes blow wide. A flush spreads across his high cheekbones, dark and vivid in the dim light. His mouth parts. So much for playing it cool.
“Is that a promise, Butler?”
“That is a guarantee.”
I capture his mouth. The kiss holds no hesitation. It bursts with raw hunger, fed by the adrenaline of the looming fight and the sheer terror of our impending confession. He opens for me immediately, his tongue sliding against mine, answering the desperate claim with equal ferocity.
He grips my shoulders, rolling his weight, using his leverage to flip our positions. I land flat on my back. The mattress groans loudly under the sudden shift. Micah straddles my hips, pinning me to the tangled sheets.
He stares down at me, his chest heaving, his dark eyes entirely black with arousal.
“You talk a lot of trash for a man pinned to the mat,” Micah taunts, a low rumble vibrating in his throat.
“I let you take the top position.” I grip his muscular thighs, my thumbs digging into the dense flesh. “I wanted the view.”
He lets out a breathless, wrecked groan. He leans forward, bracing his forearms on either side of my head, caging me in. He drags his open mouth down the side of my neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin covering my pulse point.
For a moment, I stop thinking about tomorrow. We stand on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump in front of millions.
Tonight, we fall together.
I slide my hands up his spine, pulling his heavy weight flush against my chest. The friction of our bodies aligning sparks an inferno.
“Make me forget the rest of it,” I demand, dragging his mouth back to mine.
Micah answers by grinding his hips down hard. The intense friction steals the air from my lungs. The ticking fan fades into the background. The ghost of Ironside evaporates into the humid night.
I surrender control. I give the king to the challenger, ready to let him tear me apart one more time before the sun comes up.
22
MICAH
The talking stops. Something else begins.
