Chapter Eighteen
Micah fought his own body for control while he waited Darcy to answer. As a distraction, he tasted her shoulder, learning every curve of her back, arms, and shoulders with his fingers. The instant he’d buried himself inside her, he’d almost lost control. But no, she’d have her release first, or neither of them would have it. “Tell me, or I’ll start improvising.”
“I’ve never been good at asking for what I need,” she said finally in that sultry voice that gripped him by the balls, thrusting her hips forward to drive him that much deeper into her wet heat.
Jesus.
“Then show me.” He swept his hands up her back, leaving one tangled in her hair, and the other one dropping to her rounded ass that rose and fell just as she wanted. Those soft breasts pressed against his chest, and her hot breath washed down his neck as she bit him gently. Hiding. Digging for courage to say what he thought was already burning on her tongue.
Finally, she pulled his hand from her backside and lifted it to her mouth, sucking two of his fingers into her mouth. The sight of her lashes lying across her flushed cheeks, and the raw need vibrating through her body with her resulting moan, almost sent him over the edge.
“Turn around,” he said, half frantic, forcing himself to withdraw from her. When she did as he asked, he walked her on her knees to the head of the bed and pressed her hands to the wall. Already missing the heat of her, Micah came in from behind, the primal beast in him preening at her cry and raising of her ass as he delved deep.
Reaching around her hip, he found her need with his still-wet fingers, and stroked her slowly, without mercy. With his free hand, he tipped her face to the side and kissed her mouth, his extra height lining them up perfectly.
“Micah. Micah, oh God!” As her body tightened and convulsed around him, she scratched her fingers down the wall and finally gripped the headboard. The sound of his name from her lips, and the shockwave of her orgasm that hit him like a thunderclap, ripped away his careful control. He held on only until she’d finished riding her wave before he gave in to his.
Curses and her name spilled out of him, and at some point it might have turned into the Lord’s Prayer while endless waves of pleasure flirted with sweet, glorious agony. Never had he been so thoroughly torn down. So taken out of himself, turned inside out, and rebuilt. So alive and hot. Or so utterly calm in the part of him that had resigned itself to chaos.
As Darcy’s panted breaths mixed with lazy giggling, he cleaned himself up at the side of the bed and then wrestled the covers out from under her. She slid down to her stomach like a beautiful puddle of glistening flesh. His lids felt heavy with contentment as he pulled her against his body, pinning her arms between them while his went around her.
No words passed between them as her head rested on his bicep. Darcy didn’t seem to notice the storm still cursing the night beyond the windows. Slowly, her labored breathing gave way to the deep draws of contented sleep while he held her.
A thought bloomed to life in his mind and wouldn’t be denied.
He could fall in love with this woman.
His heart had become a hopeless snarl of want, not for the shallow frivolities he normally went after for a month or two, but for everything she seemed to be, everything he could give of himself, and the man he became in her presence.
Fuck.
The afterglow he’d been basking in grew cold. Quietly, he slipped out of the bed and went out the patio door, remaining under the shelter of the roof’s overhang. Rain assaulted the tin with a mighty roar. The odd flash of lightning zipped along the clouds, reflecting off Falcon Bay. He stared up into that angry sky, the same red-hot emotions boiling in him, accentuated by the cool spray coming in with the wind.
“Have you sent me this woman as a gift because you forgive me?” he whispered to the night. Since his mother’s death, and especially since Colombia, he’d stopped believing in God and prayer, but he didn’t know where else to find answers to the questions screaming at him. “Or have you sent her as punishment because you know I can’t hold something so precious without crushing it?”
And it had been so good to hold her while she fought her own demons earlier, as she’d done for him several times already.
Was his mother up there, frowning upon her disappointment of a son? Had it been her spirit that had driven him to take Darcy to the island in the first place, and then to his oasis in the trees? Mother had overcome harsh obstacles to survive the trials of her own existence, and Micah had all but squandered his life of luxury. Was Fernando with her? Was he angry Micah hadn’t tried harder to save him as he’d promised?
Micah pinched the bridge of his nose, growling quietly. Tomorrow. He’d have to confess his sins tomorrow before he let himself fall for Darcy, whoever she was. If she was real, he didn’t deserve her, and she deserved better. If she was manipulating him to advance her career, he’d be forced to second guess his mental state.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as he stepped back inside and shut the glass door. Darcy had thrown her arm across the space he’d vacated, as if worried and searching for him, even in sleep. He lifted her hand, tucking it up to her chest, and once again slid into the bed with her. When she shivered at the touch of his night-cooled body, he snugged the covers up to her back and held them there with his hand. She wanted him to teach her how to give up on her romantic ideologies, but what a tragedy that would be. The world needed more like her, so what the hell was he doing? He could ruin her if she let him.
She wasn’t interested in promises, and the guilt and fear addling Micah’s mind stopped him from making one.