Page 145 of The Darkest Chase

He’s not a killer.

Deep down, I’m sure of that.

I touch his cheek lightly, tracing his cheekbone. It’s so stark, like someone took a piece of white quartz and shattered it into these faceted edges.

“You’re more than that,” I whisper. “I know you’ll probably tell me I’m projecting. That it’s just my fantasy. That I’m seeing you as what I want and not a real person.” I smile wryly. “But if you were my fantasy man, it wouldn’t be so irritating that you use up all the hot water in the morning before I’m awake. If you were all fantasy, I wouldn’t live for the times when you forget to brood and actually laugh. I wouldn’t love your terrible sense of humor or how flipping grumpy you are.”

“Hey.” He lets out a tired laugh. “I’m not grumpy. Just don’t have much time for people’s bullshit.”

“Sometimes you are.” I grin, stroking my thumb over his cheek. “And sometimes you’re just an awkward grumpy-grump who’s been alone for so long you forgot how to be around other people. But I think there’s some part of you trying to remember.”

“C’mon, that’s enough.” His eyes soften, and he presses his cheek to my palm, a hint of stubble teasing against my skin. “You aren’t supposed to be the observant one, Miss Grey.”

“I guess I learned a thing or two from the man who keeps pinning me on my back every night and making me scream.”

“Yeah? Now who has a terrible sense of humor?” But his lips quirk and he holds me closer, leaning in to rest his brow on my temple. “You’re right. I am fucking awkward and bad-tempered at times. There are also things you don’t know about me, Talia, and I don’t know how to tell you. Until I figure it out, can we let this be what it is? Does it need a name? A label?”

For a second, I mull it over.

“No. No, it doesn’t.” It still hurts a bit to say that, but it’s better than him saying there’s nothing between us at all, instead of something nameless.

Nameless, I can deal with, I think.

Even if it leaves a small hole inside me that feels like it could widen if I feed my doubts into it. But I make myself smile and brush my lips over his.

“Nameless or not, you still get to answer Grandpa’s uncomfortable questions when I go limping home in the morning,” I tell him.

Micah lets out a half growl, half groan. “…will you let me off the hook if I give you one more reason to limp?”

The mere suggestion ignites my blood.

Sex was always this flowery thing in my head, before I knew what it could really be like. Before I knew it could be slow and raw and deep, or wild and rough and deliciously intense.

Honestly, if we don’t last, I don’t know how anyone else will ever measure up.

I feel like I have to hold on to this for as long as I can.

Take every chance.

So I slip my arms around his neck, leaning into him.

I’m already sore and well used, but I desperately want to know how it will feel for him to take me when my flesh is already so tender I almost can’t stand it.

So I push him back, watching the way his eyes flash with desire, turning smoky and dark as I nudge him onto his back.

I slip across him, straddling his waist.

And I can already feel his cock pressing against me, hot against my naked flesh and harder than steel.

There’s a powerful throb against me as I rock my hips, grinding against him. I stop with a shudder as my breath catches and my entire body goes hot, friction pulsing inside me until I feel myself growing slick.

Sighing, I slide my fingers over his chest, following the pale contours of his skin. He’s so sculpted he could be made of marble.

“Don’t just make me limp,” I whisper. “Make me scream.”

Micah’s eyes sharpen.

There it is—that predatory light that thrills me.

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