Page 39 of Pucked Up

He pushed back from the table, chair legs scraping against worn floorboards. For a moment, I thought he might walk out. Instead, he remained standing, caught between fight and flight, the decision warring across his features.

Micah sighed heavily. "You should've stayed away."

I understood then that his withdrawal had something to do with fear. Not of me but of what I represented: recognition and exposure. I might force him to look inward and see himself.

I stood, closing the distance between us. He didn't back away, but he braced himself subtly.

I pushed. "You looked at me like you wanted to break me open out there on the ice. I think you did, but I'm here."

His jaw twitched. "Come on. Haven't we been through this enough? What do you want from me now, Noah?"

"I want to explore it—the darkness. I want to know what's between us," adding in carefully chosen words, "but on my terms."

"Your terms?"

"Rules. Control. Consent." I paused. "Clarity."

Micah's brow furrowed. He took a half-step back, looking for space to think.

"You don't understand what you're asking. You don't know me well enough. You don't know what I have done and what I might do."

"I understand more than you think." I matched his tone, calm and deliberate. "You're not the only one who's lived with hunger, Micah. Not the only one who's learned to hide your desires."

He shook his head, turning toward the window where the darkness outside pressed against the glass. His reflection stared back—eyes haunted by something deep inside.

"You don't know me. Not really."

"I know enough." I moved to stand behind him, not quite touching. "I know you're afraid of what lives inside you. The parts that want without apology."

His shoulders tensed. "And that doesn't scare you?"

"No." The certainty in my voice surprised me. "It doesn't."

He turned slowly to face me. "It should."

"I'm not afraid of you, Micah."

Something shifted in his expression—a subtle crack in the fortress he'd built around himself. It wasn't a full surrender, but he was starting to consider it.

"What exactly are you proposing?"

I took a deep breath. I needed to be direct. It wasn't a time to hide.

"That we explore the power and hunger between us, but we need boundaries."

"Boundaries." He tested the word with his lips and tongue.

"Safe words, for starters. Something either of us can say that means stop immediately. No questions asked."

Micah nodded slowly, processing. "'Red Line for me. I've used it before."

"Good. Mine will be Timeout." I maintained eye contact, ensuring he understood the significance. "No marks without permission. No closed fists."

"And if I—" He swallowed, unable to finish the thought.

"If either of us uses the safe word, everything stops. Instantly." I kept my voice firm. "This isn't about hurting. It's about truth."

"Truth? That's what you think this is?"

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