Page 40 of Pucked Up

"I think it's the closest either of us has come to it in a long time."

"Okay," he said quietly. "Your terms."

We'd reached an agreement—fragile but real. I reached out slowly, palm up. After a moment's hesitation, Micah's hand settled in mine.

"I'm not asking you to be someone else," I exhaled. "I'm asking you to show me who you already are."

His fingers tightened around mine briefly before releasing. The cabin creaked around us, wooden bones settling as the temperature dropped outside.

We'd crossed a threshold. The path ahead was unknown, but we'd deliberately chosen it.

Micah followed me to the guest room. It felt different now—transformed by intention rather than impulse. I'd lit the old oil lamp on the bedside table, its amber glow catching on the rough-hewn ceiling beams and dancing across the faded quilt.

The room smelled of pine resin, wood smoke that had seeped into the walls over the years, and the faint metallic scent of approaching snow through the barely sealed window frame. Even the air was different—expectant, carrying the electric charge of boundaries about to be tested.

Micah stood just inside the doorway, his frame silhouetted against the hallway's deeper shadows. His chest rose and fell with measured breathing.

I broke the silence. "You can still change your mind."

"So can you."

I shook my head. "I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?"

I understood it was a crucial moment, not only for tonight but for the future of our relationship. It wasn't about casual exploration. It was about opening ourselves up to each other.

I spoke softly. "This isn't a game to me. And it's not therapy." I held his gaze, needing him to understand. "My whole life I've been what others needed me to be—the promising rookie, the dutiful son, the perfect prospect. Always performing, always hidden. But that moment on the ice, when you saw through it all—"

My voice wavered slightly. "For the first time, someone saw past the mask. I need to know if we can find that clarity again, but this time with both of us choosing it. This is about recognition, Micah. For both of us."

After a pause, he nodded and stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sealed us into a two-person world.

I sat on the edge of the bed, keeping my posture open. Micah remained standing, his large frame imposing in the lamp's flickering shadows.

"Don't worry. I'm not testing you." I chose my words with care. "I'm showing you one of my strengths."

"And what is that?"

"Knowing what I want and not being afraid to look for it and ask for it."

He moved closer to me. I spotted a slight tremor in his hands.

"I don't want to hurt you." His voice was slightly rough, like fine-grained sandpaper."

"It's not about hurting. It's about power and the space it occupies between us. Sometimes, pain is just the clearest language we have available to explain it."

Micah's eyes opened wider. He appeared to finally understand what I was offering. It wasn't merely submission. It was a collaboration—exploring the darkness together and leaving a trail back home.

"Where do we start?"

I stood. "With trust." I tilted my head slightly and exposed my jaw. "Slap me."

Micah suddenly appeared wary. "Noah—"

"Not hard, but enough for me to feel it."

He hesitated.

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