Page 42 of The Secret
I slapped my palms against the refrigerator, my arms braced wide like some kind of sacrificial offering, and let the pleasure consume me—pleasure so vast and deep that there was no room inside me for impotent anger, or doubt, or embarrassment. My heart stuttered, my chest clenched tight, and when I screamed Micah’s name and shot down his throat, the release was way beyond physical.
I lost a little part of myself to Micah Bloom right then—opened myself to him in a way I didn’t think I could undo—because I’d just shown him all the worst pieces of me, the ugliest, most vulnerable, shameful parts of Constantine Ross, and instead of rejecting, or dismissing, or mocking them, he’d transformed them into something beautiful.
I tapped his shoulder to get him to stand up, though my breathing was still ragged, and my mind was spinning, and I wasn’t sure my legs were going to hold me, because that was how this game was played, you know? Tit for tat, and now it was my turn, and that was okay because I wanted it.
But Micah didn’t jump up to take my place. Instead, he ran his tongue over my cock with that same patient reverence as before and slowly pulled my underwear and shorts back on. I bent to grab my shoes and socks, but he batted my hands away so he could do the task himself. My breathing stuttered again.
When he finally did lift himself to his feet, he didn’t move away, and he shook his head when I reached for the waistband of his pants, despite the fact that he wasinsanelyhard.
He leaned against me, pressing me into the refrigerator with his body again. This time I didn’t fight his hold.
All the fight had gone out of me.
He pressed his lips to the pulse in my neck and it was…God. I didn’t know what to do or say. I was good at sex, right? It was, like, myone thing. And Micah had changed the rules and left me wrong-footed even in this. Still, my hands clenched in the fabric of his t-shirt because I couldn’t seem to let him go.
“I canhearyou thinking,” he said, his voice sounding wrecked but amused. “You ready to talk yet?”
“All this to get me to talk?” My own voice was hardly more than a croak. “I feel like if more therapists offered this service, American mental health would—”
“Constantine.” Patient, gentle.
“Especially if you were the therapist, because I have to say you’ve got skills likewhoa—”
“Constantine.” Still gentle. Less patient.
I sighed and told the top of his head, “I’m kind of an idiot.”
“Uh huh.”
I slapped his flank. “You’re supposed to disagree.”
“Uh huh,” he said again, more gently. “Why are you an idiot?”
I shrugged. It was too silly to even articulate.I had a fight with my mother and I was having a hissy fit-slash-existential crisis. Typical Wednesday.Definitely the way to reassure the guy who’d just given you the most epic sexual experience of your entire life that you weren’t just a one-time thing, right?
Oh fuck.I was more messed up than I’d thought if I was already wanting a repeat. I reallywasan idiot.
When I remained silent, Micah sighed and pulled away. “Come on.” He wrapped an arm around my waist and tried to steer me toward the back door, but I resisted.
“Come where?”
“Oh,nowyou’re suspicious? You beg me to fuck you over the counter, but God forbid I want to take you out for coffee, becausethat’swhen shit might get weird?”
I looked at his face. His mouth was red and puffy, but his eyes were shining.
“Come on,” he repeated, and this time I followed him without a word.
Chapter Six
Micah
I hadto bite the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning as I led Constantine out into the alley. Of coursenowthe man was compliant and silent, wearing the little half-smile that had started making my stomach flip at some point over the past month.
Have you ever felt like a part of you—the rational, sensible part of you—was watching from a distance in horrified fascination, perhaps eating popcorn, as the irrational, idiot part of you was about to make a Very Large Error?
Yeah, me neither, until Constantine and I had crashed together a few weeks ago at the farmer’s market. Ever since, there’d been this other thing—this very irrational, needyother thing—making all my decisions.
Constantine’s hair was a little damp, like he’d been sweating—like I’dmade himsweat—and I couldn’t help walking a little more closely behind him and resting my hand on the small of his back. I inhaled deeply and I could smell him on me, or me on him, and it made my blood pound with something that was beyond protective,it was downrightpossessive.
