Page 42 of Pretty Heartache

Bubbles cover my pouf within seconds, and I start to wash myself. Washing myself with Micah’s body wash doesn’t exactly stop the thoughts running through my mind. If anything, it solidifies the way I’m feeling. The truth is, I’m falling for Micah. I shouldn’t be, but I am.

As each day passes, I envision a life with him here in his house. One where we don’t tiptoe around one another or sit in our highly covered secrets.

I’m swiping the pouf over my peaked nipples, the image of Micah’s anger yesterday playing on my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut, the fire in his blue-gray eyes sparking with jealousy.

Jealous because he caught another man looking at me.

Right?

I hear his voice telling me to get on his bike.

The space between my legs tingles, and I’m about to slip my hand where my body is begging to be touched when I hear the back door slide open.

I gasp, dropping my pouf as if it’s suddenly burst into flames.

The door shuts then again, and I breathe out, thankful I didn’t hear Micah’s footsteps coming up the stairs.

With the moment gone, and a chill replacing the heat, I pick up my pouf and rinse off the rest of Micah’s body wash. I rinse the rest of the suds off my own body and shut the water off.

Stepping out, I wrap a towel around myself, tucking in the front, just above my chest. I pad my way into my bedroom before shutting and locking the door. Water drips from my hair onto the floor as I make my way across my bedroom, and Micah’s grunting from outside the window pulls me to the opposite side.

Peeking around the old curtain, I place my hand over my beating chest at the sight of him down below. He’s bent over the garden bed, ripping out dead flowers and broken branches. Long vines and stems with thorns cover the dry soil. He tosses them behind him, tearing and pulling with all his strength.

His hands are covered in dirt as he reaches forward and grabs onto one of the longer vines. He tears it out and tosses it into the pile he’s building on the other side of the wood.

Broad shoulders swell, and the muscles across the planes of his back flex. His tan skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He’s removed the white T-shirt he was wearing this morning.

The sun glints and shimmers off his skin, highlighting the muscles my hands wish to touch. I close my eyes, the heat returning between my legs.

I sigh and open my eyes. Micah paused long enough to take a drink from the bottle of water I gave him earlier. With one foot resting on the edge of the wooden frame, he presses one hand on his knee and lifts the bottle to his mouth, tilting his head back as he takes a long swig.

With my hand still pressed to my chest, I drag my fingers down the center of my towel. Tingles spread down my legs and my hardened nipples. They’re hidden under the towel, but thesoft fabric hugs my skin, radiating the warmth I’m getting from watching Micah.

I part my towel and slip my fingers between the gap, finding my center. I part my folds, the pads of my fingers landing over my swollen clit.

Micah sets the water bottle down on the ground beside him, and he bends over again, resuming his work. Two dimples press into the small of his back. My fingers circle my clit, watching his fingers wrap around a large, dead branch.

Good girl.

Tell me you’re going to be a good girl.

I circle my clit faster, parting my legs to get more access. I plunge two fingers inside myself, gasping when I press my thumb to my clit. I pump my fingers faster and harder.

Micah stomps his way over to the pile of furniture we set out in the middle of the yard yesterday and fishes out a shovel. He doesn’t look up, not noticing me standing in front of my window. Heat blooms in my cheeks.

What do you want, Addy?

Do you want to be mine?

Yes. God, yes.

I roll onto the balls of my feet, standing taller. My mouth falls open as I breathe in a shuddering breath. Tucking in my bottom lip, I bite down on my pillowy flesh, wishing it were Micah’s.

My body hums and vibrates from my own touch.

I watch him as he stabs the shovel into the dirt, lifting out the root to one of the bushes. After digging up half, he walks around the box to dig out the other half. He stabs the pointed end of the shovel into the ground again, pushing down to leverage it out.

Tiny bursts of electricity spread across my damp skin as I pull my fingers out to circle my clit again. I draw them along the length of my slit and add more pressure. My fingers are soaking wet. They move over me with ease.

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