Page 40 of Conflicted

“That I can do.”

There was a small table up here, and a chair beside it. Leading Micah over to it, I motioned for him to brace himself on the back of the chair. Part of me wanted to insist he face me, maybe let me hold him, and take him down to my bed where I could seduce him properly.

That would have been stepping over the careful line he’d drawn though. Worshipping his body wouldn’t count as hate sex. Besides, I’d promised myself I’d never worship anything or anyone again. I wasn’t going to break that promise for Micah.

Yanking his trousers down, I made sure to expose as little as possible. The knowledge that he wanted to hide himself had me gritting my teeth. I was good enough to fuck him, but not good enough for anything more than that.

A sickening thought hit me. Did he want it like thisbecause he was picturing Dimitri? Did he not want to look at me because then he could pretend?

The thought had flames flicking at my wrists. “Sit on the table.”

“What?” Micah glared at me over his shoulder. “Do it like this. Like we did before.”

“No.” I didn’t care that the itching was coming back, or that my demon was roaring to be released. “You don’t want to be naked, and that’s fine. You want me to fuck you like I hate you—also fine. It’s your prerogative to demand as many conditions and limits as you like, but this is mine. Either I see your face while I fuck you, or it’s not happening.”

Micah didn’t move. I brushed a hand over my hair as disappointment flooded me. Guess this wasn’t happening after all.

I wasn’t backing down though. I couldn’t. Things were already fucked up and toxic between us, but this? Him letting me fuck him so he could pretend I was someone else?

That was a step too far.

“Goodbye, little angel.”

I was turning to leave when Micah spoke. “Wait.”

There was a shuffling of material followed by the sound of metal creaking. I turned slowly to see Micah naked from the waist down, sat on the edge of the table.

He lifted his chin defiantly, but behind that defiance was a touch of vulnerability. It struck a chord in me somewhere—the one I wasn’t supposed to have. The one Hell had tried so hard to beat out of me.

The need to care for someone.

“The shirt stays on,” Micah said. “That’s my limit.”

I could work with that. “You’ve got it, little angel.”

“That name.” He eyed me as I stalked closer. “I think you love calling me that.”

“I think you love hearing it,” I drawled back, tearing the lube open with my teeth. “Maybe one day you’ll have a cute nickname for me.”

“Highly unlikely,” he hissed as the cold lube slicked between his cheeks. “Actually, I already have a few.”

“Really.” I smirked at him, one finger sliding into his tight hole. “Do share.”

Micah leaned back on his hands, widening his legs to give me more access. “Wanker.”

“That’s a good one.”

“Prick.”

“A classic.”

I hit his prostate and his head fell back on a whine. The lines of his neck were perfection, just begging me to explore them with my tongue.

“Tosser.”

“That’s a bit close to wanker. Come on, little angel, you can do better than that.”

“Motherfucker,” he groaned as I brushed the small bundle of nerves.

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