Page 23 of Monsters Like Us
“How are you feeling?” she asks, brows drawn in suspicion.Up close, she notices the flush of my skin. “You look warm—do you need the nurse?”
“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice shakes.
She stares at me for a moment. “Get up and eat something. Then you can rest.”
I have no valid argument to stay here, and I’m afraid to resist for fear she’ll force me to go to the nurse’s station. Since being horny as hell isn’t a legitimate medical problem, that’s the last thing I want to do. So I get to my feet and follow her out the door.
Once inside the cafeteria, I search for Micah, but he isn’t there. I barely eat, picking at the food on my tray. My thoughts are on the way he let me touch him—including his scars—and didn’t recoil. It feels like that simple moment brought us closer together.
Closer to a monster. A man nicknamed the ice monster.
I must be crazy.
And yet, he doesn’t seem like a monster. Not to me. He isn’t mute around me like he is with the others. And though there’s a dangerous vibe clinging to him, I don’t fear him. Maybe it’s foolish, but I feel safe with him.
Finally giving up on my food, I toss it in the trash, then head to the common area, searching for him.
He’s not there.
Giving up, I head outside, needing a breath of fresh air. Guards walk around, eying me as I move toward the bench, trying to act natural and not at all like I’m searching for Micah. Of course, that’s exactly what I’m doing.
I sit on the bench, holding out the hope that he’ll show up. But after ten minutes, I give up and go back inside. It’s too risky to go to his room, so I head to mine, curling under the thin blanket, trying to convince myself I don’t want to see him.
I don’t know how long I lay there, just staring at the ceiling.
My mind keeps replaying the warmth of his skin beneath my touch, and the hush of his voice, and my body heats. I let out a frustrated groan as desire sweeps over me again.
My hands begin roaming, lighting my body on fire. The sound of his voice replays in my ears.
“This is only the beginning.”
My breath rasps from my lungs as my hand slides inside my sweatpants. My touch is light at first, but becomes intentional when I pretend it’s him touching me. I lift my hips, pull off my sweatpants and panties, and let my fingers roam to my pussy. I’m so wet for him.
I close my eyes and say his name, my voice quiet and raw.
My body writhes in pleasure, my head rolling on the pillow. I freeze when my eyes lock on a pair of familiar dark ones standing beside my bed.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Micah rasps, desire thick in his voice.
My heart stutters. I lay there for a moment, wondering if I’m imagining him.
He shifts his weight, and my eyes drop to the huge hard-on tenting his sweatpants.
The blanket tangles around my hips as I scramble to cover myself. Heat and shame wash over me. “I-I… W-What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t move, nor does he answer my question. Instead, he tilts his head, desire blazing in his eyes. “If you want me to go, tell me. Now.”
I should tell him to leave. Scold him for interrupting a private moment. But a dark, hungry part of me really wants him to stay.
“I—” My voice is thin.
He holds mygaze, waiting.
In that suspended second, I make a choice. For the first time since Ted, I decide for myself.
“Stay,” I whisper.
His mouth quirks, a smile that’s full of danger and approval. “Good.” He steps back, blocking the small window in the door. “Continue, my sweet girl. Show me how you want me to touch you.”
