Sophie and Micah part 2
Sophie was completely lost by the time Micah drove up to a set of dark industrial gates. He used a remote with a keypad to open them. His car drove through with a purr, gates automatically closing behind them with a loud bang that made her jump. With no streetlights, she saw only shapes and shadowed angles outside the car, with the glow of the more prosperous parts of town far out of reach.
They drove into something that felt like a parking garage, an auto light flicking on. Garage, warehouse, storage space, whatever the location, it was currently empty of other people.
A bad outcome felt inevitable now. Helpless frustration churned in her stomach. She deserved whatever he did for being so stupid. Missing that last bus and let him shove her into his car, allowed everything to spiral out of control. Now, she didn’t know what to do and there was no one to help.
Micah opened the car door for her, led her to a garishly painted metal door and a set of concrete and metal steps that went up. It wasn’t littered like the old apartment building had been, nor as old, but the stairwell smelled musty and forgotten. The whole place felt that way.
They were on the bad side of town, deeper in, maybe near the river.
He kept a hand on the small of her back. Constantly touching her. Confusing her. That touch was a clear reminder she couldn’t escape him. But she didn’t find the touch repulsive. Only dangerous.
His height and bulk created a natural intimidating effect. Anyone would be cautious around him. Careful around him. Doing nothing but walking slightly behind her, he made her aware of her every feminine weakness and filling her with a cool, burgeoning dread.
The nervousness he caused made her jittery, and she stumbled on the steps. He steadied her with his big palm, kept her from falling, led her up the stairs to another door that he opened with his keys.
A loft style room was revealed on the other side, a living area dominated by a sectional couch, and a table piled with electronic systems and remotes sitting parked In front of his gigantic black screen of a TV. No pictures on the walls or anything to suggest a woman or family lived here. Two bicycles were hung on the wall, along with a couple of motorcycle helmets. A bank of cabinets and a sink created a kitchen alcove in one corner, and beyond that a short hallway. He led her past three closed doors to a fourth, used his key on the installed deadbolt lock and opened that one, flipping on a light as they entered.
Sophie squeaked in alarm and tried to turn and leave when she saw the bed dominating the space.
“No, it’s all right, Sophie. You’ll stay here with me, yeah? Got roommates. Jumper and Dante. And I’m not sleeping on a couch when there is a good custom bed in here that fits me.”
The hand on her back became two, opening at her waist, holding her captive. Her head fit somewhere under his chin, so that she faced his chest, a little girl next to a giant. At least a foot and a half taller than her, he could break her in half, throw her across the room, make her do whatever he wanted.
Beat her to a bloody pulp like he had that other guy.
“I don’t want this. Please?” More words filled her mouth but got caught up on her dry tongue.
Making free with her, a big hand wrapped around her neck, thumb brushing back and forth in a mesmerizing sweep under her jaw. He tipped her head back, so that she had to look at him. The other hand twisted up one of her braids until he had her head caught and controlled in his hands. “Oh, baby. Was gonna walk away, gave you a chance. But you have no one to go home to. I know ‘you don’t,’ and ‘you haven’t.’ You are the cleanest thing I have ever seen in my fucking life. Couldn’t leave you on that street. What would you have done?”
Sophie started to talk, but his thumb went over her mouth. “You would have done jack shit. Don’t lie. Don’t lie to me.”
He took her over to another door, a bathroom, and opened it for her. Sophie went in obligingly, though she didn’t really need to use it, she was grateful to escape his presence for a moment. Taking deep gasping breaths, she tried to think of a way to escape. The man stole all her wits. He was too much for her to handle in every way.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she cursed herself ten times an idiot. She should have waited. Should have hid her money in a locker at school or something. Anything else.
The face reflected back at her had an attractive Russian, Danish heritage big blue eyes, natural white blond hair, and too pale skin that revealed her every thought. Her boobs were too big, her butt too round, even her capris gaped because she couldn’t find anything but leggings or yoga pants that fit both her butt and her waist.
All her life, her hair and eyes had gotten her unwanted attention. People stopped her mother to comment, to touch Sophie’s hair and pet her cheeks. There’d been a winter clothing photoshoot when she was four, but the gig had ended disastrously, with her crying and screaming while her mother fell apart in frazzled impatience.
There was a knock at the bathroom door. Her name.
He opened it without waiting while she stood there staring at the mirror, something folded in his hands. “Put this on,” he said, holding it out.
It was one of his t-shirts. More of his clothes.
“No. Thank you. I’m fine,” she told him.
Eyes sweeping over her, he talked like she hadn’t answered. “Take off everything that’s wet. Do I need to stand here and watch to make sure you do it?”
Taking the shirt from him, she knew she blushed again, at the idea of undressing in front of him. “I don’t want to sleep with you. You can’t just touch me, tell me what to do. You said you’d take me home.”
His sensual lips kicked up. “Yeah? What does this look like? This is home.”
“My home. This isn’t my home. My mom will be looking for me.”
“Will she? When? Will she know where to look? Will she have any idea where you could be?”
His eyes were hard and unrelenting, observing all her reactions. Seeing too much.
Her heart was palpitating. Tears welling. Scream building.
“Now you understand, don’t you, little girl? I don’t have to do anything, do I? Just whatever the fuck I want. And you’re going to do what I want, aren’t you? Baby has herself in quite the situation, doesn’t she? No one cares about her, no one knows where she is, and there is a big bad dog at her door that wants to eat her up. Put the fucking t-shirt on, Sophie.” His eyes went over her again, head to toe, standing there in his too big jacket, shivering and tears dripping. He turned from the doorway. She closed the door, locked it.
Changed out of everything.
The shirt felt big and loose, covering Sophie’s body to her knees. Underneath it, her nipples were painfully tight and cold, breasts jiggling. She sat down on the toilet, not moving, looking at her camera bag, and her pile of sad, sad belonging. She heard the TV come on from the bedroom. Then her name being called. Again.
It seemed a relentless inevitability. Something awful was going to happen before she ever saw her mom again, if she saw her mom again.
When she came out, his naked back faced her, startling her. Every inch of incredibly curved muscular wedge of the man bore tattooed in black ink. A sun, old-fashioned weight scales, and words that looked from scrolling languages. Latin. Spanish. She saw stars on the top of one shoulder that went up his neck. The most prominent, meticulous designs reminded her of the style of pictures on money, lines and dots shaping it. Must have taken hours to create. Turning at the sound she made, he treated her to more light brown sugar skin, bulges and curves. A collar of tattooed letters that went from shoulder to shoulder. This man could be a model, or professional athlete, someone famous.
He was too much.
She was so busy looking at him, the art of him, that she didn’t notice his return regard.
Disappearing behind a wall, a closet maybe, he came back out in tight briefs and nothing else, not even glancing at her standing frozen between the bathroom and the bed. He switched off the overhead light and climbed onto the biggest mattress she’d ever seen. “Come here, Sophie.”
Afraid to deny him. Afraid to move, she shook her head, wiping at the tears leaking out of her eyes that wouldn’t stop, choking back the sob of fear. She’d managed to avoid those high school jocks, dodge her mother’s handsy drunk boyfriends, and stay off the radar of the boys at college. Yet here she was, more or less naked, looking at a stranger who admitted to wanting to eat her up.
“Now,” he barked. Loud. Ugly.
Jerking like he hit her, Sophie hung her head and fisting the shirt. Sliding under a sheet and thin blanket, she wiggled, trying to pull the tee down her legs. There needed to be as many layers between them as possible.
On the edge of the bed, she started to fall out when he moved on the other side.
Arms and strength came out of nowhere, pulling her into him as he rolled to his side. “Quit twitching, little girl, and come here,” Micah said, low. His hot dry hands went up and down her arm, fit in the dip of her waist and over her hip.
A whine of fear escaped her like a wounded animal. Biting her lips, she clamped down on the sound.
It didn’t hurt, the uninvited touch felt nice, but she didn’t want it. She wasn’t used to being handled. It’d been years since she’d been little and people thought they could just touch her, hug her, and pick her up like a doll made for everyone’s delight.
“So fucking pure and sweet, aren’t you baby?” he said against the top of her head. His left hand found a braid, followed it to the end and released the band.
“Shiny and brand new, clean and untouched, a star fallen to the earth. You lit up that old street like a beacon, brightness cutting through all the dingy ugly and joy through depression. My sister had a kitten when she was little. Fluffy white, got hair everywhere, blue eyes just like yours. Named her Star. Is that you, a star?” His voice was a low murmur as he combed through one braid than the other.
“Please,” Sophie said, as his hands smoothed out her hair, fingers combing through light and careful. She didn’t know what to do.
“Please what?” he asked with a soft amused chuckle. “Scared little kitten, aren’t you? Just let me pet you. I’ve never seen anything like you.” He traced he shape of her face, brushed her eyelashes, down her nose, her lips, the softest of touches. His body stretched out alongside her, almost curling around her, engulfing her in his heat and presence.
His touches felt nice; he kept stroking her. Her hair, her neck, her clavicle, long soothing sweeps of his fingers. “Little lost kitten. Will you purr for me? I won’t hurt you. Just want some of this sweet in my life.” In spite of the situation, the danger of it, Sophie began to lose the tension in her body, her breaths deepening.
“Who are you?” she asked, voice small. “Couldn’t you have anyone? Someone who knows what to do, who wanted this, someone prettier? Why are you doing this to me?”
“Want you. Bright. New. Fucking innocent.” His hands were warm.
She felt his breath on her forehead, his lips against her temple as he laid down beside her. “You just relax, little girl. Little Sophie girl. I won’t hurt you. Don’t want to hurt something as clean as you.”
Micah’s soft, full lips nuzzled her brow and down her cheek. The murmured-gentle of the action conflicted with everything he’d said and done so far. She didn’t want to be here, but he wasn’t hurting her. She closed her eyes as the TV played in the background and tried to get her mind off the invasion of him and think of a workable way to get back to her life.
She knew from her research that this was not the part of town where one could depend on the kindness of strangers. She had only herself to depend on.
And that wasn’t very much.
Sophie drifted, not asleep, not awake; constantly aware of Micah next to her with her head tipped up, resting on the bulk of his arm. He moved her where he wanted her and she’d let him. The room chilly with an air system that seemed to turn on and off at will. She was cold, and he was very warm. His smell, a cologne or something mixed with earthy, musky sweat, filled her senses. Recognition of the shape and heat of him never stopped.
At some point, she was just so tired that she lost her grip on fear and distrust. It seemed like some time passed. There had been an action show on the television, with gunshots and car chases, and now it was some kind of drama: long speeches, and deep voices.
Micah’s huge foot lay between hers, his leg bent over hers. Wrapped around her, he had one hand on the skin of her stomach, fingers moving back and forth, measuring her from hip bone to hip bone, dipping in her belly button. He had been touching her the whole time, as if enjoying the feel of her shape and skin.
She should say something. Do something.
With his hand under the shirt, he was in dangerous territory. She had on no underwear; they’d been wet from the rain too. And his hand was so big, near intimate places. Still in a drowsy state, she couldn’t get past how nice it felt. She liked the warm, dry, slightly rough weight of his hand. Everything in her wanted to arch into his pets.
He’s voice was rich velvet in the dark. “Beautiful Sophie. Want to keep you. Will you let me? You’re a good girl, aren’t you Sophie?”
“Micah,” she whispered.
A deep, pleased groan escaped him. “That’s it. Say my name. Say who owns you.”
That hand went up her ribs, so close to the bottom of her breasts. She wiggled her hips a little, feeling tingles and heat and urgency. Things she’d never felt before. Her body felt safe, wanted, desired, but her sleepy mind was waking up, trying to warn her. To remind her.
She said his name again, “Micah.” She needed to tell him to stop, to leave her alone. To let her go.
“So fucking soft and perfect.” His lips brushed her cheek with little touches. He was kissing her. This man, this incredibly good looking, adult man, who could probably have any girl he wanted, was kissing the spot near her right eye, her cheek, to the corner of her lips. A seductive press that felt sweet and beautiful.
She touched his face, her fingers testing the rough texture of his shaved cheek up to the short buzz of his hair. The moment felt magical, impossible, that a man like Micah desired her.
He overwhelmed, frightened and forced. How did she reconcile this seduction with the fact that it was unwelcome?
“Give me that mouth, give me that innocence.” Turning toward the feel of his kisses, he found her mouth. Kissed her top lip, her bottom, the corner. Brought a hand up to hold her throat, as he taught her about kisses with coaxing little touches.
She’d never been kissed.
Kept her eye on her goal. Was sure there was nothing that could make her want or need a kiss. The sloppy, mouth on mouth thing she saw in the hallways and school yard wasn’t worth her time. But now she found herself overcome, chasing Micah’s mouth, fascinated by the plush texture of his lips, the taste of his breath, and tease of his tongue. Sophie lost boundaries, the choices she’d made in ignorance taken over by needy, building urges.
She needed his mouth. She needed to know, to understand. She wanted his taste. This was kissing and she liked it. His tongue touched her bottom lip as his hand moved from her throat and heat opened up over her breast, learning the shape of her, the feel of her. She made a noise between distress and pleasure, arching into the touch.
Following uninhibited his example, he led her to a place of no return. With the shirt she wore rucked up, he touched her freely, cupped and shaped her breasts, brushed his thumb back and forth over her nipple. “You were made for this, baby. Made to be touched like this. You like it. Need it, don’t you? Thought yourself a cold little ice princess, when all along you were just a frightened girl. Now you’re my girl. These are my tits. This is my innocence. Gonna own it. No one can take it from me. No one.”
Sophie whimpered as that thumb brushed back and forth over her nipple, awakening nerves she didn’t know she had. Suddenly squeezing her breast to the point of pain, she arched, her free hand moving to cover his. It surprised her, shocked her. She tried to tear her mouth away, but he leaned in, trapping her so easily. “You never been owned before. You don’t know how to behave like a good girl. You don’t know how to take everything I give.” He pulled back a bit, gave her his eyes.
His look wasn’t soft and coaxing. It was hard and scary and sent trills from the tips of her breasts to her hidden feminine place between her legs. Moving his hand to her other breast, gentle at first, cupping and lifting, admiring her, she relaxed again. Maybe it had been an accident. Maybe she misunderstood.
She didn’t. It wasn’t. He squeezed once, twice, tight and uncomfortable before finding her nipple and pinching it. “Stop,” she said, trying to twist away, yanking at his hands. His leg slid up to pin her hips, grabbed her hand, forcing it to her side with ridiculous ease. He could do anything he wanted, demonstrated it by pulling on her sensitive flesh, pinching, twisting, rubbing.
She tried to squirm free. He gave her more of his weight, showing her that resistance was useless.
Chuckling at her twisting, he asked, “What do you think, little kitten? Did you think I’d be your pet junk yard dog? Did you think I wasn’t going to take what I wanted? That I was a nice guy? Look at these pretty titties of yours. Tight little nips getting all red and swollen. Fuck. What a color.” He played until her nipples felt hot, pinching and rubbing as tears escaped her eyes.
She babbled something. Noises.
“I want to hear something. Talk to me. Tell me who owns this innocence. Tell me who you are going to give this innocence up to,” he demanded. He moved her again, so that his face was near her chest, and he could nuzzle into her flesh. Mouth opening on her, she screamed when he sucked hard on the skin near her nipple.
“Tell me, Sophie. You’re here in my bed, in my house now.”
“What? What?” She couldn’t talk, couldn’t understand his demands through her struggles to survive the onslaught of sensation.
Moving so that he was lying on her, he mounded up her breasts and placed his face between, kissing and sucking at her skin. Her hands freed, she tried to push him off. He didn’t budge.
Snapping up her wrists, quick as a snake, he barked, “Stop it.” It was no effort at all for him to force her arms jarringly down above her head.
“That’s no way to act.” The warning coldness in his voice startled her, made Sophie gasp. Frozen in fear, she looked at him for direction.
“You don’t scratch or hit me, baby, or I’ll whip your ass and you won’t sit for a week, yeah?”
“Hurts, too much. Can’t breathe.” she gasped out. “Said you wouldn’t hurt me.”
His eyebrows lowered. “This isn’t pain. You don’t know pain. You just need to learn to play.” He kissed her again. Nipped her lip when she tried to turn her head away. “Maybe you need my belt? Is that what you need to understand?”
“On your fine ass,” he clarified. Kissing her gently again, teasing her with those soft delicious touches of his mouth while holding her hands pinned above her head.
He went on, “You haven’t told me what I want to hear. Haven’t told me who all this unspoiled innocence belongs to… who does it belong to? Who you gonna give it up to?”
“I don’t want-”
He interrupted her, slamming her arms down on the bed, saying with a deep voice a beastly growl. “Don’t care the fuck what you want. You tell me what I want.” He let her arms go, almost throwing them down, sat-up over her. “Done teaching with words. Words don’t work, I know what the fuck will work.”
She felt him shift to get off the bed. To leave her. To get his belt.
“No! No!” she gasped out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” she cried.
Stopping, his hand went to her neck, just the lightest of pressures as he leaned in close. “Well, get some understanding. I say shit, you do the shit. Got it? That is how this is going to work. My house, my rules. I can get my belt. That don’t work, I can take you out there, let Jumper and Dante play with you, change your mind, yeah? You want to escape me, deal with the little dogs, Starlight, there are a couple of little dogs right out this door. You better get some fucking understanding and start listening.”
“What is happening?” Her heart rate beat hard in her chest. She didn’t know what was happening. “What do you want?”
“This is happening because of your little sightseeing trip, Sophie. 'Cause I found you first. This fucking hot body all wrapped left out for me to find. Practically fucking gift wrapped. That rain came down, turned you from a stupid white girl waiting for a bus on the very edge of the hell zone, into a sex kitten just waiting to be taken. You need a keeper. I will be that keeper.”
“I’ve never, I don’t,” she began, thinking if she told him she wasn’t a sex kitten and did not want to become one, he’d leave her alone, but he interrupted her.
“Told you I know that, baby. Any man can see that. You being untouched and so ripe makes it better. Pure temptation. Someone going to snatch you up and sell that innocence for thousands of dollars. Scared little girl like you, you’d just let it happen.”
“Oh yes. Yes, you would. You think I’m the worst thing to happen to you? You think my belt is bad?” Fingers played over her face, wiping away her tears. He touched her wet eyelashes, traced her eyebrows.
“I wouldn’t let that happen.”
He made a grunting noise. “You practically invited it, coming here for your photos. If I hadn’t got you first, someone else would have. Eyes already on you. Lucky it was me who got the call.”
“Got the call?” she asked. Someone had called him?
“You stand out like you don’t belong. Every predator on that street knew you were there, stranded. Those are my people, I was born on that street, this is my territory. But I know I wasn’t the only one with eyes.”
“They were watching me?”
“All day, baby. All day long, someone had eyes on you. You know what I’m after. Let me hear the words. Last time. I’m being nice. Telling you like it is. Giving you understanding. Now, you tell me, who owns this innocence?”
He leaned back so that she could see all the dark warning of his expression in the moving lights of the TV. “You own…” She stumbled.
Licked her lips.
How could she say this?
“You own me?” It finally came out like an uncertain question. Was that what he wanted? How could he own her? Like a slave? She had no idea what he was thinking.
“Good girl. That’s right; I own you. All your pain, all your pleasure. Sometimes it’s gonna hurt and you are just gonna take it. You are gonna give me your tears and fucking take everything I have for you, because finders’ keepers. You know that shit, right?”
His self-satisfied grin flashed Cheshire cat white in the dark.
“But why? Why would you want that?” She couldn’t help the stupid, mystified question. He didn’t sound like he just wanted sex to use her once or twice.
“Oh, sweet baby girl. I guess I’ll have to show you, teach you, why someone like me would want to eat up something as tasty and sweet as you.”
He kissed her again, mouth open and tongue inside, raw and insistent. She yielded, kissed him back, collapsing under her skilled dominance.
“Again. Say it again,” he said between kisses.
“You own me,” she breathed as his mouth went to her cheek, her jaw and her neck. One hand bracing himself, the other back on her breast, he went back to playing with her. Brushing back and forth over the nipple he had tormented, the zing of it, part fear he would hurt her again, part sensitized pleasure, making her dizzy with uncertainty.
He did that sucking thing again, and again, the sharp sting of it and feel of his teeth making her whine. Harsh then gentle and back again, making him impossible to predict. She couldn’t drift away, couldn’t find any way to shut him out and escape in her head.
He was a lunatic. With all the power. And his touch was a drug.
He pulled the shirt she was wearing, tossed it aside. He spread her legs so he could sit back on his knees without crushing her bones. Then did more than just look, he devoured, ate her up with his eyes, savoring lewd the display she made for him.
His assessment left her adrift between feeling exposed and adored, abused and cherished. Her senses ping ponged between extremes. He could have anyone. She wanted to yell at him, remind him, shake him. Why was he bothering with her when she wasn’t ready for any of this, why was he looking at her like she was worthy of something, why did he look so hungry?
The root of his manhood made his snug fitting boxer briefs bulge outwards. She’d seen naked men before on the computer or in photography books, but the reality of this huge man tucked inside his briefs, the end straining the elastic band like it could pop out at any second, was much different from a photo.
“Shit. Nineteen and every fucking guy’s jerk-fantasy. Tits, hips, and ass. Nipples standing up hot from my touches, just pleading for attention. That tiny little bald cunt. You wax?”
Sophie blushed. She’d had curls there, but they were more yellow than on her head. Her mother had seen her dressing one day, told her she looked like a dog that peed on herself and took Sophie “as a gift on her seventeenth birthday” to get waxed. It hurt like hell and she hated it, she’d cried after, feeling humiliated. But when the curls had started to grow back, she’d been crazy itchy and uncomfortable. Waxing was one small expense her mother allowed her. She answered with a small nod.
“Words,” he commanded sharply.
“No secrets from me, Sophie. I’m gonna know all of you. Every tiny bit of you. You on birth control?”
“Huh. Don’t like that. We need to take care of that. You’re too young to be my baby mama, yet.”
She agreed. But it sounded like this wasn’t just one time. Like he wasn’t just going to force himself inside of her once and then walk away.
“I’m not gonna suit up for this sweet cherry pussy though. Not gonna. You can take that morning after pill.”
“Please. Micah.” She sat up. Almost tried to scramble away when she heard that. “No. I don’t believe in that. I don’t want- ” A sharp, hot sob caught in her throat. He could make her. He could force her and what would she do if he did that?
He caught her before she could get anywhere, pulled her between his legs, sat on her thighs in one quick movement. “No? You don’t want that? Got some religion or just afraid?” he asked, curiosity, not derision in her tone.
“Please don’t make me.” She put her hands on his thick, veiny forearms, looked him in the eye and willed him to understand. She knew a girl from school. The stories of the blood. Sophie couldn’t do it. There was no way.
“Fuck. That’s not what I want to hear, not at all. You’ll get an implant for me then, yeah? We’ll go to the clinic tomorrow.”
“Okay. Okay, I’ll do that, then.” Sophie answered. Not thinking it through, just relieved he’d given her some kind of choice.
He opened his hands over her knees, smoothed up and down. She was naked and he could see everything. He could do anything.
“Poor scared little baby. No boyfriend? Ever? Anything?”
“No touches? No kisses? You touch yourself?”
That question. How could he ask that? Even in the dark his eyes burned her with that dirty question.
He made a growling noise.
“A little. Sometimes. Not really. Before my period.” She blurted. Shamed. He’d moved his hands and now she covered her face with her own, hiding. This kind of honesty was worse than being naked.
“Yeah? Baby, gets ripe and ready before her period? How do you touch yourself?” He sounded delighted by the information.
Micah took her hands away from her face. “Look at me. Tell me the truth. Aways truth. I hate lies.”
Every command had an underlying threat now. She groaned, low and long, almost a howl. His hand closed over her mouth making her stop, before his thumb slid across her bottom lip, inside and onto her tongue, pressing down.
He whispered, low and dark. “None of that now. I jack off when there is no one I want to be fucking. I want to know if you do too. Tell me.”
Eyes holding hers, he took his finger from her mouth and put it in his, tasting her. Curious, she watched him wet more fingers, before that hand went down and to touch between her legs.
“Micah.” She bucked and said his name in a choked sob.
He stroked her with soft, gentle, barely-there touches. “My baby is wet.”
He smirked with approval.
At some point, to her shock, her vulva had swollen, the little hill of her clit standing up, firm and imprudent, just like she got before her period. That restless, needy feeling had started, the one that made her need pressure, drove her to stick her stuffed bunny between her legs and hump its hard nose. She wanted this to stop, right? Didn’t like him? How could anything feel good? Why did she feel this need now?
He stroked her slit, a careful, up and down movement that didn’t part the folds, just tormented her with the potential, with the intimacy of his hand. She felt everything. Everything.
“What did I ask you?”
“I don’t… not my hand. I have a stuffed animal.”
“Fuck,” he gasped, hips jerking a bit.
The sound jumped from him to her. She felt it like a inside, hidden muscles squeezing on the empty air of it.
“ Tell me that, and think I’m gonna let you escape, walk away. Such a baby, such innocence and she is all fucking mine.?”
His hand pressed in. Laying back, she couldn’t see what he was doing, instead she felt the little circles he was making, a soft careful touch as he watched her face for signals. “This feel good?” He laid down next to her again, positioned her like she weighed nothing, her head on his arm, his palm between her legs, her leg lifted over his, keeping her open wide to his touch.
“Answer me, Sophie.”
“Yes,” she whispered. Not wanting to admit it. Not wanting him to hear it.
“Yes, it feels good.” The words were high and uncomfortable, breathy with embarrassment, but she managed them. It did feel good, waves of liquid pleasure that spread out in rings from his touch, a soft, perfect, tap, tap, tap. Her clit swollen. Her vulva full and humid. Her hips moved with him, in counter, trying to increase the pressure, take it deeper.
“And say my name. I want to hear it on that mouth of yours. Say it all nice and tight. ‘Yes, Micah, it feels good.”
She took a deep breath and forced the words out., ‘Yes, Micah, it feels good.’”
“Fuuuuuck. I fucking like that. You ever cum?” he asked. His limbs were so long. The arm behind her wrapped around her front, holding her close, trapping her with an open palm on her breast.
Sophie couldn’t escape so she turned her face inward, trying to hide against him, trying to hide from what was happening. “Don’t know.”
“Can’t have that. You need to know. You’re getting so wet for me, being good for me. I like that. That will get you a reward. This is how it goes; you do what I say, I always make you feel good. You don’t do what I say, only I get to feel good? You get me, yeah? Make sense?”
“Yes.” She told him what he expected to hear.
His touching made her need. Her questions. The reasonable fears. This crazy wrong situation. The litany of wrong evaporating under Micah’s dauntless attention.
He moved her clit with those little circles of his and it was so much better than anything she’d ever done for herself. His face was in her hair, inhaling her, and she turned into him, helpless. Lost. She could taste him her mouth.
He kept the touch steady, kissing her now and then, focused completely on her and the stimulation that pushed her higher and higher.
Sophie tried to stay still and deny the pleasure. Breathing through her mouth, she held back the sounds that wanted to escape. But Micah knew what to do. Everything was right: his breath in her ear, the hand holding her breast, just cupping her, cradling and his maddening touch. Soon enough, he broke her with the perfection, crushed her resistance, until all she could focus on was getting more.
Managing to hold back her noises until he moved his hand, shifting his hips, she cried out, “Don’t stop, please!” Because in some insane way, she needed it, needed his hand there, and it was worth everything.
Instead of berating her he shushed her, reminded her to take what he gave. His sensual mouth kissed the side of her head, teeth nibbling at the top of her ear. Bucking his hips, he did something behind her, opened himself so that she felt the silk of his skin, the tickle of hair.
Moved his briefs and freed himself. His thing. He had his penis out and it felt incredible, fitting himself in the notch between her legs from behind.
She moaned his name, the sound twisted up with need and fear, yes and no. “Micah.”
“Together, Starlight. We do this together,” he told her.
She wanted to sit up and see, to pull away, to press in, but he held her. Told her what to do. If he stopped telling her want to do she was going to explode into a million pieces and never find herself again. She just knew it.
“Stay here. Stay open. Just. Like. This,” he grunted. Taking her hand and bringing it down between her legs.
“Put your hand here,” he told her. Her immediate response was to try to pull away, but he slapped her thigh, hard and she cried out and submitted to him.
It was wet, and strange.
He made a few short, tight movements with his hips, groaning low, saying something she didn’t hear as he arched behind her. The fat head of his cock fit just right between the folds of her sex, gently touching the fleshy bundle of nerves he had been circling with his fingers. Made to fit there. Holding that heat in her hand, she could put him where she wanted him. Get what she needed.
But it was strange. There was something under her fingers besides his cock, round and ball shaped, she couldn’t imagine what she was feeling. Couldn’t ask, because he was moving against her. His arm across her chest, above her exposed, shaking breasts, his other pulling on thigh up and away, so that she couldn’t close her legs and stop the languid, caresses. Took her right back to the place of intensity where he’d had her before.
“Give me a taste of that innocence. I’m gonna dirty you up. Don’t press in too hard, you’ll push me in and I won’t fucking stop. I’ll fuck right into that tiny little hole of yours,” Micah warned huskily.
She made noises back at him, unable to form words. Close to something, just on the verge.
“Let it happen. Cum on me. Cum all over my dick. Do it, baby. Give it to me.”