by Lisa Worrall
Harry cupped Micah's face in his hands and stared deep into his eyes, his blue eyes sparkling with emotion. "Tell me you don't love me and I'll leave. I'll leave and I promise I'll never bother you again." Micah whimpered as one of Harry's thumbs swiped across his mouth. "All you have to do is say it."
"I hate you," Micah said on a sob, pushing against Harry's shoulders.
"Say it."
"Harry, please." Micah was finding it difficult to remember how to breath as Harry's lips stopped a breath away from his.
"Say it."
"I can't, you bastard, you know I can't," Micah ground out just before he bridged the gap and brought their mouths together. God, it had been so long. So long since he'd felt the warmth of Harry's arms around him, the press of his lips, the sensuous slide of his tongue as they both attempted to take control of the kiss. After a momentary battle for dominance Micah sank into the kiss, giving Harry the reins and allowing himself to be swept up on a tidal wave of heat, passion and the sweet, sweet sensation of coming home.
Their kisses became more and more heated, with Harry drawing Micah's tongue into his mouth and sucking on the muscle as if Micah was his first drop of water after being stranded in the driest of deserts. Micah threaded his fingers into Harry's thick hair, the soft strands feather light against his palms, and he held on tightly, not wanting it to stop, but knowing it was wrong. His dick throbbed indignantly when he mumbled against Harry's lips and finally broke the kiss, the only sound in the kitchen their harsh breaths as they fought for control.
"Micah?" Harry was the first to speak, his frown heavy and his expression uncertain.
"We can't do this," Micah replied, even though it was killing him to say it. He was so hard he could have cut diamonds but the joy he felt at knowing Harry still loved him was dampened by the fact that he'd allowed emotion to drive Selena out of his mind. Whichever way his mind tried to twist it, this was wrong. They were past, she was present, and Micah just couldn't allow himself or Harry to betray her and their child—no matter how much he wanted to.
"Why?" Harry pleaded. "We both want this, don't deny it."
"I wasn't going to," Micah snapped. "I tried so hard and for so long to get over you, but I never could, no matter what I did, and I never will. But we can't. She deserves better than this."
Harry shook his head, his expression one of bewilderment. "Who?"
"Who?" Micah stared at him, aghast. "Jesus, Harry, I know you're not exactly thinking with your upstairs brain right now, but I didn't give you that much vodka! I'm talking about Selena."
"Ah, yes," Harry's eyes filled with understanding. "Selena."
"Of course, Selena." Micah's passion was fading and anger was returning at Harry's nonchalant attitude towards his girlfriend. "You know, blonde hair, pretty smile, belly out to here." He made a circle with his arms in front of him. "Your girlfriend, ringing any bells?"
Harry took a deep breath and sank back onto his haunches. He gazed up at Micah. "Um, there's one more thing I should have mentioned."
"What? That you forgot you had a girlfriend?" Micah said sarcastically. "Thank God one of us remembered."
"Selena's not my girlfriend."
"She's not your…" Micah trailed off, and he stared at Harry, his head spinning again. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"Selena's not my girlfriend."
Now Micah felt as though he'd reached the final challenge on 'I'm a celebrity, my brain is bleeding out of my ears, get me out of here!' If Harry had wanted to drive him the rest of the way out of what was left of his mind, he was doing a fucking bang up job. Opening and closing his mouth like one of the villains on Captain Scarlet, he managed to finally force out, "Then who the fuck is she?"
"She's my mother."
Chapter 4
"Your mother?" Micah echoed. "That gorgeous supermodelesque, legs up to her armpits, porcelain-skinned beauty is your mother?"
"You were expecting my mother to look like Hilda Ogden? Have you seen me?" Harry questioned with a raised brow. "And watch it, that's my mum your objectifying."
"But she's only thirty!"
"Forty-four actually, but I'll pass on the compliment," Harry countered, a smile playing around his mouth, one that suggested to Micah the man was having far too much fun at his expense. "She met my father when she was sixteen, married at seventeen, had me at eighteen. If you ask her the secret she says it's good genes and three litres of water a day. I personally think she's got a picture hidden away in the attic like Dorian Grey, or she ritually sacrifices young virgins and drinks their blood. But she will neither confirm nor deny either theory."
"You think this is funny?" Micah couldn't believe it. "You walk in here, with more information than the bloody Tourist Board and you expect me to just say… what? Oh, okay Harry, thanks for letting me know?" He kicked out at Harry and sent him sprawling backwards onto the floor. "I should kick the shit out of you! I've been trying to hate you for six years and you waltz into my village with your pregnant whatever the hell she is and open up wounds I thought had healed. You wander around the village looking for all the world like the perfect couple, charming everyone, even Doris Abernathay who is convinced you're our very own Posh and Becks, making me think you were—making me feel—making me hate myself for wanting." He knew he was babbling, but he didn't care.
"Then you have the audacity to leave me hanging for two weeks, two weeks without a single word; then when you finally spill your guts for me to sift through, you stick your tongue down my throat, making me feel like some kind of home wrecker all because you'd conveniently forgotten to mention your girlfriend's your mother! Did you not think that little snippet should have been number one on your confession list?" Micah ran his hands through his hair then stood up, glaring down at Harry still on his back on the floor. "I can't believe you let me think—get out," he pointed towards the kitchen door, "get out now."
"Micah." Harry scrambled to his feet and reached for him.
Micah pulled back and launched a right hook aimed squarely at Harry's jaw. Unfortunately, it didn't connect as Harry ducked and Micah's hand sailed through empty air and into the fridge. "Son of a bitch! Now look what you made me do!"
"You did it to yourself, you moron," Harry groused, shoving Micah out of the way and grabbing Micah's hand, ignoring his curse of pain and forcing him to allow Harry to examine the damage. "For fuck's sake, there's nothing there."
"I can feel it swelling," Micah grumbled, trying to snatch his hand from Harry's firm grasp. "Let go, you're making it worse."
"God, I'd forgotten what a baby you are."
"Well I didn't forget what a knob you are."
"I'm going," Harry said throwing up his hands in defeat. "You're being ridiculous."
Micah took the mature approach and stuck his foot out as Harry tried to pass him, smiling in satisfaction when he tumbled to the floor. Yes, it might be turning into a bad French farce, but Micah didn't give a shit. It felt good and he couldn't resist jibing. "Now who's ridiculous?"
"You're an arse," Harry snapped, holding up a hand. "Help me up."
Micah should have known better, but he fell for it anyway. He gripped Harry's fingers and helped Harry to his feet, or at least he tried to. Instead, Harry yanked and Micah landed on top of him in an uncoordinated heap.
"Nice," Micah huffed, trying to push himself off Harry without success, Harry's arms were wrapped around him too tightly for that. "Very mature. Let me up."
"Not 'til you listen to me," Harry ground out. "I came here tonight because I wanted to tell you everything. Yes, Selena is my mother, and my father is a sadistic bastard. When I found her in a bloody heap on the bathroom floor because she'd forgotten the spoon he needed to stir his tea, I knew I had to get her away. I'd dreamed of being her white knight since I was a kid. That I'd ride up on my trusty steed and rescue her from the evil dragon, but she was too scared to take the chance. Terrified of what he might do to her, or me, if we did manage to escape and he found us.
> "But when she told me she was pregnant I couldn't allow my brother or sister to grow up in the same fear I did—if he didn't cause another miscarriage first. All I could think was getting her and the baby away from him, finding somewhere safe. The only place on the planet that meant safe to me was you and Little Mowbury." He tightened his grip until Micah thought his ribs would break. "I'm sorry, for everything, so, so sorry. I can never say it enough to make up for how much I hurt you, and yeah, I should have told you everything the day we moved in, but I was scared, too. Not scared of my father, but that you would never forgive me. So I'm sorry, again, I will be forever, and if all my bridges are in flames, I'll leave. But I needed you to know the truth and that I never stopped loving you."
Micah stared into Harry's eyes, his heart aching at the open despair in that piercing blue gaze, and the rapid rise and fall of Harry's chest as he tried to take in air after his tirade. He swallowed hard and moistened his suddenly dry lips. "Are you finished?"
Harry blushed and nodded. "Yes."
"Any other skeletons in the Boyd closet you want to tell me about?"
"Nope… I think I've covered them all."
"You sure?" Micah raised an enquiring eyebrow. "The chauffeur's uncle's cousin's brother's twin's grandson didn't go to school with Jack the Ripper?"
Harry's lips twitched. "No, the chauffeur's called Dave and he's from Watford."
"Good old Dave." Micah pushed at Harry's chest and he released him, allowing Micah to get to his feet. Once upright, he held out his hand and glared at Harry. "If you pull me down again I will follow through on the kicking the shit out of you thing."
"As if you could," Harry mumbled as he took Micah's hand and allowed him to haul him to his feet.
Micah smiled at the disgruntled little boy expression on Harry's face. Was he still confused? Kind of. Was he still angry? Hell, yeah. Was Harry Boyd the bloody fourth still the love of his life? Fuck, yes!
Closing the gap between them, Micah pressed his body against Harry's, so close not even a breath parted them. "You know I could take you with one arm tied behind my back."
"You can take me any way you want," Harry whispered, his gaze zeroing in on Micah's mouth.
Micah knew licking his lips was a cheap shot, but what the hell. The movement elicited a whimper from low in Harry's throat and the air around them crackled with a different kind of tension. There was only a two inch height discrepancy between them, with Micah being the shorter, but he needed to feel grounded to make his next move. Tangling his fingers firmly amongst the strands of Harry's hair he pulled gently, bringing their mouths together. It was a kiss filled with sorrow for the time they'd lost and promise for what they could still have, and Harry held him so tightly, he was unsure where he began and Harry ended. He broke the kiss when oxygen finally became an issue, then simply took Harry's hand and led him up the narrow staircase to the bedroom, and closed the door behind them.
Micah turned to face Harry and gazed into his eyes. He gripped the hem of his T-shirt and slowly pulled it over his head, letting the fabric fall from his fingers onto the floor. The naked need in Harry's gaze sliding over the planes of his bare chest had goose bumps breaking out on his skin, and the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention in delicious anticipation. He toed off his battered trainers and kicked them aside before running his hands across his own abs and sliding down to pop the button on his jeans, his gaze unwavering on Harry's. He was about to ask Harry what the hell he was waiting for when Harry all but ripped his clothes off, standing buck naked in front of him.
"Jesus, Harry." Micah heard the catch in his voice but didn't care. The time to maintain masculinity had passed, now all that mattered were the sounds of their shallow breaths, the heat in Harry's eyes that he knew matched his and the desire to never be apart again. Quickly shoving his jeans and underwear down his legs, Micah inelegantly hopped on one foot as he tried to get them off. Finally he kicked them across the room to the sound of Harry's rich chuckle. "Shut up," Micah muttered, his voice low and his gait purposeful as he backed Harry to the edge of the bed, pushing at his chest so Harry flopped back onto the mattress.
A rush of power flowed through Micah. He straddled Harry, and saw his quickening pulse beat a tattoo in his throat. But then, the knowledge he could reduce Harry to a gibbering fucked-out wreck had always thrilled him. Leaning down, Micah kissed him, exploring Harry's mouth with short jabs of his tongue, re-learning the shape of his lips, breathing in his scent, tasting him.
Harry's hands conformed to the globes of Micah's arse as they kissed, urging him up so their cocks slid tantalisingly against each other, pearls of pre-cum easing their way, wetting their bellies. "So long," Harry groaned as Micah moved his attention to the tanned column of Harry's throat.
Micah smiled against his skin and bit down gently on the flesh he pulled into his mouth and teased with his tongue. He was surprised to suddenly find their roles reversed when Harry grabbed his forearms and flipped him so Micah was on the mattress staring up at him. "What is it?" Micah panted, searching Harry's gaze for answers.
"I want to make love to you all night," Harry said softly. "I want to kiss and caress you until you can't take it anymore and you're begging me for release—"
"But?"
"I need you, Micah, need you inside me now. I can't wait." Harry dropped his gaze as if he were ashamed of his request, or he thought Micah would ridicule him for his haste.
Micah cupped Harry's face and pulled him down to kiss him hard and fast, then grinned. "Thank God!" He threw out his arm and fumbled around in the drawer of the bedside table for lube and condoms. Harry turned onto his side, facing away from him so Micah was the big spoon. He smiled and bit back a laugh as he opened one of the foil packets and rolled it down his rock-hard length. This had always been Harry's favourite position, and he'd claimed he could feel Micah deeper from this angle. Far be it from Micah to not oblige.
He lubed up his fingers then Micah rubbed the gel around Harry's hole before slipping the tip of one finger inside him. After a few pushes Harry was writhing against him, begging for more. Micah added a second, but not for long, because Harry reached back, grabbed his wrist and pulled his fingers free.
"Enough," Harry gasped, his face flushed and sweat-dampened hair sticking to his forehead. "Do it, just do it."
"No, I'll hurt you."
"If you don't do it right now you're gonna kill me," Harry ground out through gritted teeth. "Please, baby."
Harry's need echoed in every word and Micah quickly squeezed more lube into his palm, then coated his cock before curling around Harry's body. He couldn't even begin to analyse how it felt to have Harry this close to him again. He was afraid if he tried his brain would implode. Micah kissed across the nape of Harry's neck, then gripped the base of his shaft and pushed. He winced at Harry's sharp cry when he breached those tight muscles and slid inside. He tried to ease back but Harry slapped a hand to his thigh and mumbled something Micah couldn't quite hear, but instinctively knew was along of the lines of don't you dare—not that he could have stopped if he'd wanted to.
Micah lost himself in Harry, in the dark wet heat, in the sound of Harry's soft whimpers and moans of pleasure. He wrapped an arm around Harry's chest and held onto him, fingertips finding and teasing his nipples. He slid his hand down Harry's sweat-slick body, and took Harry's cock in his hand, curling his fingers around the velvety skin and wanking him firmly. God, how he'd missed this—missed him.
Micah's thrusts were now pure instinct. He drove into Harry again and again, the room filled with their harsh cries and the slap of skin on skin. The timbre of Harry's moans changed and Micah knew he was hitting that sweet spot deep inside Harry's channel, that wonderful spongy bundle of nerves that sent shockwaves of pure pleasure to every muscle, every fibre of one's being.
Keeping his angle as true as he could, he shifted his hand and concentrated on letting the head of Harry's cock slip in and out of the tight ring he'd made with his fi
ngers. His body was now on sensory overload and he could feel his orgasm curling at the base of his spine. He increased the pace of his hand and felt Harry's ass clench around him, sending white hot sparks of ecstasy through him. He thrust mindlessly, his body taking over, chasing the most basic of needs, and Micah pressed his mouth against Harry's ear, urging him on.
"Fuck, can't hold on, baby," Micah ground out, desperately trying to utilise what little brain power he had left to not come before Harry. "So tight, so fucking tight. Come on, let go, come with me."
That was all the encouragement Harry needed. His body stiffened, his ass clamped down on Micah's cock and he came with a visceral cry, arching into Micah's hand. Micah's own orgasm pulsed from him at the first spurt of Harry's essence onto his skin, and he slammed into him, coming so hard spots danced behind his closed lids.
Micah dropped his head between Harry's shoulders, inhaling the heady mixture of cologne and sweat as he tried to catch his breath. Loving Harry had always been intense, had always left Micah feeling as though they were two halves of the same person—but this? He'd never felt such a visceral connection with him—or anyone. He gently began to ease out and gasped when Harry reached back and grabbed his thigh.
"Stay with me."
Micah kissed the nape of Harry's neck and smiled against his flesh. "I'm coming back," he said softly, and pulled out completely when Harry moved his hand. He trotted from the room and across the tiny landing to the bathroom. He turned on the tap to let the water run and warm up, opened the cupboard under the sink and took out a clean flannel. He wet the square and, after flushing the condom, he quickly washed his cock and wiped it over his belly, making sure he was clean. He rinsed the flannel and grabbed a towel, dried himself, then carried both back to his bedroom.