Chapter 3: The Things We Don’t Say
712 Words
Micky’s POV
She lay there like a masterpiece I’d ruined with my hands—and she looked beautiful like that. Hair wild. Lips swollen. Eyes half-lidded from exhaustion and afterglow.
But there was something underneath her smile this time. Something deeper.
Something she wasn’t saying.
I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You okay?”
She nodded, but didn’t speak right away. Just played with the chain around my neck, like touching me helped her stay grounded.
“Don’t overthink it,” I said gently. “It was real. All of it.”
“That’s the problem,” she whispered.
I raised an eyebrow. “The problem?”
She looked at me with those dark, stormy eyes of hers. “I don’t want to fall for you and get left behind, Micky. I’m not built for halfway love.”
Silence.
Not because I didn’t feel something.
But because I felt everything.
“I don’t do halfway either,” I finally said. “And I’m already in too deep to pull out now.”
“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
“I mean it.”
Her eyes flickered, unsure if she should believe me.
So I pulled her in close. Wrapped her up in arms that had held chaos and now only wanted peace—her peace.
“You think I’d f**k you like that and walk away?” I asked. “I’m not going anywhere, Tia. You’re mine.”
She exhaled, slow. “Then don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t.”
We didn’t speak for a while after that. We just… laid there. Skin to skin. Soul to soul.
And somewhere between my heartbeat and hers, I realized something terrifying.
I wasn’t just addicted to her body anymore.
I was falling.
And this time, it wasn’t about lust.
It was about everything I never knew I needed—until I found it in her.
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Tia’s POV
His arms felt too safe.
That was the problem.
Everything about this morning felt like a dream I wasn’t supposed to touch. Like it would vanish if I dared to believe it was real.
But Micky… he was still here.
His fingers lazily tracing circles on my thigh.
His breath warm against my neck.
His presence—loud, even in silence.
“You okay?” he’d asked me earlier.
God, I hate that question.
Because I never know how to answer it.
Was I okay?
No.
I was terrified.
Not of him.
But of what he made me feel.
I’d never been claimed the way he did last night—with that kind of reckless hunger, like I was his only reason for existing. Every thrust, every kiss, every growl of my name had carved something permanent into my skin.
And I let him.
No—I wanted him to.
But what if it was just s*x for him?
What if I was just another high he’d come down from?
He pulled me closer again, like he could sense the war inside my head. “You’re too quiet,” he whispered, voice rough from sleep. “That’s dangerous.”
I smiled faintly. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
You. Me. Us. This. Everything I can’t say out loud.
“Breakfast,” I lied. “I’m starving.”
His deep chuckle vibrated against my back. “You should be. I didn’t exactly go easy on you.”
I blushed, biting back the smile that threatened to break me. “Cocky much?”
“No,” he said, nudging his nose into my hair. “Just honest.”
I wanted to turn around and kiss him again.
But part of me was scared that if I looked into his eyes, I’d tell him too much. I’d tell him the truth—that I wasn’t just sore from last night. I was aching from everything he made me feel.
So I stayed still, trying to hold onto this fragile moment for a little longer.
Because in his bed, tangled in his sheets, with his heartbeat on my skin—I almost forgot I was a girl who’d been broken before.
And maybe, just maybe…
I was letting myself believe he wouldn’t be the one to break me again.
- Writer
