NOVEL NEXT Chapter 437: Hot, Bothered, and Horribly Embarrassed
Micah was dying inside. His whole body trembled, though he tried to stay still, to pretend he was holding to the small dignity he had left. He had stopped struggling, knowing full well it was pointless. The man's grip was like iron, locking him in place as though he were a prisoner caught in some unshakable trap.
His chest rose and fell faster and faster, his heart refusing to calm down.
He had thrown away the thought of pulling away with force. So he softened his voice. "Hey… I am hot.. Let me go, will you?"
Clyde's lips quirked upward, a faint smile flickering across his face. His voice was calm and teasing. "Why are you embarrassed? It's normal. I am older, I can show you how…"
"Shut up!" Micah snapped. "If you had let me go earlier, we wouldn't even be having this stupid conversation right now."
The corner of Clyde's mouth lifted further, a smile that wasn't seductive, but heavy with amusement, as though Micah's flustered words were the sweetest things he could hear. "But I want to help you… Do you even know how to?"
Micah's eyes went wide, and he almost bit his tongue in mortification. "I swear to God, say another word and I'll make you childless!" he grumbled.
Clyde's smile grew wider. But he loosened his hold and finally let the young man go.
Micah bolted upright instantly, slipping out of those arms like he had just escaped drowning. His bare feet hit the mattress, then he scrambled backward until his back nearly pressed against the headboard. He yanked the blanket around himself like a dumpling. "Sleep," he said through the fabric, and turned his back to Clyde.
Clyde didn't move; he just watched the man's figure under the blanket. Micah was so unbearably cute. Clyde's chest ached with a pull he had tried to resist for so long.
But he knew he shouldn't cross that line. First, Micah felt embarrassed too easily. Every touch, every brush of skin left him flustered. Second, he didn't have enough confidence in himself. If it had been before he regained his memories, he would have resisted the temptation, wouldn't have even teased Micah like this.
But after countless lives, he knew he was thirsty. He was starving. He had endured so much, suffered loss after loss, each lifetime leaving him emptier than the last. How many times had he been forced to let go? To watch what he loved be torn away?
He wanted Micah. He couldn't feel full just by a kiss. Or a touch. He wanted to make Micah his, claim him, hold him so tightly the world could never take him away. He wanted to devour every inch of him, make up for all the loss he had endured. The desire surged, dark and possessive.
If he touched Micah now, he was sure he would not stop until the end. That was wrong.
Micah didn't need to know his dark thoughts, his hunger, his desperation. He would be terrified if he knew the depth of his desire. He would see him as a monster. Clyde shut his eyes tight and rolled onto his side, his back turned toward Micah. He clenched his fists, trying to bury the ache.
Micah deserved better than the shadow that haunted him.
Meanwhile, Micah cursed his body a hundred times for betraying him. He squeezed the blanket tighter, pressing it to his chest. He began forcing himself to think of sad things, anything that could drag his body back to normal. He was trying desperately to calm down.
After a few minutes, it worked. Slowly, the tension eased. The fire in his veins cooled. He let out a shaky breath, the tiniest sigh of relief. He was grateful Clyde hadn't pushed further, hadn't touched him again. If he had… Micah shuddered. He would've burst. And that would be worse than death itself! A public humiliation. A wound to his pride that would never heal.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled at him. He closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.
*****
Something shifted.
"Hey, sleeping beauty, are you awake now?" a muffled sound said.
Micah stirred, half-conscious. His body felt heavy, warm in a way he had never known. A strange shiver ran down his back.
He blinked slowly, lashes damp. The sensation, the warmth, didn't fade. It intensified. Then… a popping sound.
Micah went still. His breath caught in his throat. His gaze darted downward, and his face turned bright red. "What-what are you doing?"
His hands flew down in a frenzy, desperate to push the man away.
But instead of releasing, the pressure deepened.
Micah's back arched off the bed, a rush of heat exploding through him like fire. His breath broke into ragged gasps, half-grunt, half-moan. His fingers tangled into soft strands of blond hair, not knowing whether to push to pull, his body betraying him with every twitch.
In the end, he moaned loudly. Frustrated, he couldn't comprehend the feeling. He wanted the man to continue, and at the same time, he wanted die from embarrassment.
"Stop… wait…" he mumbled between pleasure and sheer mortification.
But the movements grew faster, deeper, overwhelming him, knocking the breath out of him. His toes curled, his fists clenched tight around the sheets, sweat pricking his forehead. His whole body quivered on the edge of something unbearable.
His hands yanked the man's head away, but it was futile. "No… no more," he groaned.
The man's strong hands were wrapped around his waist, holding him firmly in place.
Micah tried to squeeze his legs together, to do anything to stop it. He couldn't tolerate it anymore. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tight, every muscle contracted. His chest heaved violently as he reached closer to that edge.
And then…
"Micah! Wake up!"
The voice shattered everything.
Micah jolted like he was electrified. He clutched the blanket, trembling, turning toward the sound.
Clyde stood beside the bed, looking at him with worry. "Did you have a nightmare? You were crying out…"
Micah's gaze locked on him. Those eyes, concerned, gentle, real, stared back at him. Nothing like those mischievous, desire-filled pale blue eyes from a moment ago... He felt he had gone insane.
He screamed and hid under the blanket. "Go away!"
Clyde stood in confusion. What had he done this time?