Micah Johnson Goes West (Get Out, #2)(45)

“Hot,” Paul said.

“Yeah, sex and violence. Turns you on, huh?”

“Not really.”

“Okay, so what footy player do you find hot?”

“Besides you?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, good one.”

“Well, your teammate Sam is pretty fucking hot.”

“Too much like a brother to me.”

“Okay, so who do you find hot?”

He really didn’t want to name anyone he played with or against. He didn’t know who Paul was, and didn’t want anything happening to get back to another player or an Internet forum. So he went for the obvious. “David Beckham.”

“He plays soccer!” Paul yelled over the noise of the blender. “And such a clichéd choice!”

“Come on, have you seen him in his jocks?” Micah yelled back.

Paul stopped pulsing the drinks, and lifted the lid off the blender. “Okay, you’ve got a point.”

“Even straight men would fuck Beckham,” Micah said as Paul came back over to him and handed him a drink.

“You’re probably right.” Paul sat next to him, seriously invading his personal space.

“What shall we drink to?” Micah asked.

“The Dockers turning their season around?”

“You’re a Melburnian. They’d run you out of town for toasting that.”

“You’re a Melbourne boy too,” Paul pointed out.

“Not anymore.”

“You sound sad about that.”

Micah didn’t come here for deep-and-meaningfuls, and he was pretty sure Paul hadn’t invited him in for one either. He ignored the question and fished an ice cube out of his glass.

“What are you doing?” Paul asked.

Without answer, Micah rubbed the cube over Paul’s nipple, and he yelped. Once again, Micah was playing a role. He remembered Kyle doing this to him on a warm day, and now he did it in order to distract Paul from asking any more personal questions.

“Fuck,” Paul hissed.

“You like that?” Micah put the ice cube in his mouth, close to the tip of his tongue and then sucked on Paul’s nipple. This was another thing Kyle had done to him.

Fuck, he had to stop thinking about Kyle.

“You don’t waste any time,” Paul breathed.

Micah looked up and crunched the ice cube into oblivion. “Time’s overrated. Now, get your clothes off.”

It was the script again, the lines delivered by rote. But it was amusing to see how quickly Paul complied.




THE MORE they went at each other, the less Micah felt in control of himself. Naked, they were now wrestling each other over the covers of Paul’s bed, their skin slippery with sweat. Paul had wedged himself in between Micah’s legs, refusing to take any other position so Micah let him. He was already aching, desperate to cum and Paul was taking far too long to make him.

At least he was now scrabbling around in his bedside drawer, and triumphantly producing a box of condoms.

“Uh, fuck,” he hissed.

“What?” Micah asked, propping himself up on his elbows. How long was this going to take?

“I haven’t got any left.” Paul rattled the empty box to show him. “Have you got any?”

Micah reached for his pants on the floor, his arse up in the air. Paul slapped it appreciatively.

There were none in his wallet. “Fuck.”

And now Paul was… doing things… with his fingers that made Micah close his eyes and groan loudly.

“I can’t stop,” Paul was saying. “So fucking hot.”

Nope, this had to stop. But, oh fuck, that feeling—

“I’m safe,” Paul said. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Horny as hell, the room spinning around him, Micah heard a voice come from him that he could swear wasn’t his own. It was a voice that came from the videos hidden deep within his files on his laptop. The voice of someone else playing a role, playing something they were prepared, pretested, and paid for. “Then fuck me raw.”

It surely wasn’t Micah. Micah knew better. Micah knew this was wrong, and he should stop. That if they had to do anything, they could just jerk each other off and have to be satisfied with that. Micah knew the dangers of unprotected sex.

But he had said it anyway.

“Are you sure?”

“Hurry up,” said not-Micah, the same strange lustful porn actor voice seeming to speak from his dick rather than his mouth.

Paul didn’t need to be told a second time. He was already in Micah before he finished speaking, and Micah was lost in the frenzy that followed.




SENSIBLE MICAH, the real Micah woke up a few hours later in a cold sweat.

The other guy was snoring, sated. His back was to Micah as if he had already forgotten him. He wasn’t worried about what they had just done.

But Micah was.

Now, at least.

He was still feeling woozy as he looked in the dark for his clothes, his wallet and his keys. He wasn’t even trying to be quiet. He didn’t give a fuck whether Paul woke up or not—he just wanted out of there as soon as possible.

The taxi arrived after ten minutes sitting at the entrance to the flats. He couldn’t go home—not yet—so he told the driver to take him into the city. He wanted a hotel, where he could lock himself away in a room and scrub himself clean without waking his parents or Alex.