Chapter 83 I Love You

Fiona’s POV.

“I don’t think he is going to make it.” I hear someone say sadly.

Micah!

The sterile scent of antiseptic hangs in the air as my eyes burst open. The room is vast, a panorama of white walls and pristine equipment, and I'm cocooned in crisp, clean sheets. My body aches, each movement sending sharp jolts of pain through me. Gingerly, I sit up, my fingers exploring the smoothness of the sheets beneath me.

The realization dawns slowly - I'm in a hospital. Tubes protrude from my arms, connecting me to mysterious machines with soft beeping sounds. Panic flares momentarily until I spot a mirror on the wall across from me. The reflection is me, but my face wears the remnants of a harrowing experience – soot-streaked, yet alive.

I see the nurses talk to each other in the far corner of the room.

“His injuries are just too severe for him to survive.” I hear them say to each other before walking out.

My breath catches as I turn my gaze to the bed beside mine. There lies Micah, his back facing me. His naked torso is wrapped in bandages, a reflection of the sacrifice he made to shield me from the flames. My heart tightens, and I reach for the tubes in my arms, unhooking them with trembling fingers.

Steeling myself against the pain, I rise and make my way to his bedside. The beeping of machines fills the room as I sit in the chair beside him. Tears blur my vision as I take in the sight of him, looking vulnerable and battered.

Oh God, they must be talking about him.

It feels like someone has crushed my entire spirit.

I clear my throat, my voice breaking the silence.

"Micah," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the hum of medical equipment. "Oh God, you shouldn’t have saved me. You shouldn’t have taken the fire for me. Look at you now."

I reach out, my hand hovering over his bandaged back. My words come out in a choked whisper.

"I'm so sorry, Micah. This is all because of me. You didn't deserve this. None of it."

A tear escapes, tracing a path down my cheek. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

"I love you, Micah," I confess, the weight of the words heavy in the air. "I never truly told you before, but I do. I love you more than anything. Without you, I feel incomplete."

I continue, pouring out my heart to the man who risked everything for me.

"I don't know if you can hear me, but I need you to wake up. I need you to be okay. I can't bear the thought of you suffering because of me. I can’t bear the thought of you leaving me."

The machines continue their soft symphony, not paying any heed to my devastation.

"I promise, Micah, if you wake up, I'll do everything in my power to make things right. I'll cherish every moment we have together. I’ll do everything you say. Please, just wake up."

My voice falters, and I bury my face in my hands, the weight of guilt and fear pressing down on me. The room is silent except for my sobs that are now being yanked from me uncontrollably.

"So, it literally took me walking through fire to have you confess."

I gasp at the words, lifting my teary face to find his gorgeous blue eyes staring at me. A half smile plays lazily on his lips. Relief floods through me like a tidal wave.

"Micah," I exclaim, "you're awake!"

He winces, attempting to sit up.

"I could hardly continue my sleep with all that crying you did, you know." He says in a teasing tone, even as I spot his eyes tracing all over me to make sure that I am unharmed.

A strangled laugh bubbles up from the depths of my despair.

"Don't joke about it! I thought I lost you." I say and the mere thought of it brings fresh tears to my eyes.

Micah's expression softens, and he reaches out to cup my face. "Fiona, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Thank God. Oh God, thank God.

I can't hold back the tears, and they stream down my face as I start to ramble incoherently.

"I love you so much, Micah. I didn't know how to truly tell you, and I thought I'd never get the chance. I was so scared, so scared of losing you without ever telling you how much you mean to me."

He chuckles, a sound that's a mix of pain and amusement.

"You're a mess, you know that?"

I nod, unable to stop the tears. "A mess who loves you."

He struggles to sit up, wincing at the effort.

"Easy, there. No need to hurt yourself further," I say, half-scolding, half-worried.

"I should've known you'd become my nurse," he quips, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I give him a light swat on the arm, and he winces exaggeratedly. Panic courses through me, and I immediately fuss over him.

"Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry!"

He breaks into a beautiful laugh, a sound that fills the room with warmth.

"You didn't hurt me, Fiona. I was just playing. Actually, these bandages are just there because the doctors applied some herbs on me to quicken my healing. I am actually good as new and just a little bit sore."

Relief washes over me, and I can't help but smile through my tears. The nurses must have been talking about some other patient.

"You scared me for a moment there."

Micah's eyes soften as he looks at me. "I'm sorry for scaring you, but I had to lighten the mood somehow."

And then, with a twinkle in his eye, he adds, "Besides, I wouldn't mind having a sexy nurse by my side."

I roll my eyes, my cheeks flushing, but the tension in the room lifts a little. "You're incorrigible."

"I try my best," he replies, his voice still laced with humor.

But then, the smile fades, and he takes my hand in his.

"Fiona, I want you to know that I'd do it all again. I'd walk through fire a thousand times over if it meant keeping you safe."

Overcome with emotion, I place my fingers gently on his lips, silencing him. I don’t want to hear anything about him walking through fire again.

His lips brush against my fingers with a feather-light touch, a gentle caress that makes my heart flutter. And then, something changes in his gaze. His eyes darken, a hunger and intensity that send shivers down my spine. Slowly, he begins to pull my fingers away, guiding my head down until our lips meet in a spine-tingling kiss.

Micah's hand finds the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, holding me in place. The kiss starts softly, tenderly, as if he's savoring the taste of me. His lips move against mine with a sweet, unhurried rhythm, each press making heat build within me.

As the kiss deepens, his tongue seeks entrance, a silent plea for more. I part my lips willingly, allowing him to explore the warmth of my mouth. The mingling of our breaths feels like a shared secret, an unspoken promise of the love we've discovered in the midst of chaos.

Micah's touch is both gentle and possessive, his hands cradling my face, his fingers tracing the contours of my skin. Slowly, an urgency builds in his movements, a desire that matches my own.

He breaks the kiss momentarily, his breath hot against my skin. His eyes, dark with desire, lock onto mine.

"Fiona, I need to be inside you right now. I cannot wait any longer." he murmurs like a whispered confession.

Before I can respond, his lips are on mine again, this time with a newfound hunger. He teases and explores, his tongue dancing with mine, a dance that speaks of passion and dominance.

The taste of him is intoxicating, a heady blend of masculinity and familiarity and I know with every fiber of my being that I want his body on mine.

Micah's kisses become bolder, his teeth grazing my lower lip with a hint of playful mischief. I gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss further, his lips molding against mine with an almost desperate need.

His hands find my waist as he lifts me up from the chair and brings me to straddle him. A moan escapes me as I feel his hardened length beneath me.

I squirm over him like a kitten in heat, desperate to relieve the ache that is building between my legs. He breaks the kiss momentarily and I follow him, not willing to have any space between us.

He chuckles throatily and lightly wraps his hand around my throat to hold me in place.

“Easy tigress,” he says as his other hand traces my side till his fingers are hooked under my shirt and then, he is yanking it off, throwing it away.

My nipples hurt beneath the fabric of my bra and despite myself, I can’t help but arch into him. His eyes trace the swell of my breasts and his finger touches my nipple over the clothes. I cry out, feeling my nipples harden and turn into tiny pebbles.

I am moving over him now, desperate to find some rhythm. His eyes darken and I feel his hand hovering over the clasp of my bra.

“If I take this off, there’s no going back.” He says in a guttural voice. It tells me that just asking the question is painful for him. He is barely controlling himself by a thread.

My only response is to lean forward and smash my lips with his.

He is not the only one out of control.