CHAPTER 501: THE JEALOUSY AUDIT: FILED AND APPROVED (PART TWO)

The air in the kitchen felt charged, heavy, almost humming with something that neither of them wanted to name. Micah was leaning against the counter, his palm pressed flat against the cold marble edge. His breath came a little unevenly. Clyde stood close, his hand resting lightly at the back of Micah’s neck. His head was lowered, close enough for Micah to feel his breath on his cheek.

"Were you that jealous?" Clyde whispered, voice rough with something darkly amused.

Micah’s brows knitted. "Me?" he scoffed, his tone filling with defiance. "Who was it who tried to separate her from me? Hm? Sending me and my classmates away?" His voice rose slightly, but he caught himself, glancing toward the hallway where Darcy’s room was. He didn’t want to wake him. The anger stayed, but quieter. "You were the jealous one."

Clyde lowered his face even more, inching away from Micah’s lips. "Mmm..." he murmured. "I was so jealous I wanted to claim you right in front of her."

Micah’s breath hitched for just a second. He glared at him, his hazel eyes flashing. "Really? That’s not what I remember, though?"

Clyde smiled, a self-mocking one. "I was stupid back then," he admitted softly. "Holding back when I shouldn’t have."

"Oh? What about now then?" Micah pressed, tilting his head, looking at Clyde stubbornly.

Clyde’s eyes darkened, turning deep, unreadable, and dangerous. "Not anymore," he whispered.

Before Micah could retort, Clyde’s mouth was on his.

The kiss wasn’t a gentle one like at the beach. It was a collision. A clash of tension, jealousy, and everything they hadn’t said out loud. Clyde nibbled on those lips that made his heart ache, the same ones that drove him insane with their constant defiance. His hand gripped the back of Micah’s neck, keeping him still, not letting him escape. Every bit of his restraint from before dissolved in that instant: his longing, possessiveness, jealousy, frustration, fear, and affection all poured into that kiss.

Micah’s eyes widened for a heartbeat, resisting it. His hands pressed against Clyde’s chest, pushing the man away. "Are you stupid?" he hissed, pulling back enough to glare at him. His voice was sharp, breathless. "I told you... nothing like this when he’s here!"

Clyde’s eyes glinted. A dangerous smirk spread across his face. He didn’t argue. Instead, he bent down and scooped Micah up effortlessly, one arm under his thighs, the other around his back.

Micah gasped, a startled sound caught between outrage and panic. "Put me down!" he hissed, punching Clyde’s back in anger. His movements were frantic but careful; he didn’t dare yell, terrified Darcy might hear.

Clyde said nothing, his expression stormy as he strode out of the kitchen and straight to Micah’s room. When he reached it, he closed the door with a click, locking it.

Micah barely had time to inhale before his back hit the door, not hard, but enough to make him look up in shock.

Clyde’s hand slid from his waist to his jaw, tilting his chin up, and then his lips were on his again.

The kiss was even fiercer.

This time, Micah didn’t resist. Instead, he was fighting to take over. Clyde’s words and actions had gotten on his nerves. His pride took a hit from the way Clyde handled him like he weighed nothing.

Of course, Clyde wouldn’t let him. His other hand slid around Micah’s waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his t-shirt, skin meeting skin. The heat of his palm made Micah shudder, his breath catching in his throat.

A soft, involuntary sound escaped him, half gasp, half moan, and he lost his upper hand.

Clyde didn’t miss it. His lips curved slightly against Micah’s, using this chance to invade the boy’s mouth, his tongue brushing against his.

Micah tensed, then melted just slightly, his fingers curling against Clyde’s shirt. The taste, the warmth, the closeness, it all made his thoughts blur.

Clyde tilted his head, exploring, tasting every nook and corner of his mouth until Micah’s legs trembled beneath him. Clyde could feel every tremor, every breath that came too fast, making his heartbeat accelerate. Knowing full well that it was he who made Micah a mess, filling his chest with a satisfying feeling.

When Clyde sucked on his tongue, a soft moan slipped from Micah’s lips. His face turned red, his eyes glassy with both anger and something else he didn’t want to name. He shoved Clyde back with a frustrated noise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You!"

Clyde let himself be pushed, stepping back a little, his breathing uneven. A smirk tugged at his lips as he stared at those blazing hazel eyes. "What?" he murmured, teasing.

Micah’s glare could have burned a hole through him. His whole body was trembling, half fury, half adrenaline. The sight of Clyde’s smug expression made something snap inside him.

He pushed Clyde again, harder this time, until the man stumbled back and landed on the edge of the bed.

Micah didn’t give him time to recover. He straddled him, hands gripping Clyde’s shoulders, hovering over him. "Do you enjoy messing with me?" he demanded.

Clyde chuckled softly, the sound low in his chest. His gaze trailed up to Micah’s face, watching those rosy lips and red flush on his cheeks.

That chuckle was the final straw.

Micah’s mind snapped. He leaned down and crashed his mouth against Clyde’s, biting his lower lip hard enough to make him hiss.

Clyde’s hands instinctively caught Micah’s waist, fingers gripping tight, not to push him away, but to stop him from wandering somewhere he shouldn’t.

Micah was so angry that he didn’t realise that he missed the best chance to get leverage over the man. He attacked Clyde’s neck next, leaving messy red marks along his collarbones.

"Micah..." Clyde’s voice dropped, low and warning. His grip tightened on Micah’s waist, muscles tensing. He could feel Micah’s breath hot against his skin, tingling, waking his desire.

But Micah didn’t stop. He wanted to mark him, to leave something visible, something that would remind Clyde he wasn’t the only one who could act possessively.

Clyde let him for a moment, indulging him, even as his body responded too easily. Then, before things went too far, before the boy noticed his reaction, he exhaled sharply and shifted weight. In one fluid motion, he grabbed Micah’s shoulders and rolled, flipping him onto the mattress beside him.

Micah’s eyes flashed; he was ready to attack again, but Clyde leaned over him, his breathing rough but composed enough to hide what he was really feeling. His hands braced on either side of Micah’s head. He stayed there for a second, looking down at the boy beneath him, flushed, dishevelled, furious, and beautiful.

Then, with a deliberate calm, he said, "The soup will get cold."

Micah blinked, disoriented. "What?"

"Didn’t his mum make it?" Clyde asked.

For a second, Micah just stared, caught between outrage and disbelief. Then his expression hardened. "You did it on purpose!" he snapped, shoving him off and sitting up.

Clyde didn’t deny it. He leaned back on his elbows, watching as Micah ran a hand through his hair, still breathing unevenly.

Micah glared at him one last time, then swung his legs off the bed. He stood, his movements jerky with irritation, and stomped toward the bathroom.

The door slammed shut.

Micah leaned over the sink, splashing cold water on his face again and again, cooling himself down. "Son of the bitch," he hissed. "Smug, infuriating old man!"

Micah muttered a barrage of curses as he wiped his face with a towel.