“How about there?” I say,pointing to the little basement oasis I just spotted. Sure, it’s probably where Josie’s little sister hosts story time for her headless baby dolls, but I can’t think about that now.
Mickey moves across the room with lightning speed, holding me close to his chest as his feet eat up the distance. Lowering me gently onto the mound of pillows and blankets, he meets my eyes.
“I want you so damn bad,” he says, brushing a lock of hair out of my face. “But we don’t have to?—”
“We don’t have to do anything except what feels good,” I say, interrupting him. “And your body on top of mine would feel good. Riding you like a damn rodeo queen would feel really good. Putting my mouth on you sounds pretty fabulous, too, and fair’s fair, of course.”
“What about my lips on yours? Is kissing on the menu?” he asks, his fingers stroking the side of my face. He’s looking at me with a sense of wonder in his eyes, and I can’t help the fluttery feeling it gives me.
“The best part about the menu is that we get to write it,” I tell him. “And I vote yes on kissing.”
A heartbeat later, his lips find mine. They’re soft and tender, but so very talented.His hand cradles the back of my neck as he deepens the kiss. It’s so good I can feel it in my toes. Never in my life have I felt a kiss like this. It’s enough, all on its own. I mean, yeah, I want more of his mouth and his hands and his body, but what we’re doing right now is pretty perfect, too.
I let myself fall into his kiss, the sensation of his lips against mine is overwhelming, but I give myself over to it. Before I know it, I’m pumping my hips up, my body desperate for more contact.
Mickey doesn’t disappoint. Gripping my hips, he steadies me before lining us up and syncing our movements. My body is still covered by the dress and panties I wore to the party, but the dress is short and flimsy, and the panties are a lace thong, so there’s not much of a barrier between us.
I feel Mickey’s hands drift to my waist, holding on before he rolls us over. There’s a momentary squeak, as though we’ve managed to hit some long-buried stuffed animal in just the right spot, but Mickey deftly shuffles us an inch or two to the right, and it’s blissfully silent again.
Well, except for the moaning. And the gasping. And the rustling of fabric.
But those are all really good sounds because Mickey is peeling my dress off me, and I’m working my way out of my barely-there panties. It takes about five seconds, and I’m grateful for all those years of tumbling and gymnastics. It pays to be bendy.
His eyes roam over my body and even though they’re green, I can see a fire burning in them.
“I want to kiss you again,” he tells me, licking his lips and letting his hand trail a path over my shoulder, down my arm, along my waist, onto my hip, finally reaching its destination as his fingers ghost over my mound. “I want to kiss you here.”
“Yes,” I say, tracing my thumb over his lips. “That’s definitely something that should be added to the menu.”
When I rock my body over his, he takes the opportunity to wrap his hands around my waist and pull me up over his body. He’s urgent and needy, but also agonizingly slow. I’m rewarded when I’m fully seated on his mouth, his pouty lips touching my most sensitive ones. His tongue is unrelenting, and the steady rhythm has me grinding down onto his face, my thighs locked around his head, his hands bracketing my hips and holding me in place.
As if I’m going anywhere.
I’m doing my damnedest to stay quiet. The last thing I need is to wake everybody in this house, because that would surely shut this private little party down. But with the way Mickey’s working me over, silence is damn near impossible. But I’m not one to give up or admit defeat, so I reach for his right hand. I smooth it along my body, loving the feel of his skin on mine, and then I get down to business—the business of sucking his fingers into my mouth. One by one, I swallow each digit, licking and laving until Mickey’s eyes are fluttering, and his lips are muttering curses. The vibrating sensation of his dirty-talking lips against my sensitive core is enough to send me right over the edge.
I can’t help the whimper that escapes as my body shakes with the force of my release. Mickey drinks it all down, his eyes heavy as he presses reverent kisses to my inner thighs.
I could collapse into a lusty little puddle right now, but I’m dying to know what his cock feels like. Mickey’s got other ideas, though. He scoots me down so I’m straddling his chest, and he brings his hands to the juncture of my thighs.
“That orgasm was fucking incredible,” he tells me. “And I want to see you do it again.”
I’m no stranger to multiple o’s, but the things Mickey’s doing to me? They’re other worldly. Nothing is vastly different than anybody else’s moves, but the effect has me reeling. Something about his touch is so electric, so perfect that it has my body responding again and again until I’m nothing but a lusty little puddle sprawled out on top of him.
“Five,” he says to me, withdrawing his fingers and pressing delicate kisses to the soft skin right above my opening. “You know, in case you’re counting.”
“I’m not sure I’m capable of counting,” I tease. “But I am capable of other things, like?—”
“Let me give you just one more?”
Holy fuckballs. “How can I say no when you ask so nicely?” My breath hitches as his fingers tease my opening again. I should be overly sensitive, but I’m so damn wet that my body can’t help but respond to his touch. Within seconds, I’m gasping for more, but he takes his damn time. It’s hard to believe a guy with that much energy has the kind of single-minded focus to make me feel this good. But I’m sure as hell not going to question it or stop him and ask what his secret is. I’m going to—oh, my god—his fingers are filling me up as he strokes them in and out. But when he goes a little deeper and taps a finger way up—oh, my god. I think I forget to breathe. Or I take in too much air. Yeah, that’s definitely what’s causing my head to spin.
I chance a glance at Mickey and his face looks just as blissed out as I’m sure mine does. It’s so good. It’s almost too much.
I wrap my fingers around his wrist, but instead of pulling him away, I hold him tight against me and squeeze my inner muscles as though my life depends on it.
“Jesus,” he mutters, his eyes shuttering closed.
Just when I think I may have won the game of lust-of-war we’re obviously playing here, Mickey takes me so far over the edge I’m not sure I ever want to come back.
