“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be feeling myself up,” I say. “Nobody else has touched them since the surgery except a doctor or nurse.”
“Nobody?” he blurts. I kind of love that about Mickey. He says what everyone else is thinking.
“Nope,” I confirm. “Not for a long time, actually. That’s why I’m trying to figure it out for myself. But it’s not like I can suck on my own tits. Wait. I bet I can.”
“Fucking fuck,” he mutters, dropping his bag on the floor next to mine.
“I’m just saying, what’s the point of all that yoga if you can’t bend down and suck your own tits? But I don’t think it’s the sensation I’m going for, you know? Like, I don’t think my lips would feel as good as someone else’s. Ooh, I bet I could use a vibrator. Do you have one?”
“You could use me.” Mickey’s voice cuts through the air, through the stillness of the room. I’m tempted to laugh, because there’s no way he’s serious. But one glance at his too-handsome face has me questioning everything I thought I knew.
“What did you say?” I ask, biding my time. If I heard him wrong or misinterpreted something, I could embarrass him, and I don’t want that. I’m half-expecting Mickey to play it cool, or laugh it off with a joke. Or even kiss me on the top of my head and ask if that did the trick.
But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he drops to his knees in front of me and rests his hands on my thighs. “If you want me to put my lips on you, just say the word, Viv. If you want to know what you still like, or what kinds of sensations register, I’ll happily be your guinea pig.”
I can’t help the curse that escapes from my lips, or the breathy moan that follows. My boobs like that idea, and so does the rest of me. Making out with Mickey is a fantasy of mine that plays on a loop when I’m by myself and need some attention. The illicit footage in my mind is a mix of our night together last year and a random montage of sexy Mickey moments I’ve witnessed since. The man’s natural state is nudity, and I’m notcomplaining. He’s a world-champion cuddler, and his body is a work of art. Mickey oozes sex appeal without even trying, and the best part is the person he is underneath that hot exterior. He’s the most genuine guy I know. He’s incredibly kind, and loyal to a fault. If you’re in Mickey’s inner circle, there’s nothing he won’t do for you.
And that gets me thinking…
“Don’t suck on my tits as a favor. These nipples are not a charity case.”
Mickey blinks up at me, his green eyes heavy with something I can’t quite name. “Never said they were,” he tells me, as he licks his fucking lips. How the hell am I supposed to resist that?!
“I’m just saying,” he continues, looking straight at me, “that if you need a test subject, or whatever, I’m your guy. I mean, I helped JT build that windowseat. This is kinda the same thing, if you think about it.”
It’s not remotely the same thing. Not even a little bit, but I can't resist teasing Mickey. “Putting your lips on my tits is the same as a DIY project you guys found on the internet is the same thing how?”
Mickey clears his throat again before letting his gaze drop to my brand-new cleavage for just a second. “Well, JT needed a hand, so I gave him one. And if you need help, I’ll help you, too.”
“I see. So, what you’re saying is that you’re a man of sacrifice?”
“Nope,” he answers immediately. “It would not be a hardship to put my mouth on you.”
He’s still kneeling between my open thighs, and it would be so easy to wrap my hands around his head and pull him close. It wouldn’t take any effort at all to guide his parted lips to the hardened peak of my nipple. I know I’m starting to breathe in that staccato pattern that tells me my body is turned on.
“I’m serious,” he tells me, totally unaware of the wanton thoughts racing through my mind. “If this is what you want or need, I’ll give it to you. No strings, no expectations.”
He leans in close, like he’s breathing me in, or telling me a secret. But I don’t let him finish. I’m the kind of girl who takes what she wants, and at this moment, I want Mickey. It’s probably foolish, a bad idea fueled by lust—but aren’t those ones the most fun?
Normal people would stop and have a conversation. Maybe set some ground rules, or at least drink a few shots so they could blame the alcohol later. And I guess we sort of did that a year ago. But Mickey and I aren’t typical people. He’s as impulsive as I am hedonistic. I’m not surprised that we’re living in the moment right now. I’m more surprised that we waited this long.
Cupping the back up his neck, I gaze down at him so our eyes meet. “If you really want to help me, Mickey, I’m sure as hell not going to stop you.”
He licks those damn lips again as I guide his hand to cup my breast. His touch is gentle at first as he kneads the tender flesh through the lacy fabric of my underwire bra.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, his words both a question and a promise.
Instead of answering him, I arch my back. The motion makes my breasts jut out just enough that the tip of my nipple grazes his lips.
And it’s not nearly enough.
For either of us.
Mickey mutters a curse before tugging down the lace, opening his lips, and wrapping them around the hardened bud. I thread my fingers through his thick hair, desperate for purchase. His kiss is wet and hungry, and I love that he’s not shy about it. Mickey doesn’t do anything halfway, and sex is no exception. His hand wanders to my right breast as his tongue worships my left.
The sensation is everything. There’s not a fucking doubt in my mind that I’m just as reactive as I used to be. But that means the experiment is over. The conclusion has been reached. I have my answer.
But I also have Mickey’s full attention, and that’s hard to give up.
