“Oh, fuck,” I moan, gripping the sides of his face with my hands. He stills his movements but doesn’t break contact. “I guess that answers that,” I say.
His lips pop off my breast with a faint popping sound that I’m dying to hear again and again. But instead of standing up and grabbing snacks or taking the seat beside me and fishing for the remote, Mickey stays put. “You ever come like this?” he asks, his voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “Because, I mean, while I’m here, I could.... Fuck, I just wanna watch you get off, Viv. I’m not gonna lie.”
My brain is immediately flooded with sexy things to say, quippy little lines, flirty little suggestions. But none of them leave my lips. I’m too busy guiding Mickey back to where he was. Too busy watching as he caresses my breasts with his strong hands. Too busy saying, “Fuck, yes,” because there’s no pretense here. I can be myself with Mickey, and that’s so damn liberating. Sometimes I’m sexy and coy, clever and sensual. And sometimes I’m reduced to a puddle of lust incapable of forming coherent sentences.
This is one of those times.
“Is that what you want?” he asks. “You want me to play with your tits, to suck them, and taste them, and tease them until you can’t take it anymore?”
In response, I press my body impossibly closer to his and mutter something that sounds vaguely like, “Ungh-huh.”
“What’s that?” he asks, a smile tugging at his lips. “I need the words, Viv.”
“You want words?” I ask, my head clearing for just a second. “Then listen up. I want your lips, tongue, and hands back on my body. You’re going to touch me and tease me until I start to beg. Then you’re going to take this bra off me and start all over again. And I might get loud, Mickey, so you’re going to have to do something creative to shut me up. But you’re not going to stop, not until I tell you to. Not until I’ve come so hard that my thighs start to shake. Not until it’s dripping down my thighs and making a terrible mess. How’s that sound?”
“Like fucking heaven,” he mutters, tearing off his shirt.
Damn, what a view. He’s always had a great body, but he’s really bulked up this past year. Whether it’s lean and strong, or busting his shirts at the seams, I don’t care. I just like looking at him. And I especially like looking at him when he’s focusing every ounce of attention on my breasts. His hands are pursuing me with the perfect amount of pressure, his lips are downright greedy, and the man is not shy about letting me know he’s every bit as turned on as I am.
He’s nipping and licking and when the bunched-up lace rubs against the sensitive skin of my breast, I feel it everywhere. My whole body is pulsing with need, thrumming with the desire to let go. But I’m wound too tight. It’s been so long, things don’t feel the same as they used to. Honestly, they feel better. I don’t know whether that has to do with the surgery I had or the fact that Mickey is taking very good care of me.
Okay, I do know. It’s Mickey. There’s no question. But I’m willfully turning off the part of my brain that recognizes his touch and craves it. She’s a wanton hussy who wants to drag Mickey up onto the couch and have her wicked way with him. So she’ll be sitting this round out, thankyouverymuch.
“How you doing, Viv?” Mickey asks, his voice a little raspy as he releases my breast. “Come to any conclusions yet?”
It takes my lust-addled brain a second to realize that Mickey is referring to the question that got us here in the first place. And the answer is a resounding yes. “What do you think?” I ask him, unable to hold back the smile that crosses my face.
“I think you like it, but you’re not begging yet. Guess I’m gonna have to work a little harder, huh?”
I hear myself gasp as he presses his thumbs to my nipples and draws tight circles. My panties are already soaked, but when he flicks each tight tip, I cry out. Damn, that feels good. It stings at first, but when he soothes the pain with his soft, pliant lips, I find myself needing more. And I’m not going to be shy about asking for it.
“Again,” I plead. Mickey doesn’t say a word. He just follows the damn directions andohmyfuckinghellyes. “God, don’t you dare fucking stop,” I say, not caring in the list that I probably sound demanding. It fits. I am demanding, especially when it comes to keeping Mickey’s very talented lips on my body.
“No plans to stop, Viv,” he says, the words a little muffled. “Not even gonna start slowing down until long after you come for me.”
My hands tighten in his hair and he moans, going at me with even more enthusiasm. I think he fucking likes it when I get a little bossy. And I like it when he gets a little wild, a little messy. His face is pressed between my breasts and when I cry out and tug at the straps, Mickey takes the hint and pulls my bra down until it’s circled around my waist like a belt.
“Holy fucking god,” he mutters, licking his lips as he looks his fill.
“They’re nice, right?” I ask. I’m not fishing for compliments, not really. Objectively speaking, my boobs look great. They’re firm and plump, but not overly large for my small frame. “I think Dr. Klauder did a really good job. I think?—”
“I think you were perfect before, and you’re perfect now.”
The air stills for a second as Mickey’s words register in brain. They’re the sweet sort of words you say to a lover, the kind you whisper in the dark when you can’t get enough of each other.
That’s not what’s happening here, though. Mickey and I are only?—
“So fucking perfect,” he murmurs, squeezing one breasts and tracing his tongue over the swell of the other. And just like that, he’s back to worshipping my body, and I’m back to letting him. I let my mind go blank as I give myself over to the sensations. If I think too hard about anything right now, I’ll put a stop to this, and that’s not something I want to do. I don’t want to overthink things, so I’m going to under-think them instead. I’m going to put my body in charge of all major decisions for at least the next hour. And if that means I wake up with a pile of regret in the morning, well, it won’t be the first time.
Mickey’s got my breasts pushed together, and he’s lavishing wet, hungry kisses on the soft, supple flesh. My hands are holding his head steady, though it’s not like he’s going anywhere. The man seems more than content right where he is, especially when I rock my body up into his. My boobs have been getting all of his attention, and the rest of me is jealous.
“You need somethin’?” he asks, breathless. “Cause I’m busy right now, but I can take care of anything you need in just a little bit. I’m just gonna make you come a couple of times first, okay?”
My body melts against his. There’s no other way to describe it. We’re fused together, but I manage to slip my hand between our bodies so that I can tug on the soft, stretchy waistband of my leggings. Mickey takes the hint and offers assistance, but his lips never leave my breasts. Damn, the man is talented, and soon enough I’m basically naked except for the scrap of lace between my legs and the bra around my waist. He’s muttering curses as his body rocks into mine. He’s taking care of me, and it’s turning him on. God, that’s fucking hot.
Leaning back on his heels, he slips his hand under his waistband and strokes himself once, twice. I’m about to get in on the act when he puckers his lips up and blows a soft stream of air over my chest.
Holy fucking fuckballs.
