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The pair walk into the living room. Mickey sits on the extended sofa, and dad returns to his lounger. He turns down the TV’s volume, but there isn’t conversation to fill the sudden silence.
My heart’s doing backflips in my chest when I step out of my room. As soon as the door opens, all eyes are on me. Mickey’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull. Dad’s brow scrunches up in confusion.
“Good lord, you’re stunning,” Mickey says. My fears regarding outfit choice melt away with the way Mickey’s gawking at me.
My cheeks instantly flush. The dumbfounded expression on dad’s face deepens with Mickey’s compliment.
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I say. Understatement of the century.
Mickey’s wearing a fancy suit that probably costs more than a month’s rent in this apartment. He stands, and I get a better look at how the material clings to his exquisite frame. His face is coated in trimmed stubble that shows off the thick beard he could have if he chooses to grow it. It takes one look to soak my panties and leave me gasping for air.
How the hell am I going to get through a night on the town when the only thoughts streaming through my mind are what Mickey will do to me later? I shouldn’t be presumptuous, but it seems evident that his intentions are on the naughtier side. He didn’t want to pop my cherry in the Moonshine Saloon but after a night of wining and dining? It seems more appropriate.
“You two are going out?” Dad finally speaks. I can tell his brain is working overtime to piece it together, by the way his eyes flicker between Mickey and me.
What’s he going to think? What can he?
“We are,” Mickey says. He shoves a hand into his pocket and pulls out a crisp hundred-dollar bill. He holds it out to dad, but his eyes are glued to my body. “Artie, why don’t you treat yourself tonight, too?”
“I already had my supper,” Dad says, patting his belly.
“Then go have a few drinks.”
“Got beers in the fridge. They should see me through the week,” Dad’s ignorance inspires a rumble in Mickey’s chest.
“Take the money and get the fuck out of here,” he orders.
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Dad jumps to his feet. He grabs the bill and rushes out the door.
“What was that about?” I ask, cocking my hips to one side. I can see Mickey’s eyes drinking me in. Admiring every one of my curves.
“I couldn’t wait to have you to myself,” Mickey says shamelessly. “Lift your dress.”
I open my mouth to speak but shut it just as fast. The odd request sends me into a spiral of panic. He hates it. He must. Why else would he be telling me to take it off? I hook my fingers in the hem and raise my dress slowly.
“That’s enough,” Mickey stops me when the material reaches my belly. His eyes lock with the satin material covering my sex, and his tongue hungrily runs along his lower lip.
He takes slow, deliberate steps toward me before perching one of his hands on my ass. He squeezes, and an abrupt moan tears through my lips. How will I get through tonight if I can’t keep it together now?
“You can take your panties off. We won’t be needing them tonight,” Mickey says.
“But we’re going ou—”
“We won’t be needing them,” he repeats.
I hesitate to fulfill Mickey’s command. “We’re going out in public, and my dress is short. I’ll flash the whole place with one wrong move.”
“Let them see, then. Give those sorry fucks something to think about when they go home and fist their cocks, wishing they were me.”
Anxious breathes make me lightheaded while I fiddle with the waistband of my panties. I thought our night together would ease me up to Mickey seeing me naked, but it’s gotten worse. A bundle of nerves tightens in my belly. I start tugging my panties down, and Mickey’s eyes watch as they drop to the ankles. His hand barely budges while the satin fabric slides past.
“Good girl,” he says.
With one hand still grabbing my ass, Mickey moves the second under my dress and between my thighs. He doesn’t stop until his long middle finger has found its destination, gliding between my slick pussy lips. My knees give way, and I crumble into his firm body, but even with the impact, he doesn’t budge.
Mickey brings the soaked digit to my mouth. It instinctively opens, and he shoves it inside.
“I’ve been craving your taste,” he says. “I thought you’d want to share the experience.”
