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Mick doesn’t disappoint. He grasps the lapels of my jacket and tugs me against him an instant before he takes my mouth in a lust-filled kiss. I tunnel my hands through his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, falling impossibly deeper.
As the song changes to Miguel’s soul-baring falsetto, “These lips can’t wait to taste your skin…” Mick’s kiss grows hungrier, edging toward savage. He dislodges my hands and yanks the jacket off. Then in one swift move, he grabs hold of my white blouse and rips it down the middle.
I gasp. Shocked and wildly turned on.This is his fantasy.
He absorbs the thrill in my eyes, then crushes me against the wall. No words yet spoken, the music does the talking. He slides his tongue across the tops of my breasts and between the cleavage. I fist his hair, but manacling my wrists in one hand, he brings them over my head and restrains them against the smooth plaster. With the other hand, he drags my skirt up my stocking-covered legs. His eyes blaze a fiery brown when he touches above the lace band and encounters my barethigh. His teeth bite my stiff nipple through the satin cup as he shoves the swatch of my damp panties aside and plunges two fingers inside me, hard and fast. My breath explodes in a paroxysm. The hit to my unprepared system is jolting. His thumb circles my clit and within seconds I come.
Releases with Mick are always potent…but this one tosses me into a whirlpool of slick, stunning sensations and steals the strength in my knees.
He holds me up with his body, and whips off what’s left of my blouse. Staggered, I clutch his shoulders for balance. He nips at the pulse rioting in my throat and his hand locates the zipper of my skirt. The material gives way and pools at my feet.
I stand there all but bare; my excess flesh squeezed into a champagne-colored bikini set and sheer stay-ups. Mick’s gaze sweeps past the tops of my stockings to my panties. I instinctively suck in my stomach, wishing I hadn’t stress-eaten all that bread. But my self-consciousness quickly evaporates beneath the branding heat of his stare.
He reaches around to unclasp my bra. His deft fingers release the two eyelets. He slides the straps down my arms and the polished cups fall away, freeing my breasts with a heavy bounce.
The air that brushes my skin is cool, the hands that cover me are not. His big, warm palms slide over my breasts and his mouth—oh God—his mouth is everywhere. On my nipples, my belly, between my legs, licking me through the satin, pressing the wet fabric into my cleft, creating a delectable friction that drives me to the barbed edge of insanity.
When he kisses his way back up my body, needing to take him to the brink with me, I lift his shirt over his head. Everywhere I’m soft and round, Mick is hard and lean. Washboard abs and that sexy V of muscle that runs from the hipbone to his pelvis, tremor under my fingertips as I seek those spots that I know make him hot and growl for me. Everything about Mick is such a turn on; from how he coaxes pleasure from me to the way he takes his pleasure in return.
Placing hungry kisses down his torso, I eagerly reach inside the waistband of his pants. Going commando, he springs warm and weighty into my hands. The thick length pulses, the wide tip already wet. I sink to my knees and lick away the shiny trail, reveling in his excitement for me.
“Dee.” The rasp of my name breaks his silence and his eyelids grow heavy as if the pleasure is intoxicating.
That look alone is its own provocation. He combs his fingers through my hair, scattering the pins and freeing the curls from their hold. He bindsthem around his fist as I take him deep into my mouth. I love doing this for him. For me too. I love listening to his rough, erotic groans. Love the masculine smell and taste of him, the shameless way he slides in and out, glazing my tongue with his thick, salty essence. The way he grows harder until his cock is like slick iron between my lips. I moan my desire, spurred on by his.
“You suck me so good.”
I trace his length with my tongue, caressing the throbbing veins, licking each one. Then with a tight, firm suction I take him to the back of my throat and out to the tip again. Swallowing the creamy evidence that tells me how close he is. I can feel the restraint vibrating off him, feel him holding back his release.
Another thrust into my mouth and he pulls out, breathing hard, his dark eyes primal. “Lose the panties. Now.”
The bite of authority conveying his ruthless need fills me with a dizzying triumph. I wiggle out of my underwear while he shoves his joggers down his legs and kicks them off. With lightning speed his body is back against me, his chest hard to mine. Then his hands are on my behind, gripping tight, moving me.
My back hits the wall again. I fold my arms around his neck and wrap one leg around his hip. Mick bends slightly, his pelvis beneath me, positioning himself where I want him most. His penis hovers at the lips of my waiting sex. I make a plaintive sound and my eyelids begin to close.
“Leave them open.” He stops me. “I want to see your eyes when you come. Want you to see mine when you do.”
Dripping…dying… After all the intense foreplay and teasing, I am ready to be taken. “Mick, please,” I beg. “Fuck me.”
This side of me belongs to Mick. He releases my sexy beast, taunts it, responds to it, driving his cock into me with an inexorable thrust. The sheer power surrenders me to the frenzy. My hips rock frantically to meet his demands; a relentless mating that jars my body and jounces my breasts.
The song lyrics change to “I’m a slave to your flesh.” The sexually charged music combined with our raspy groans, slapping skin, and the sounds of our bodies banging against the wall add to the carnality of our lovemaking. It’s raw and base, a whippy aggression that assaults my senses and strips all self-control.
There’s no vacancy in my mind to think about anything else, except Mick and his strong muscled arms holding me up, his beautiful faceravaged and beaded with sweat, his hips flexing beneath the heel of my foot as he vigorously pounds through my clenching core.
He’s the only man ever capable of giving me a vaginal orgasm. With each rugged thrust, the pressure inside me builds, swells, unfurls, until it releases like liquid steam and I climax in a blinding rush. He watches me come apart, holding my gaze as my sex spasms, the muscles rippling and clasping around him.
“Fuck, fuck,” he growls, digging his fingers into my hips, yanking me down harder and faster, prolonging my orgasm as he races brutally toward his own.
Through the ecstatic haze and roaring in my head, I watch him too. See the moment he goes over. His fevered eyes lose focus, his large, quaking body pins me to the wall.
I press my open mouth to his and somewhere in the midst of pulsing vibrations, torrid heat, and sweaty pleasure, I marvel at how right I’d been in allowing Mick past my defenses. In trusting that he was the one I could lose my inhibitions with. The one I could bare myself to.
Later in bed, with thelight and music gone, there is only the still darkness of the room and the low hum of our contented breaths. Mick’s bristled cheek rests on my stomach and I’m running my fingers through his hair.
To me, the next best thing to making love with him is this—afterward, floating along that lazy river of satisfaction.
“Mick?”
