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“Morning,” I sigh on a half breath, my system already wide awake and on hot alert.
“Morning, beauty.” Mick shifts lower to bury his face between my open legs and slide his tongue inside my core.
Wanting to give him the same awesome pleasure, I readjust my position and slide down to his impressively hard cock. I take him deep into my mouth while his agile tongue slowly and expertly devours me. I detonate seconds before he comes at the back of my throat all salty and warm.
Our raw, raspy moans still echo in my mind as I rush to get dressed for work.
I don’t have much time to fight with my hair. Not that I’m complaining. After pulling my curls back into a quick ponytail, I find Mick in the kitchen filling the blender with fruits and spinach. He’s wearing jogging shorts and a heart-stopping grin. But best of all, with no nightmares to disturb his sleep, there aren’t any haunting shadows beneath his eyes. Ifmind-blowing sex is the sedative Mick needs to keep his demons at bay, I am all too willing to be his drug.
“Smoothie okay?” he asks. “It’s fast and I know you’re running late because of me.”
My blood thickens with the heated memory. I have barely come down from the high of my climax and I’m still wanting more.
“A smoothie sounds great. And for the record, you can make me run late any time.”
“Keep looking at me like that, Counselor, and you may not make it to work at all.”
“And what would I do here all day while you write, be your sex muse?”
“You’re reading my mind.”
“It’s not that difficult. Kind of follows one path.”
“Yep.” He catches me around the waist. “Straight to you.”
Friday is game day. Mickhad arranged for more security than seems necessary, but I can understand his caution considering what happened here with that reporter several weeks ago.
If he’s nervous about the game, it doesn’t show. Coach Mick, looking mighty fine in his signature red Nike ball cap and Lions T-shirt, is relaxed and all smiles. He’d once told me that coaching Dwayde was the first time he truly enjoyed basketball.
As the game progresses, Victor gives me a running commentary, explaining the positions and the plays. I follow along, paying most of my attention to Dwayde, who is constantly on the move, looking for openings to pass the ball or take his shot. The game is entertaining and the fledgling Lions team is holding their own against players that look bigger and more experienced than they are. I watch Mick shout out praise encouraging his players, debate several calls with the ref, and lift his team when they fall behind.
The opponents continue a decent lead until the final quarter. Making several good shots, the Lions close in. Tension mounts. I sit with Victor and Isabelle at the edges of our seats. Mick calls a time-out with less than a minute on the clock.
Located behind the Lion’s bench, close to the court, I’m able to hear most of what he says to them. “You’re playing good ball out there. Defenseis strong and you’re taking smart shots. Whether you win this or not, I’m already proud of you. Just have fun and don’t forget what matters.”
“Smarts, hearts, and guts!” they chant in unison, all hands pumping in the center of their circle before they run back to the floor.
The Lions don’t win. But Dwayde scores a three-point shot in the final moments that ties up the game and sends them into overtime. I’ve nearly chewed a hole in my bottom lip when the opponents score the winning point as the buzzer sounds. Mick high-fives his team, and looking up, blows me a kiss.
It’s a bit reckless considering we are in hiding, but at that moment, it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Mick gives the team Saturdayoff. We spend a lazy morning lounging in bed, making love, and eating breakfast among the tangled sheets.
Much later, I work for a couple of hours and get some laundry done while Mick writes. For dinner, we prepare a stir fry together in domestic harmony. Afterward, we’re chilling in the living room when Mick disappears for a few minutes and returns with a slim velvet box.
“What’s this?”
“Just a little something.” He takes a seat on the couch and lifts my feet onto his lap. “I hope you like it.”
Excited to see what’s inside, I flip up the lid.
“Those are some of the things that remind me of you.”
I remove the linked bracelet from the box to look more closely at the charms, running my fingertip over each one, touched by the thought that he’d put into selecting them. The scales of justice, a diamond-encrusted heart, two interlinked circles, one engraved with “family,” the other “friends,” one black crystal, and a female sculpture.
“What are these?” I ask of the stone and woman.
“That’s a spinel crystal,” he explains. “From the Latin word, ‘spina’ meaning spine, it represents strength. And the woman is Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty. That’s how I see you.”
