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Everything inside me aches for his torment. Rushing to the living room, I kneel beside him. “Mick! Wake up!”
He recoils, rolling into a fetal position, shaking. His eyes still closed, a sob escapes him. I climb onto the sofa and cradle his trembling body.
“Ssh, baby, I’ve got you,” I whisper to that little boy. My tears mingling with his, I hold him close, praying in some way it helps him heal, that he finds strength in my love to exorcise his demons.
I have no idea whattime it is when I vaguely become aware of movement and the feel of Mick’s arms around me. I rest my head against his chest, snuggling into the warmth of his skin.
“Where are you taking me?” I murmur.
“To bed.”
I try to make out his features, but I’m still slipping out of sleep, my senses are dull. Yet I recall enough of why I’d been on the couch that when he lowers me onto the mattress, I grip his shoulders. “Stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He settles the covers over us and spoons me from behind. “Go back to sleep.”
I know we need to talk but betrayed by an insufficient amount of rest, my body shuts down and my mind quickly follows.
The scent of Mick andthe touch of his lips along my jaw hit my senses before I even open my eyes. When I do, Mick’s there. Warm, bronze skin against the pure white sheets. I slowly stretch, feeling the kinks from spending some of the night on the couch. “Mick…”
He takes my mouth, hushing me with a kiss. His hands push up my T-shirt to cup my breasts and roll my nipples, swiftly making them tight and achy.
I curve a hand around his neck, drawing him closer. He moves one hand down to my cleft. A thousand sensations collide. I reach for the loose waistband of his sweatpants and shove the front down. He’s hot and stone-hard in my palm. I stroke him the way he likes it. Slow, my fist tight.
“Take me inside you.”
“Yes,” I moan as he levers over me. I circle my fingers around the thick girth of his erection and take all of him.
The rough, ragged hiss of his breath clenches my sex. Mick gathers me beneath him, buries his face in my neck, and plunges deep. The powerful friction whips up my never-sated appetite to be loved and ravaged by him. My arms and legs cage his strong body, my hips meet his inexorable drives.
Our passion for each other is always ferocious. I slide my arms around his waist and lower my hands to grip the flexing muscles of his ass, squeezing, urging him on. I bask in the exquisite feel of the wide crown of his penis hitting that tender spot in me, the motion causing his pelvis to rasp along my clit.
The surge of release is arrow-sharp. I bite into the curve of his shoulder, buffering the screams that want out of me.
Mick holds my hips, rubbing out the rest of my orgasm with hard, fast thrusts.
“Ah, Christ. Dee.” He pins me down and erupts with a deep, rumbling groan against my throat.
I’m dressed for work whenthe aroma of freshly made brew beckons me to the kitchen. Mick is at the counter outfitted in a thermalshirt and joggers that sheaths his body. He turns and hands me a steaming cup of sweetened milky coffee.
“Thank you.” I take a cautious sip and study him. Without the haze of lust, I search his face for any signs that he remembers his nightmare. What I see beyond the striking features is the stress back in his dark, troubled eyes. My heart breaks for him. I press a loving kiss to his lips.
He cups my face, holding me there before pulling back. He drops his hands and picks up his own mug. Seeming deep in thought, he leans against the counter and stares down into his black coffee.
I count the silence. Five beats. Then: “I want to talk to you about Malcolm.”
“Okay.” I’m on board with that.
“What I told you yesterday was a lot to absorb.” He looks up at me. “You needed…deserved answers to explain my behavior…to explain the pain I put you through. No apology or excuse can ever make that up to you.”
“Mick…”
“Just let me finish.” There’s an edge to him, a sense of focus that suggests he’d been preparing. “I told myself it was better to shove you out of my life before you got dragged through the gutter. I tried to let you go. Tried to do what I thought was right. But I couldn’t. That makes me selfish. Reckless even.”
“It’s not selfish or reckless,” I rush to alleviate his guilt. “I don’t want you to let me go.”
“Malcolm’s threats are real, Dee. I got a text from him.”
“What did he say?” Dread pounds like a wooden bat inside my chest.
