Chapter 18
18
“Really, Mike.” I lifted my head so our mouths met. I put my all into the kiss, and that included lots of tongue.
Within moments, he pulled back, pushed off the bed and stood tall, breathing hard.
“What?” I asked, confused. I checked out his tapered waist, his broad shoulders, and his lusty gaze.
“Let me go and make sure we really are alone.” He backed up and went to the bedroom door. “And, babe? Don't open Goldie's box. The first time we do it without any toys. Just you and me.”
I could only nod. Once he left, I contemplated my underwear. What did I have on underneath my clothes? Was it the fishing underwear of sports bra and cotton briefs or the fuck-me now panties I'd packed as a possibility? I patted my chest, feeling my bra. Underwire, lacy. I remembered in relief it was definitely not the sports bra. I inwardly grinned.
Minutes later, Mike returned, a predatory gleam in his eye, a wicked, bad boy smile on his face. He crooked a finger at me and I climbed off the bed, moved to stand in front of him. In my bare feet, I had to tilt my head back and look up at him. His eyes were hooded, his body tall, looming and commanding.
“Take off your shirt,” he told me. Commanding, all right.
I gulped, but did as he said, lifting the bottom and pulling it up over my head. I felt my hair come loose from the collar to swing and brush softly against my back.
Mike's gaze dropped to my breasts and I watched as his jaw clamped tight and a muscle ticked in his cheek.
“Now, the jeans.” His voice was darker, deeper than even a moment ago.
Could he hear my heartbeat slamming into my chest? Slowly, I undid the zipper, shimmied the denim down over my hips and lower, and then kicked my feet out of the pant legs.
I stood before him in only my matching pale blue lacy bra and panties. They were skimpy enough that he probably couldn't miss the hard little points of my nipples through the delicate fabric.
He just looked his fill, and then some more. I felt exposed, vulnerable. “I'm not eighteen anymore,” I told him, nervously.
Brushing his fingers in a soft caress over the swell of one breast, he murmured, “No. You're definitely not eighteen anymore.”
One minute I was standing in front of him, the next I was lifted and dropped onto the bed, my head on the pillows. Pressing one knee into the mattress, he crawled up the bed, stalking me like a lion would his meal, finally joining me. His full body pressed alongside mine, one arm thrown over my body to brace himself up on his elbow. His hand brushed loose strands of hair off my face. “God, you're beautiful.”
I smiled from the inside out at his praise, but he kissed me and that was the end of that. And all other thoughts.
From hearing Goldie talk about Mike being a dominant man in life—although she was specifically referring to ‘in bed’—I expected him to take the lead. I'd never had a man do that before, not even Mike our first time. I'd craved this forcefulness, almost bossiness of a man in bed. I'd written about it in my book. But to have it happen for real, to be beneath a man who took what he wanted, all the while giving me exactly what I needed, was a complete and total turn-on.
It lit some fire in me that never had an ignition source before. Mike's alpha attitude, his body pressing into mine, his kiss that all but tore away any defenses, had me burning for him.
“Mike, please,” I begged, my hips lifting on their own.
“What do you need, babe?” He looked down at me. Waiting. Patient.
If I hadn't felt him hard against my hip I would think him unaffected.
“I want you,” I replied.
“You have me. What do you need ?” he asked again.
He wasn't giving an inch. And I wanted every inch of him.
“I want...” I swallowed. Could I say it? Could I open myself up enough to share? “I need you to be in control.”
He grinned, and then leaned in for a soft kiss. “Then grab hold of the headboard and don't let go.”
I did as he told me not because I wanted him to be bossy, but because I wanted—needed—to forget about everything else in life and focus solely on being in bed with Mike. What his hands were doing. Where his mouth was. How he was going to be inside me, very soon.
I had too many browser tabs open on my computer-like mind. When he told me to hold on to the headboard, it was like shutting down all of them but one. Just Mike.
Gripping the cool wood between my fingers, I watched Mike's head lower to my breast, laving one through the lace and then the other until the tips were even tighter than before. Until my hips shifted shamelessly. I watched him go lower still, felt him kiss and nibble his way down my ribs, his fingers tugging at the lacy sides of my panties, working them down over my hips, my legs, then off.
“You look amazing in these—” he held up the scrap of fabric, then stuck them in his jeans pocket “—but you look even better out.” He took in his fill of my body as he sat back on his heels. Had he just tucked my panties away like a souvenir? Holy shit.
Lowering his head, he nudged my legs wide with his shoulders before he put his mouth on me. It was a good thing everyone had left because I cried out. I couldn't be quiet with what he was doing. I let go of my hold, running my hands through his hair.
He lifted his head.
“What? Why'd you stop?” I asked, confused. Breathless in my need.
“You do what I want; I give you what you need. Put your hands back above your head. Besides, my hair got caught in that ring.” His tone meant he wasn't fooling around. He wanted me to grab the headboard. I needed him to make me come. He'd gotten me really close, amazingly fast, but I didn't do as he'd said and had let go of the headboard. So he stopped. It was cruel, complicated and incredibly arousing. I re-grabbed, hoping he'd re-start.
He did. Oh, he did. This whole control thing was totally working for me. Mike was doing things to my body that might possibly be illegal in a few less progressive states. When my pleasure rushed over me like a tidal wave, I saw stars, the tips of my ears were numb and my fingers had a death grip on the headboard.
Once I recovered enough to glance down my body at Mike, he gave me that satisfied male look. Oh, how his skills had improved since we were eighteen.
“That's the one I owed you from graduation.”
Wow. He'd more than compensated me. Had I known it was going to be like that, I would have demanded payment sooner.
His hands raked up my body, over my breasts. I hissed out a breath at his potent touch. At the need rising in me once again. More? Could I handle more?
Mike stripped off his shirt, baring his solid chest, chiseled abs. The dusting of red hair was sexy as hell and I wanted to run my fingers through it. Wanted to touch him. Everywhere. Yeah, I could handle more. I whimpered. He ignored me. “Now, flip over, grab hold again.”
Oh. I'm glad he ignored me. I liked his words very, very much.
As I faced the wall up on my hands and knees, I heard his zipper, a foiled package crinkling. A second later, his body, hot to the touch, pressed into mine, one hand cupping a breast, fingers pulling on the sensitive nipple. His voice close to my ear. “I'm going to take you for a ride.”
Mike wasn't done with me quickly. Okay, maybe the first time, but the second was at a much slower pace, learning each other all over again. Discovering what made me cry out, what made him lose control. The third time, it was my turn to take him for a ride.
Three hours later, we were showered and making lunch in the kitchen. I wore Mike's T-shirt and he wore his jeans, low slung and with the button undone. Nothing else. My body felt soft and relaxed like pulled taffy, and I had no doubt I sported a goofy grin. Mike carried himself like a well-satisfied male. It felt good to know I made him that way. He might have had control over me, but it seemed I had the real power.
“So what's our plan for today? And don't say more sex.” I gave him a look that said 'hands off.'
The look he gave me back said just the opposite; he was thinking of wicked things to do to me. He came over to me, crowded me in, lifted me—very easily—up onto the counter so he stood between my spread legs.
“Okay. I won't say it. What if we just do it?”
“If we have any more sex, I won't be able to walk right for a week.”
Mike's brow went up. “A week? I must be better than I thought.”
I smacked his shoulder. “I wouldn't want to stroke your ego by responding to that.”
He took my hand and placed it over the front of his jeans and I felt him. Hard, long, thick. I got a hot flash remembering what he'd done with all that...maleness. “I've got something for you to stroke.”
It was a tossup between rolling my eyes at him in disgust or my eyes rolling back in my head in lust.
“Everyone would definitely know.”
“Having people know you're mine? That's not a problem for me.”
It was for me, at least in the way we were talking about. I dropped my gaze to his six-pack abs. He cupped my chin so I had to look at him, his other hand pushed up the hem of his T-shirt to gently cup my breast.
I sucked in a breath at the contact.
“I don't give a shit what other people think,” he continued. “The only person you should be concerned about is me.”
His fingers plucked at my nipple, making me squirm.
“As a doctor, you have surprisingly little concern for someone else's kitchen counter.”
“For a woman who just had three, or was that four, orgasms, you think way too much. I have to fix that.” He pulled my hips to the edge of the counter, forcing me to lean back with my hands behind me for balance. Dropping to his knees so my legs went over his back, he did just that.