Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Mikey
Wicked Games
RAIGN
The walk from the car to the apartment feels different. Same sidewalk. Same building. Same city noise humming around us. But everything feels sharper somehow.
Her shoulder brushes mine once as we walk, and the contact sends a quiet jolt through me that has nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with the fact that she asked me to kiss her.
I unlock the door and hold it open for her. She steps inside first, glancing back at me with a small smile that feels almost shy. The door clicks shut behind us, and for a second neither of us moves. The apartment is quiet.
The air feels charged; not heavy, just aware.
Like we both know something shifted in that car and we’re standing right on the edge of whatever comes next.
She sets her bag down slowly, fingers lingering on the strap before she releases it.
I watch as she sets my keys on the counter, suddenly hyperaware of every sound.
I turn my body towards her. She peers up at me under her lashes. The softness in her expression hits harder than the kiss did.
I take a slow breath. “You good?”
A small nod. Her smile flickers. “Yep.”
Silence stretches between us, warm and a little uncertain. I step closer without really thinking about it. Close enough to feel her warmth. Close enough that the memory of her mouth against mine comes rushing back.
My hand lifts, hesitating for half a second before brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her breath catches softly. Everything in me wants to kiss her again.
To slam my mouth against hers and take everything I’ve been craving from her for weeks.
But this feels bigger than that. This isn’t something I rush. Not with her.
She takes a tiny step closer, hand resting lightly against my chest. I can feel the heat of her palm through my shirt. My heartbeat kicks harder. “You’re being awfully quiet,” she murmurs.
I huff a soft laugh. “Trying to do this the way you deserve.”
Her smile widens, something warm and vulnerable in it. “Just kiss me.”
I lean down, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to her mouth.
No rush. No urgency. Just the quiet confirmation that this is real.
When we pull apart, she doesn’t move away.
Instead, she looks up at me, and her gaze is steady and certain.
She slides a hand down my arm until her fingers link with mine and starts walking backward toward the hallway.
My pulse jumps. She’s leading me. I follow, but halfway there I pause, tugging her gently to a stop. “Quinn?”
She looks up.
“Are you sure?”
No hesitation this time. She nods, lip caught briefly between her teeth, eyes steady on mine. “Uh-huh.”
Something inside me settles. I squeeze her hand lightly and let her guide me the rest of the way. She stops outside my bedroom door, glancing back once like she’s checking that I’m still here. I am. Nothing’s moving me. She steps inside, and I follow her in.
The room is quiet around us. She walks until she’s near the foot of the bed, and then for a second neither of us moves. The city hums faintly beyond the window. The only light comes from the hallway, soft and low, catching the dark waves of her hair, the blue of her eyes when she peeks up at me.
I reach out first. Fingertips brushing her jaw, tilting her face up. Her breath comes out slow and unsteady and I feel it against my mouth before I even kiss her. When I do, it's nothing like the car. That kiss was urgent. This one is intention.
I take my time with her mouth. Learning it.
The way she sighs into me when I angle deeper.
The way her hands grip the fabric of my shirt like she needs something to hold onto.
I slide my hands into her hair, tilting her head back gently, and she makes a soft sound that does something irreversible to me.
I walk her back slowly until her knees meet the edge of the bed.
She looks up at me, chest rising and falling, lips parted.
Her eyes are dark and certain. "Mikey." It’s the first time she’s ever called me that instead of Michael.
And the way she says it, like it means something, like I mean something, lands somewhere deep in my chest and stays there.
I reach for the hem of her shirt slowly, watching her face the whole time. Giving her every opportunity to stop me. She lifts her arms instead. I take my time.
That feels important somehow. Every other time in my life I've rushed toward this moment like it was a finish line. Something to get to. Something to take. This feels nothing like that. This feels like something I want to move through slowly. Something I don't want to miss a single second of.
Her skin is warm beneath my palms as I trace them down her sides. She shivers despite the warmth of the room. I press my lips to her shoulder. Her collarbone. The soft curve of her throat. She tips her head back, fingers curling into my hair.
"You're still holding back," she murmurs softly.
I huff a quiet laugh against her skin and shake my head. "I’m not holding back, I’m just not rushing it."
Her hands frame my face, tilting it up until our eyes meet.
Hers are steady. Certain. Something unknots in my chest. I grip her waist and ease her back against the pillows, following her down, bracing above her.
She looks up at me in the low light, her dark hair spilling across the pillow, blue eyes holding mine without flinching and I feel the full weight of what this is.
Quinn Brooks is going to ruin me and I don’t even care. I kiss her again. Slower this time. My hands learn her unhurriedly; the curve of her waist, the warmth of her skin, the way she arches slightly when I find a sensitive spot and I file that information somewhere permanent.
She pulls at my shirt and I let her take it off. Her palms press flat against my chest, fingertips tracing the lines of the tattoo on my arm with quiet curiosity before her hands slide around my back to tug me closer.
"Hi," she whispers.
I smile against her mouth. "Hi."
She laughs softly, that same breathless, stunned laugh from the car, and something about hearing it here, in my bed, in the dark, with her hands on my skin, opens me in a way I wasn't prepared for.
I lean back just enough to look at her. Really look.
The flush in her cheeks. The rise and fall of her chest. The quiet certainty in her expression.
"You're beautiful." My words are quiet. Not a line. Just the truth.
Her face softens completely. She reaches up, fingertips brushing along my jaw. "Come here."
I do. What follows is slow and unhurried and nothing like anything I've known before.
I take my time with every part of her. Learning what makes her breath hitch.
What makes her fingers curl into my skin.
I press my mouth to the inside of her wrist, the soft curve of her stomach, the inside of her knee and she makes a sound low in her throat that I feel everywhere.
"Mikey." My name comes out breathless. Fractured.
"I've got you," I whisper. “All of you.” And I mean it.
More than I've ever meant anything. There's no performance in this.
No part of me thinking about how I look or what comes next or how to make this end faster.
Every other time in my life this has been something I just move through.
Something I took and gave back in equal, careless measure.
A transaction dressed up as intimacy. This is nothing like that.
I settle over her, bracing my weight, and she looks up at me in the low light with those sapphire eyes completely unguarded.
Her hair fans dark against the pillow. Her lips are parted.
She reaches up and presses her palm flat against my chest, right over where my heart is hammering too hard and too fast.
When we finally come together it's slow. I line my length up to her core, and push in slow. So deliberately, unbearably slow. Her breath catches sharply and her hands grip my shoulders and I still completely, watching her face. "Okay?" I check.
She exhales. Nods. Her legs wrap around me, tugging me closer, and the sound that leaves her mouth undoes something in me that I know will never compare.
I move carefully at first. Learning her.
The way her hips rise to meet mine. The way she sighs my name when I find the right angle.
The way her fingers trace down my spine like she's mapping me, memorizing me, the same way I'm memorizing her.
Every sound she makes pulls me deeper. Not just physically. Something about being this close to her, this seen, cracks me open in a way I wasn't braced for. I've been naked in front of plenty of women, but I've never felt exposed. Like she's seeing something underneath my skin.
I drop my forehead to hers. Stay close. Keep the pace slow even when every instinct is begging me to do otherwise, because I'm not ready for this to be over. I don't want to rush past a single second of it.
Her hands slide into my hair. "Don't stop," she breathes.
I have absolutely no intention of stopping.
I press my lips to her jaw. Her throat. The soft place beneath her ear that makes her shiver.
She arches into me and whispers my name again, lower this time, unguarded, like something she's been holding back for weeks and I feel it land somewhere deep and permanent.
"Look at me."
She does. Blue diamonds holding mine in the dark.
Both of us breathing hard. Both of us completely present in a way that feels almost too intimate to sustain.
I don't look away. I can't. Something is passing between us in this eye contact that I couldn't name if I tried.
Something that feels terrifyingly close to the thing I've been circling for weeks without letting myself land on it.
I feel her orgasm building in her before she tells me. The way her breath fractures. The way her grip tightens on my back, fingers pressing in hard enough to ground us both. Her lips part around a soft broken sound that she buries against my jaw.
I follow her over. It moves through me slow and consuming and stronger than I’m prepared for. My forehead drops to hers. Her name leaves my mouth like something sacred. We stay tangled together in the aftermath, breathing ragged, neither of us moving, neither of us speaking.
Her fingers trace slow patterns along my spine.
I press my lips to her temple. Her cheek.
The corner of her mouth. She smiles against the last one.
She curls against me, warm and loose from our joining, resting her head on my chest like it belongs there.
My arm is wrapped around her, fingers tracing lazy patterns along her back without thinking.
I stare at the ceiling for a long moment, breathing slowing, heart still feeling a little too full. This feels different. So different from anyone else I’ve ever been with. It’s not wild. Not reckless. But it feels right. Like this is how it’s supposed to feel, and I had no idea.
Her leg shifts slightly over mine, a sleepy sigh leaving her lips as she settles closer.
A smile pulls at my mouth. I don’t move.
I don’t want to break whatever this is. Eventually her breathing deepens, steady and even.
Sleep pulls me under as well, the weight of her against me grounding in a way I’m not used to.
The last thing I remember is the quiet realization that I don’t want her anywhere else.
I wake before the sun fully fills the room. For a second I don’t move, not sure what pulled me awake. Then I feel her. Warm against my side. She’s still here. She didn’t leave. Didn’t go back to her room. My chest tightens in a way that feels suspiciously like happiness.
Soft morning light spills across the bed, catching in her hair.
She’s half curled toward me, one hand resting lightly against my ribs like she fell asleep reaching for me.
I watch her for a long moment. I’ve woken up next to plenty of women.
None of them have ever felt like this. There’s no rush to leave.
No awkwardness creeping in. No instinct to put distance between us.
Just quiet peace. Contentment settles low in my chest.
Carefully, I brush a strand of hair away from her face. She stirs slightly, nose scrunching, and I smile despite myself. Her eyes blink open. For a second she looks confused. Then she smiles. It’s small and sleepy and fucking beautiful.
“Morning,” she whispers.
“Morning.”
Neither of us moves to separate. She shifts closer instead, tucking herself against me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
My arm tightens around her automatically.
Sunlight warms the room. The city outside hasn’t fully woken yet.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m waiting for anything else.
I’m exactly where I want to be.