7. Mia
CHAPTER SEVEN
MIA
The world narrows to Mick’s hands braced under my thighs and the ragged edge of his breath at my ear.
The TV is still blaring the closing credits of Halloween, but I don’t even register the sound anymore.
I feel the shift in him like he’s finally snapped the leash on whatever self-control he’d been clinging to.
He kicks open the bedroom door without slowing, then spins and sets me down with my ass perched at the edge of his king-size bed. The walls are raw concrete, cold and a little intimidating.
I sit there for a second, dazed and more turned on than I’ve ever been. My pulse jackhammers as he stands over me, hands caging me in.
I try to get my bearings, but it’s useless. My brain turned to mush the moment he kissed me.
He bends down, both hands braced on either side of my hips, and kisses me again. It’s rough this time. His mouth is hungry and sure. I tilt my chin up and let him take what he wants, my fingers finding the back of his neck and holding on hard.
After a breathless eternity, he pulls back. The distance is so small, I can see every fleck of copper in his dark eyes. There’s a line of sweat at his hairline and his breathing is jagged, almost as bad as mine.
Then his hands slide up my ribs, deliberate and slow, and bunch the hem of my sweatshirt into his fists. He tugs at it, waiting. “Are you sure, trouble?” He’s giving me one last out, a chance to tap the mat and call a time-out.
To hell with that. “Shut up and get to work.” I stare into his eyes, and he pulls the sweatshirt up, over, and off in one smooth motion. The static pops against my skin.
I’m left in my bra and jeans, skin on fire, nipples hard under the soft lace.
The air in the room chills my skin, but the look on Mick’s face is enough to scorch the rest of me.
He’s dead silent, jaw tight, hands flexing open and shut like he’s forcibly restraining himself from just taking me down to the mattress right here.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he breathes like he’s saying it to himself, like he still can’t believe it’s happening.
I start to make a joke, some half-baked line about bold statements, but it dies in my throat the moment he puts both hands on my waist and lifts me to stand against him.
I’m not a small girl. I have hips and ass and thighs that do not disappear in low lighting, and this man moves me like I weigh nothing. The city is pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, painting his shoulders in gold and blue.
He looks down at me, searching. His thumb sweeps a line from my hip up to my ribcage, tracing the edge of the tattoo nobody ever sees. I wonder if he’ll ask about it, but all he says is, “You’re mine.”
“I only agree to that if it’s reciprocal.”
“Hell yeah it is,” he growls, then yanks me into his chest. His lips close over mine. My hands find his shoulders, digging in for purchase, and for the first time in my entire life, I feel like I’m right where I belong.
My whole body is going haywire. I dig my fingers into his bare shoulders, as if I’ll float away if I don’t hold on. He makes a sound, deep in his chest that vibrates through me and lands straight between my legs.
His hands spread over my hips, warm and enormous. I swear they could span my entire freaking rib cage if he tried. He’s breathing like he just played a triple overtime, and I am, too, wrecked and shaky and literally vibrating with how bad I want him.
He leans his forehead to mine, noses brushing. For a half-second, the world narrows to just the heat of his skin and the look in his eyes.
“Last chance to tell me to stop.” His voice is just a scrape now, a low, desperate growl.
I laugh, or something like it, all breathless and wild. “I’ll murder you if you stop now.”
He grins then his mouth is back on mine, hard enough to bruise, and I don’t care. I want the mark and the memory and the whole damn thing.
He gives me a little push and I fall flat on the bed, his hands never losing contact. I bounce, just a little, and it makes me laugh again. He steps back and starts ripping away his clothes, and my brain does that thing where it short-circuits.
He yanks at the button on my jeans and I lift my hips to help him shimmy them off.
Oh, God. I’m in just my favorite black lace bra and the matching panties that I mostly save for laundry day or funerals. What can I say? I went all out for this.
He stares for a long second then he drops on top of me, breathing hard, eyes black and greedy but weirdly tender, too. His palm runs down my thigh, all the way to my knee, and then back up, tracing the tattoo along my ribs. Like he’s memorizing it. Like it means something.
“Didn’t know you had this,” he mutters, thumb tracing the edge of the small rose like it’s sacred. “Fuck, it looks good on you.”
I can’t speak. My brain one hundred percent jello. I just grab him by the stupidly broad shoulders and pull him down on top of me.
His mouth is hot against my neck, my chest, everywhere. His hands slip under me, unhooking my bra and I barely have time to even feel self-conscious before he tears it away and my boobs are just out there, full display, nipples hard as rocks from the chill and the desire.
He stares until I fight the urge to wiggle on the bed then he palms my boobs, fingers spreading wide. I should be embarrassed by the loud moan that escapes me, but I’m not. Not one freaking bit.
“Oh my God.” My back arches off the bed. His hands are so big, so hot, and he handles me like I’m made of something precious. And also like he’s two seconds away from devouring me whole.
He pinches my nipple, rough and greedy, which sends electricity shooting down my spine. The other hand slides down my body, over my stomach, and hooks into my panties. He drags them down, slow, making a show of it. “Show off.”
“What am I showing off?” He smirks down at me.
“Your seduction skills.” I mutter as he kisses his way down my chest, closing his mouth over my nipple and sucking, hard.
My hands fly to his hair, clutching at the short, sweat-damp strands at the back of his head. He groans, tongue flicking over the tip, sucking again, and I lose the ability to form complete sentences. I can’t do anything except moan and writhe and hold on for dear life.
He kisses his way across my chest to the other boob, “You’re the only one I ever want to seduce.” Before I have time to respond, he gives the other nipple same ruthless, focused attention. My brain completely shuts down and I forget all about the topic.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp. “Holy shit.”
He laughs, a low, filthy sound, but it’s with me, not at me. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
Then his mouth is everywhere. Down my ribs, pausing at my tattoo, tongue flicking over the ink. His hands never stop moving, greedy and reverent at once, squeezing my hips, spreading me open wide.
I’m laid out flat, nothing but heat and want and the desperate, slightly hysterical need to have him now.
He slides down, settles between my thighs, and just pauses to look at me. The city lights turn his hair gold at the edges, his face dark and intent.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs.
I can’t form words. I think I make a sound, but it’s swallowed up in the next second when he kisses his way up my inner thigh.
His tongue is hot, his hands heavy, and every single nerve ending in my body is screaming with want. He licks a stripe up the center of my pussy, slow, deliberate, and my hips shoot off the bed.
He moans against me, like I’m the one driving him crazy, and holy hell, that does things to me. He doesn’t rush. Just licks and sucks, using his mouth with single-minded devotion.
He pushes two big fingers into me, and I nearly lose my mind. My body clamps down, greedy, desperate.
I make a sound that is not human. More like a fire alarm, if the fire alarm could moan.
Holy. Moly. Moly.
His tongue swirls around my clit and his fingers are absolutely ruthless. He curves them just right, and suddenly I’m orbiting a different planet, somewhere between heaven and blackout.
I fumble for something to grab, digging my nails into his shoulders and he just groans like he loves it, like being suffocated by my thighs is his actual life calling.
“Fuck, Mia,” he growls against me. “You taste so goddamn good. Can’t get enough.”
I literally can’t string two thoughts together. All I can do is buck against his mouth. No apology. Not even a smidge of dignity left.
He doubles down, pinning my thighs wide with those giant hands, and goes at it like he’s trying to win a championship for going down on me. Every flick, every nip, every fucking swirl of his tongue is like an electric current straight to my soul.
“Oh my god, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” I babble. It’s not even real language at this point.
He lifts his head, lips glistening, dark eyes locked on mine. And then, as if I wasn’t wrecked enough, he licks his lips slow. “Mine,” he says, like a soul-altering declaration.
My mind and body shatter as an orgasm slams through me, sharp and wild. Every single muscle seizes. My heels dig into his back, my hands in his hair, hips driving up into his face like I’m possessed.
He groans, eating up every last tremor, slow and greedy. He doesn’t stop, not even when I’m shaking uncontrollably, riding wave after wave.
He finally drags himself up my body, peppering kisses across my ribs, my boobs, my throat. When he reaches my mouth, he kisses me filthy and deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue. Oh, holy moly.
I whimper into his mouth because there’s literally nothing left of me except for raw need.
His stubble scrapes my chin as he claims my mouth again, greedy and unfiltered, then slower, like he needs to memorize how I taste. My legs are trembling around his hips, my arms are limp and I’m basically a human puddle.
He breaks away and looks at me. His hair stands up in all directions, and his lips are swollen and slick.
“You, okay?” His voice rough and low, those giant hands coming up to cradle my face.
Understatement of a lifetime, but I find my voice. “I’m so far beyond okay.”
He laughs, but there’s an edge to it. “Glad to hear it.” His thumb brushes my cheek, weirdly gentle for a man who just tried to break the laws of physics with his mouth.
His body settles over mine, all heat and weight and pure muscle, and I can feel every rock-hard inch of him.
I squirm, and he grinds down into me, and I nearly lose consciousness. He fumbles for a second, then lines his cock up at my wet opening and pushes in, barely, just the head.
Oh my god. Holyholymoly.
My hands scramble for purchase and my nails rake his shoulders. My eyes roll back in my head as my mind goes blank.
“Mia,” he growls out, “fuck, baby, you feel so good. So tight.”
He pushes the rest of the way in, slow but relentless. Stretching me, filling me, the kind of perfect burn that has my back arching off the sheets.
He’s big, physics-defying big and my girly bits are going to be sore tomorrow. God. I look forward to it.
He braces both hands on either side of my head, sweat dripping down his temple, jaw clenched like he’s holding back for me. “Please.” I manage to moan.
He starts to move, and electricity flows down my spine. Slow at first, rolling his hips, grinding against me like he wants to drag out every second. Then faster, pounding into me with this need that’s beyond physical.
Every thrust shoves me higher up the mattress and I hold on for dear life.
He grinds deep and I arch so hard my spine almost snaps. “Oh my god,” I pant, legs clamping around his waist, digging my heels into the small of his back just to keep him as close as humanly possible.
His hands bracket my head, huge and warm, and he lowers his lips to my ear. His breath is pure fire.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I do. I can barely see straight, but I do. His gaze pins me down, heavy and sharp, like he could fuse us together with just his will. Every damn thrust is like being set on fire in the best possible way.
The edge builds, burns, coils so tight I almost sob.
He goes faster, hips pistoning into me with purpose, but there’s this weird tenderness, too. Like he wants to absolutely ruin me but also hold me together at the same time. I can’t even process it. My mind is blown.
My hands tangle in his hair. His mouth finds my throat. He bites and kisses, sucking a mark into the skin until I shiver.
“Mine,” he grits, low and raw, every part of his body insisting on it. “All fucking mine.”
Stars detonate behind my eyes. The world shrinks to nothing but us and the pounding rhythm of his body in mine.
The next thing I know, an orgasm slams into me like I’m getting hit by a truck. I cry out and the sound echoes around the room. My whole body seizes, nails clawing at his back, legs shaking like I just ran a marathon.
Mick groans, ragged and desperate, and slams in one, two, three more times and then he lets go, jaw clenched, face buried in my shoulder, every inch of him shaking with the force of it.
For a minute, there’s nothing but the ragged sound of his breathing and my whimpering echoing off the walls.
He flops down next to me, but not all the way. He tucks me into his side, still half on top, his arms tight around my waist like he’s afraid I might just disappear. “Wow.” I breathe against his warm skin.
“You can say that again.”