Chapter 7 #3
We didn't talk. We didn't need to. The "Secret Language" of the touch was saying everything.
I've got you.
I'm safe with you.
I want you.
We reached the hotel room door. 206.
I swiped my key card. The light turned green.
"Mikey," I said, turning to him. "Thank you. For dinner. For... everything."
He was staring at my mouth. "Don't thank me for doing what I'm built to do."
He stepped closer. We were in the hallway. Anyone could see us. Uncle Mac could walk around the corner.
He didn't care.
"You looked beautiful tonight," he said, his voice rough. "When you laughed at Jagger's joke... I wanted to bottle that sound."
"You're charming when you're not growling," I teased softly.
"I'm not trying to be charming," he murmured, bracing one hand against the doorframe above my head. "I'm trying to be restrained."
"Don't be."
The words slipped out. A invitation. A dare.
Mikey’s eyes darkened. He pushed me gently backward, into the dark room. He followed, kicking the door shut behind him.
The click of the lock was the loudest sound in the world.
He didn't turn on the lights. The only illumination came from the streetlights outside, filtering through the sheer curtains.
He backed me up until my legs hit the bed.
"Lydia," he warned. "If we do this... if I kiss you now... I'm not going to stop at a kiss. Not like last time."
"Good," I whispered.
He groaned and crashed his mouth onto mine.
It wasn't gentle. It was starving. It was the kiss of a man who had been denying himself water for years and finally found a river.
His tongue swept into my mouth, demanding, tasting, claiming. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He tasted like steak and cola and pure, unadulterated male.
He lifted me up effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist. He walked us forward, pinning me against the wall next to the bathroom.
"Mikey," I gasped against his lips.
"I've got you," he growled. "I've got you, baby."
His hands were everywhere. In my hair, gripping my waist, squeezing my thighs. He was desperate to touch every inch of me at once.
He pulled back to look at me, his chest heaving.
"You're so small," he marveled, running his thumb over my bottom lip. "So soft. I'm terrified I'm going to break you."
"I'm not glass," I said fiercely. "I'm tougher than I look."
"I know," he smiled, a crooked, beautiful thing. "You're fierce. My little warrior."
He kissed my jaw, trailing wet, hot kisses down my neck. He found the sensitive spot right above my collarbone and sucked.
I arched into him, a moan escaping me.
"Mine," he whispered against my skin. "Let them see. Let them all see."
He reached for the hem of my sweater. I lifted my arms, eager to feel his skin against mine.
He pulled the sweater off, tossing it onto the floor. I was in my bra—a simple black thing.
Mikey stared at me like I was a religious icon. He reached out, tracing the line of lace with a shaking finger.
"Perfection," he breathed.
He leaned in, his mouth hovering over the swell of my breast.
Then he froze.
He pulled back, his head snapping toward the balcony door.
"What?" I whispered, dazed.
"Heartbeat," he said. "Outside."
He moved instantly, shifting from lover to protector. He grabbed my sweater from the floor and shoved it into my hands.
"Put it on," he ordered. "Stay here."
He stalked to the balcony door and ripped the curtains back.
Standing on the connecting balcony of room 204 was Jagger. He was holding a bucket of ice and looking sheepish.
Mikey unlocked the door and slid it open.
"What the fuck, Jagger?" Mikey roared.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Jagger held up his hands. "I got locked out! My key card de-magnetized and I needed ice for my knee and I thought... I saw the light was off in here so I figured you guys were sleeping!"
Mikey stood there, shirtless (when had he taken his shirt off?), breathing hard, vibrating with frustration.
I pulled my sweater on, my face burning.
Mikey looked back at me. The moment was shattered. The adrenaline of the fight had replaced the adrenaline of the lust.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.
"Get in here, Jagger," Mikey growled. "Before I throw you off the balcony."
Jagger scrambled inside, looking between the two of us. He saw my flushed face. He saw Mikey’s swollen lips.
"Oh," Jagger said, wincing. "Oh, damn. I interrupted... that."
"Yes," Mikey said. "You did."
He walked over to me. He didn't kiss me. He couldn't—not in front of Jagger.
He just took my hand and squeezed it. Hard.
"Lock the door behind us," Mikey said to me. "Put the chain on."
"I will," I whispered.
"Goodnight, Mouse."
"Goodnight, Mikey."
He dragged Jagger out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind them.
I locked it. I put the chain on.
I leaned my forehead against the wood.
My body was humming. My lips were swollen. I had a hickey forming on my neck that I would have to hide with makeup tomorrow.
I slid down to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees.
I was in trouble. I was in so much trouble.
Because when he had said "She's mine" in the restaurant... I hadn't felt owned.
I had felt found.