Mickey's Baby

by Annie J. Rose

  “Yeah,” I managed, “I want you inside me. I missed your cock,” I said breathlessly.

  “That’s all you missed?”

  His fingers stroked through the tender wetness between my legs.

  “Your hands,” I groaned. “I missed your hands too.”

  His filthy laugh behind me made my body quiver with anticipation. “Yeah,” he said, “you want it. But you’re gonna have to wait for it.”

  I gave a grunt of frustration, but he knew it for what it was. Excitement for delayed gratification. I got his hands on my thighs, his fingers all around the spot where I needed him most. I got a lewd tease, the hottest touches, just shy of what I wanted to take me over the edge. I loved every second of it. And that smartass knew it.

  When I started working my hips to try to get what I needed, trying to grind against his hand, he drew back and then swept the backs of his fingers, his knuckles all along my sex. A strangled cry came out of me that was somewhere on the spectrum between euphoria and agony. I smacked the counter, wanting to shout something obnoxious to make him go faster. Then with the knuckle of one finger, he breached my sex, brushing all along those sensitive folds. Even though he wasn’t touching my clit, I felt myself start to go off. It was an electric shock to my senses, the convulsions low in my belly and around his knuckle. Just as it began, he pulled away again. I swore and when he laughed, I swore again.

  “You have to be patient, angel,” he said, his mouth on my spine again, making me writhe. “You know it’s worth the wait. Trust me.”

  His voice crooned to me, so deceptively tender. The man was an animal, a caveman, the giver of the greatest orgasms of my life. His cock, his hands, his mouth, sometimes even just his voice in my ear at the right moment as he touched me—the man was a masterful lover and nothing less. I’d had my share of men, and he was one of a kind. He was addictive, like a poison in my veins, this need for him. The way he ramped up my arousal, stoked my lust until I was jerking and whimpering, well past the ability to use words or do anything but take whatever he gave me and be grateful for it.

  As I lay there, bent over the kitchen counter with my skirt shoved up around my waist, I let my mind drift as he touched me. I played a highlight reel of Mickey O’Shea’s greatest hits. The time up against his refrigerator, right inside his door, without even turning on the lights, just going at it as soon as we got in his cabin. The cold stainless steel against my back as he shoved me up the side of it and buried his cock inside me without a single word. He hadn’t teased me that time. His need for me had been too strong. I had loved that, those moments when he couldn’t wait to have me, when he wanted me too much to play games with me. Even though the games were delicious, I liked knowing I could have that effect on him. I could lean in and whisper something to him at the pub and the next thing I knew, we’d be in the back of his Jeep, fucking with his hand over my mouth because I was a screamer. That made it even hotter, knowing we had to be quiet, had to hurry before someone caught us. The first time that we were in his bed together, I had ridden him in reverse cowgirl, his hands kneading my ass and telling me to go hard, go for it, take what I wanted. I had felt like a goddess that night. He did that—made me feel like I was special, and not just another piece of ass he picked up at the bar.

  He had awakened me in the night more than once with his hands or mouth between my legs, almost seeking me while he was half asleep, wanting me again and again. It was rare that I met a man who had the kind of stamina and sex drive I did. More often than not, I’d been called ugly names and shamed by men who couldn’t keep up or who thought women should be quiet and thankful for cursory, vanilla sex with zero foreplay and zero orgasms. I didn’t put up with that crap, and I got called a whore more than once for speaking up for my own needs. It had only been Mickey O’Shea who gave me all I could stand and seemed willing to give even more if I wanted it.

  When he pulled me up to stand in front of him and stripped off my tank top, I was startled. He cupped my full breasts, heavy and throbbing, in his big, rough hands. He massaged and squeezed and then pinched my nipples, not too gently. He knew somehow when I needed gentleness. Tonight, I needed proof of his fierce desire matching mine. I needed to know my body turned him on and that he wanted to be with me and no one else all night long. He kissed my shoulder and my neck, his mouth hot along my throat, his soft bite sending another gush of arousal between my legs. I rubbed my thighs together, hearing the wetness and liking it. He heard it too and pushed one hand down my belly. He was making me arch back against him and burying his fingers in my wet slit. I gave a cry and ground against his hand as he thrust three long fingers into me, working them in and out, then spreading two fingers to stretch me. I quivered at the sensation, at how primal it was, knowing he was getting my body ready to handle his invasion. He took his time, working me, stretching me and fingering me until I was about out of my mind. Then he gripped my jaw and turned my head so he could claim my lips. His tongue plunged into my mouth, no sweet preamble of light pecks or anything. Just deep, searing kisses that turned my body to molten lava. After the kiss, he bent me back down over the counter almost dismissively. I was ready to give him any part he wanted, over and over again.

  I felt his hands leave me for a moment, and heard the rip of foil and the snap of a condom. Then without a single word, without the slightest caress, Mickey was fucking me over the counter. I gasped, unable to catch my breath when he penetrated me. The size and girth of him always took me by surprise. The best kind of surprise, that feels like paradise but also stings and makes you shift uncomfortably, thinking maybe you can’t take it all. But I did, because as demanding, as masterful as he was, he was also gentle and deliberate and went slowly. He didn’t pound into me to start with. He pushed his way in like he was sinking into a hot bath. The head of him flared and twitched as he slid inside my tight sheath.

  When he said, “Oh!” like he was completely stunned by how amazing this felt, I looked back over my shoulder and saw his face, his mouth open, his brow furrowed in a look of extreme concentration. His chin tipped up when he gripped my hips and hauled me back against him in one long, endless stroke. I ground out a cry and felt the roughness of his sac rubbing against my sensitive outer lips. He was balls deep in me and I moaned just from the knowledge of that. The pressure of his heavy erection was within me. I panted, trying to breathe shallow so I could take it. I wanted to take it. It felt so sweet, so sharp.

  His hand snaked around my belly and cupped my mound, his fingers questing for a moment until he found my clit. First he rubbed with his thumb as he rocked in and out of me. I lay limp, face down on the counter and let him thrust and fondle and do anything he wanted. My body burned with pleasure, there to receive him and ignite. Then he tugged my clit with his thumb and finger, an intense pull starting deep in my belly. When he pinched and rubbed, alternating, not letting me know what to expect, I started screaming from the sensations he poured through my body, my nerves firing and misfiring, erratic with jolts of pure, burning ecstasy. I started to thrash in his grip.

  With one arm, he hoisted me up, my feet dangling above the floor as he held me up and drove into me. I flailed for purchase, something to hold, and reached back and caught his hair in my hand. As he held me, one arm around my stomach, one hand cupping my sex as he moved into me and then pulled out a little only to bury himself in me again. I splintered apart in a phenomenal orgasm that sent my legs kicking out and my head flying back. I thought it would never end, the sharp contractions low in my belly, the ones that made him groan out my name and made his back bow as he came.

  Mickey set me on my feet. I was dizzy, bracing my hands on the counter then giving up and sinking down to the floor with a shaky laugh. He cleaned up and then sat next to me, our backs against the cabinet.

  “Welcome home, Karin,” he said.

  “That was one hell of a housewarming.”

  “Good,” he said a little smugly. “Now we can go to bed and have some fun.”

&nb
sp; “What?”

  “Don’t give me that confused look,” he said, “you know I have to go wild on you before you relax and let me make love to you. Fine by me. I get it every way I want it and then some.”

  “What do you mean?” I said, narrowing my eyes.

  “I mean you got more walls up than anybody I ever met. The only way to get inside those walls is to overwhelm you, just break you down with sex. Then sometimes you’ll let me in. Sometimes you just want to leave. I take what I can get.”

  “Is that really how you see this? Like you have to unlock me with your dick?” I asked, only half-joking, half offended. My voice was raspy, breath heaving in and out from the exertion, from the urgency of that orgasm and the athletic way we fucked.

  “If it works, it works,” he said.

  “So you’re saying you didn’t enjoy any of that? It was all a means to an end?” I challenged, teasing him a little.

  “Now I’m not going that far. Any activity that ends with being balls deep in that sweet body of yours and making you scream is something I enjoy.”

  Mickey took my hand in his and kissed it, “I am so damn glad you’re back.”

  “Me, too.”

  “This is the part where you tell me you’re glad because of the business opportunity and because of Elise, and I just sit here like I’ve taken a blow to the head,” he said.

  “Too soon to joke about blows to the head,” I muttered, “After what that fucker did to Elise.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. Come here,” he said.

  Mickey put his arm around me. I leaned into his side, into all that hard muscle and hot skin, and let him run his fingers through my hair. It felt so good. I could have gone to sleep like that. It felt so soothing and so right.

  “Mmm, I used to love that.”

  “Somebody playing with your hair? I could do this all day,” he said, “your hair is so dark. When you leave it down—which you never do—you give off total Pocahontas vibes.”

  “Am I supposed to take a Disney princess comparison as a compliment?” I said wryly.

  “Yes. You have beautiful cheekbones and this long, raven black hair. It’s definitely princess-worthy. Just take the compliment,” he said a little grouchily.

  “Are you in a bad mood after all that?” I teased.

  “Yes. You need to make me feel better. In bed.”

  “Oh, is the mattress new, too?” I said.

  “No, it’s even better,” he got a mischievous look in his eye. “You know this was once a honeymoon suite. It has the coveted ocean view and some other additions to make it romantic.”

  “When you say romantic like that, it’s scary,” I said, “It makes me wonder if there’s gonna be a mirror on the ceiling or something.”

  “No, no mirrors,” he said archly.

  “Oh God. What’s on the ceiling? Dirty mural?” I scrambled to my feet, “I have to see this.”

  “Wait!” he said, hurrying after me playfully, “I want to see your face. Close your eyes and I’ll lead you in there.”

  I huffed, but I shut my eyes and let him take my hands and lead me ahead by slow, careful steps. It should have been silly, not sexy, but the absence of sight, the way his hands felt in mine, his big palms, his strong fingers was erotic somehow.

  “Just through here,” he said, and backed up ahead of me, pulling me forward, “Now open your eyes.”

  I looked around the tiny bedroom that was mostly taken up by a huge waterbed that had a big square oak headboard with leatherette diamonds to decorate it and a big squishy vinyl padding around the edge of the platform.

  “This is fantastic,” I said, “This is a genuine eighties water bed. How did it survive?”

  “It’s incredibly well preserved. I cleaned it up and got a replacement, um, bag for it and filled it. It’s not low motion,” he grinned.

  “Oh, come here right now!” I said kicking off my shoes and launching myself onto the bed. The water in the mattress sloshed under my weight, waves rolling around me as I got settled, “This is fucking fantastic,” I said, “I will never get any sleep. It’s too fun!”

  “I know. It was so cheesy I couldn’t bear to get rid of it without taking it for a spin.”

  “How’d that go?” I asked coldly, sitting up on my elbows.

  “What do you mean how’d it go?” he said, looking aggravated, “you just got here. When we’ve given it a try, I’ll let you know what I think. What—did you seriously think I brought someone else here and did what on this bed?” he looked pissed. Super pissed, “Goddammit, Karin.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. He flopped back on the bed, his weight displacing a huge quantity of water that basically crested and splashed me over several inches before the movement died down.

  “I’ve been gone like a month,” I said hotly. “It’s not like I don’t know you. You never made it more than about eight hours without sex when I was here.”

  “That was fucking different,” he said. “Do you honestly think I have sex three or four times a day with random strangers?”

  “You did with me. I was most definitely a random stranger. Or not so random. Just convenient because I tagged along with your brother’s girl,” I said, pissed.

  Mickey got right up in my face, “You listen to me. I don’t want to hear any more of that crap about how it went or about random girls. You know exactly what I want. If you don’t get it, I don’t know how to make you understand.”

  I shook my head. My friend with benefits was becoming a pain in the ass, but my throat was hurting like there might be tears involved. I didn’t do tears.

  “You talk so tough, and act like you don’t give a shit. It drives me crazy half the time. But then I get you in bed and tire you out enough that it’s just you here with me. When it’s just Karin in my arms, kissing me. That’s worth everything.”

  “Show me,” I managed to say.

  “Pay attention,” he said, his voice still coarse.

  His hands were so soft on me, both tender and demanding. He wasn’t just after my body, his kiss told me. He was after my soul this time. His lips on mine were coaxing, so patient, so lush. His lips nipped at mine, persuading me to open for him, to welcome the firm stroke of his tongue in my mouth. I melted into that kiss. It went on forever, an ebb and flow of increasingly needy kisses, of our tongues exploring and teasing and tasting to the fullest. When my whole body felt languid and yet turned inside out with his devious kisses, he stroked one finger down the side of my neck and made me shudder. The power of that single caress was enough to knock me over. He took advantage of my shiver to roll me under him. The waterbed rolled beneath us and we both laughed.

  He stroked my hair and teased my lips until I arched up to pursue his mouth with my own. It was so sensuous and playful I wasn’t sure I could stand it. It felt like he was drilling through the armor that protected me. He could coax me with sweetness, make me believe in it for an hour and leave me shattered on the other side. I didn’t want to risk it, but his kisses were irresistible. We were still in PG-13 territory, and I gave a replete sigh, so deeply satisfied by every way he touched me.

  He heard my shaky inhale when his thumb brushed the side of my breast. I was so turned on by his leisurely make out session on the waterbed. It was crazy. I even told him so.

  “You’re crazy,” I said.

  “You love it,” he said proudly.

  I didn’t deny it. Even though a tug in my chest told me to, said I should speak up and say I liked his cock, nothing else. I certainly didn’t have feelings for him beyond friendship and a liking for our favorite hobby of shagging each other senseless. No way did I have any serious feelings for him

  “Mick,” I said, moving my mouth to his jaw. The stubble grew there despite the fact he’d probably shaved first thing this morning. He always had a shadow of rough stubble on his jaw, and it felt so arousing to my sensitive skin.

  Mickey stroked my face, brushed back my hair and kissed my brows. I felt a swe
ll of something like affection for him. Liking him, liking this. I blinked the thought away. It was hormones or brain chemicals released by orgasm or some science shit like that. It wasn’t like I’d ever really get serious about a guy, and definitely not this one. Not this guy who was tracing the outline of my lips with his fingertip so lightly. My stomach tightened. He looked down at me, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

  “Hey,” he said, “I’m glad you’re home where you belong. It was a long damn month without you.”

  He kissed my lips softly, pecking at them in the most tantalizing way, brushing my hair off my face. I felt uneasy, except in a good way. There was pleasure in the feeling, in making him feel good. Not the powerful feeling I got from being on top usually, but some kind of pride.

  So I stroked his hair and ran my fingers through it. He shut his eyes, “Damn, that feels good,” he said. I loved the way it transformed his face, tension I hadn’t realized was there seemed to relax from his jaw and his lips and even his shoulders. He was broad and solid, all muscle, but watching something like relief wash over him from my hands was potent as hell. I leaned up a little and kissed his bottom lip much more gently than usual. He responded in kind, his mouth rocking over mine in slow, sensuous kisses and dips of his tongue.

  The way we were moving together was magic. My whole body felt alight under his hands as he stripped away my tank top and his fingers roamed freely on my large breasts. He dipped his head to take my nipple, and he shocked me, taking so much of my breast in his mouth and sucking it. I felt the deep draw of his mouth, the caress of his hot tongue like a lightning bolt between my legs. He lifted his face, grinned at me, and then feasted on my other nipple. My right breast, damp flesh cooling in the air without his hot mouth, was reddened from the action. I arched off the bed with the intensity of his pull on my nipple that grew so hard, so distended that it ached and my breasts throbbed with arousal. Then his mouth trailed along my collarbones. He massaged and fondled my breasts, stopping to lick or nip at them until I tried to wriggle away because I was too sensitive.