Mica

by Ronin Winters

  “I never said I was worried. I’m just not sure how to react next time I see him.”

  “And we go back to you following my aforementioned advice.”

  The conversation halted at the jingling bell signaling a customer walking in. “We’re closed,” Sophie called out.

  “I’m not here for tea.”

  “Oh.” Mica’s large body always seemed to expand to fill her shop, making it seem so tiny whenever he was inside. She’d always loved that feeling, though. It wasn’t oppressive, or dominating. Instead, it wrapped around her and shouted safe. “Hello.”

  “Hi.” And that smile was there, as he walked to stand in front of her. He was in his usual flannel and jeans combo, and a sizzle of disappointment hit that his tattoos weren’t on display right now. “I came to ask if you’d like to go on a date with me. Try to do things proper.”

  “And if I’d rather you did things improper?”

  The words popped out before she could consider them, the flirting tone of her voice unpracticed and unrehearsed. Warmth suffused her entire her body, and she fought to keep her hands to her side and not cover her face. Her response wasn’t planned in any way, but she’d meant it, and now that the words were out, she’d stand by them.

  His smile remained, but it took on a feral edge, his eyes seeming to brighten with her words. “I’m yours to command. Tell me to kneel, and I’ll be before you.”

  It was evil of him to put that image in her head, because how could her breathing not speed up, her skin not heat up, when in her mind he was kneeling before her, those big hands wrapped around her thighs, that beard brushing against the folds of her pussy…

  “And the sexual tension in here just went nuclear.” Jo’s voice brought her back from imaginings that were too vivid and were not fit for the public, and Sophie dropped her eyes and head in embarrassment. “You two kids need to get out of here, because I am not letting you do things that would defile our shop and get our food license yanked.”

  Jo shoved Sophie towards Mica, who wrapped an arm around her, and the gesture soothed something inside Sophie. It was if there was an audible click in her head when they fit together. This is right. This fits. Still, things weren’t done like this. “Jo-”

  Jo wasn’t hearing any of it, because she then proceeded to push them both towards the door. To be fair, Mica was already walking that way, but Jo still was strong. “She likes Italian. Anthony’s on Fourth would be perfect, and make sure she gets the tiramisu.”

  She and Mica were outside. The shop door slammed and the curtains were drawn, and Sophie was left on the sidewalk with the man who, last night, called her fuckable.

  Mica tilted his head. “Shall we get lasagna or stuffed shells?”

  He ordered wine for her as soon as they were seated. It wasn’t that he wanted her drunk – hell no, he wanted her completely aware, because if he had his way, little Miss Sophie was going to be panting under him tonight, and since he wouldn’t touch her if she was incapacitated, she needed to be sober.

  So no, not drunk, but he did want to take the edge from her. He wanted the woman she was when she wasn’t letting those demons in her head tell her how she should feel. He wanted the woman who was standing in front of him earlier, the one who was unaware of the pure sensuality she radiated as she challenged him.

  And if I’d rather you did things improper?

  If the other woman hadn’t been in the store, he would have done as he’d said, been on his knees to worship her. Right now, she could be coming because of his lips, the pure taste of his mate alive on his tongue as she wriggled and pushed her pussy into his mouth, chasing her pleasure and using him as was her right.

  The plan seemed to be working. She was relaxed and happy, smiles and low-key flirtations. She was perfect, biting into her ravioli, her tongue slipping out every so often to swipe along her lower lip. Elegant and sensual.

  “My grandma was the baker in our family,” she was saying, in response to his question about why she opened a tea shop. “Many of my recipes are from her, though I’ve done plenty of experimenting myself.”

  She spoke a lot about her grandmother, but no mention was made of any other family, and their deliberate absence spoke of a rift. He didn’t want to probe at that wound, not tonight. “The ones I like, are they yours or hers? And don’t tell me you don’t know what I like. I noticed how you’ve switched away from anything sweet.”

  Sophie ducked her head, a pleased little expression on her face. “About half and half, I’d say. More of the sweet ones are hers.”

  “You’ve got a gift.”

  Another sip of her wine, and he followed the line of her throat as she swallowed, the movement mesmerizing him. “It’s a joy. I get to do something I love and share it with people. Most people who come into my shop either are already happy, or want to become happy. I get to share in that, and contribute to it. And I get to drink my tea.”

  He raised his own glass in salute. “Which is important.”

  “Absolutely,” she said, placing her hand over heart in mock seriousness. “You do not want to get between me and my daily cup of tea.”

  “And just how many types of tea are there?”

  “I don’t know how many there are, but I know I carry one-hundred and twenty-five varieties.”

  Mica snorted, putting down his pint of beer. “I think that’s enough to satisfy all the little old ladies.”

  “Not quite. I don’t have a liquor license, so I have to look away quick anytime I see a hint of a flask being passed around.”

  She was adorable, all lit up and smiling as she told stories about her customers. He knew for a fact it wasn’t tea, or even an unspoken agreement, that kept people returning to her shop. It was the unadorned adoration that shone from her face. It was obvious she loved her business. “So a tea shop is really what you want to do?”

  “It’s been my dream since I was a little girl. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  The waitress appeared beside, a conventionally pretty blonde. Sophie had tensed a little at the beginning of the night, but when the waitress was nothing except friendly professional, she’d relaxed in the girl’s presence. “Can I get anything else for you?”

  “Tiramisu,” Mica said, before Sophie could answer in the negative like she was about to. “Two forks since we’ll be sharing, and two cups of coffee, cream and sugar.”

  The waitress jotted down the order and went straight away, and Sophie eyed him with indulgent exasperation. “Do you always order for others?”

  “Not always. Only sometime. And in this case, I was following orders.”

  “The coffee?”

  He shrugged. “Who eats tiramisu without coffee?”

  “What about the caffeine this late at night?” Her cheeks pinked at the question, those green eyes looking up at him through her thick lashes.

  “Who knows? Maybe there will be something worth staying up for.”

  Chapter Five

  Normally she’d never go back to a man’s place on the first date, but she had such an intense desire to see more of Mica’s life after yearning for him from afar for all this time that she didn’t have the strength to tell him no when he made the suggestion.

  It helped that she knew – without a doubt – if she refused any advances and told him no, he’d respect her wishes and take her back to her place like a perfect gentleman.

  It helped that she knew – without a doubt – that she wasn’t going to tell him no.

  He lived in an apartment building, a great opulent place she’d never associate with him. There was a guard at the door who nodded at him as he passed, though he didn’t speak. The carpets in the hallways were plush, the walls spotless except for strategically placed artwork, and she’d never seen any place like this outside of television.

  “Wow,” came out of her mouth as he opened the door, and she’d be embarrassed later at sounding like a country bumpkin, but right now she was too busy taking in the gorgeous modern desig
n of the interior, all wood and metal, yet somehow still welcoming, still looking like it was meant to be lived in and not just admired.

  She sank into the most comfortable leather couch she’d ever known, wanting to moan as it enveloped her. A large matching chair was on the opposite side of the large living area, with a large cabinet – probably a hidden entertainment set – on one opposite wall and windows making up the other, completing the square. “This place is gorgeous, but I wouldn’t put you living here.”

  “Cabin in the woods?”

  He said it with good humor, so she wasn’t embarrassed to nod her head in agreement. “I like the lumberjack aesthetic though, so please don’t change.”

  “You like the beard?”

  She licked her suddenly dry lips as all the fantasies she’d had of that beard flashed through her mind. “I love the beard.”

  He must have seen something of her thoughts on her face, because his own tightened, and his eyes ran down to linger on the curve of her breasts under her blouse.

  Climb him like a tree. He’s a lumberjack. He’ll like it.

  Jo’s advice circled her head as she stared at those sharp cheekbones and deep set eyes. She’d never had a thing for beards before, but on him, imagining those short, blunt hairs tracing over her skin, down the length of her back, across her thighs, to finally settle against the delicate skin of her pussy…she wanted the slight scratchiness. She wanted his tongue to come out and soothe her afterwards, rubbing against the multitude of little red marks before settling in to eat her out, to work inside her and fill her and eat her.

  Swallowing hard, before she lost her nerve, Sophie stood from the couch, raised herself on tiptoe, and kissed him.

  That must have been the signal he was waiting for, because within moments, it was turned around, and now he was in control, settling her against him so her breasts were firm against the rock hard muscle of his chest, and they both groaned against each other’s mouth at the sensation.

  How could someone be so rough yet so gentle? His kisses included small nips, his teeth running over the sensitive skin of her mouth, his tongue licking over the swelling skin, then opening her up and invading her mouth, gliding against hers, making her surrender under him, making her go wide for him, give everything to him. He was demanding, overpowering, and she could no more control the sensations he pulled from her than the tide could escape the pull of the moon.

  He moved from her lips to the sensitive skin of her neck. Even here he used teeth and tongue, marking her, growling against her throat with every newly made dark spot against her pale skin. His beard was softer than she’d imagined, but it too roughened her skin, left reddened trails in its wake. She shivered under his ministrations, her body trembling with his every nip, every claim.

  His hands were firm as the travelled the length of her back, forcing moans from her throat at the possessive push over her body. Even here was sensitive, aware of him, becoming pliant under his control.

  “So perfect,” he whispered, as she whimpered with every movement of his calloused fingers over her still clothed skin. “You’re burning me. I’ll be shocked as hell if I survive your fire.”

  He shouldn’t be allowed to speak. Not with that voice. Not at a time like this. It was breaking her apart, opening her in ways that she’d never allowed or even wanted before.

  “You’re perfect.” In that voice again, and now his hands reached down to palm the curve of her ass, to reach under, and with no discernible effort, without allowing her time to think or react, his hands reached under her thighs and pulled her up, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling her flush against him.

  The spell broke once all she could focus on was her belly pressed against the flat planes of muscle of his, on how her thighs jiggled against when his were nothing but firm and hard. “Let me down.”

  He didn’t answer. With his one hand still cupped under ass, his other hand pulled down the neckline of her blouse, allowing his lips to roam further down her throat, to the collar bones which now seemed to consume all his attention as he marked her here as well, damp splotches that had her legs tightening around him in unconscious reaction.

  “Let me down,” Sophie repeated. She couldn’t be held like this, vulnerable, her every flaw so apparent. At this angle, every roll showed, and he couldn’t help but feel how heavy she was. He’d change his mind. He might have been fooling himself before, somehow unaware, but now she was exposed to him and he’d…he’d…

  “What do you think? I somehow convinced myself you were this skinny thing, and now I’m going to find out the truth?” He had pulled back, his face now inches from hers, his eyes burning into her. “You think I’m going to change my mind? Find you unattractive now?”

  Mica began to walk backwards, with her still pressed tight against him, until in a smooth move he sat in the large chair, her still in his lap and his hand cupping her ass.

  With the hand not on her he reached between their bodies, down to where her thighs were spread on top of his legs, the back of his hand deliberately pressing hard against her pussy, which was only covered by the light layers of her skirt and panties. She sucked in a breath, her hips making an abortive movement forward, in a desperate plea to make him press again.

  His lips parted and a harsh breath escaped him, but he didn’t touch her again. Instead his hand worked at his own pants, and the metallic slide of the zipper was loud in the silent room.

  He grasped her hand which had been lying against her thigh and without pause, wrapped it around his cock, causing her to jump at the unexpected sensation, his own hand still covering her own so she couldn’t pull away.

  Warm. Hard. Pulsing underneath her grip, and so big. Without intention, her fingers curled around him and she squeezed, rewarded with another groan, with his hips pushing up into the sensation.

  Now he moved her hand up and down the shaft, not letting her pause, his own breaths panting, though he didn’t look down. No, his eyes stayed fixed on hers. “That’s what you do to me. That fucking body of yours. Every pound and every curve. Every line and every fucking jiggle.”

  He pushed up hard then, the rasp in his throat so deep it almost sounded like pain, and she was panting too, her breaths matching his, her pussy growing damp in response to this wondrous heat and hardness within her hand.

  His hand tightened over hers, and now they were squeezing his shaft, their fingers interlocked, the thickness of him firing up the heat in her belly which had momentarily cooled. “I love your weight against me. I love how curved you are. I love that there is nothing hard or angled on you.” He leaned up, their hands still on him, and he licked a line from the top of her shirt up to her chin. “You are nothing but soft and welcoming and you are fucking sexy as hell. I want you bouncing on me, and I’m going to come inside all that soft heat. My come is going to be dripping out of that pussy, and then I’m going to get you on your hands and knees and put more inside you, all the while watching that fat ass take the pounding I’m going to give it.”

  The shaft of his penis pulsed under her hand, as if in agreement with his words, and she couldn’t breathe, her lungs locked up inside of her chest.

  “Now pull down that fucking top so I can see those big breasts. I want them in my mouth – now.”

  With her free hand she ripped at her collar, awkward but determined, and soon the wide neckline of her peasant top gave way so she could pull her one breast free, pushing the fabric of the bra underneath it, exposing it like an offering.

  He lurched forward to get his mouth on her before she was even fully out of the way, her hand getting caught in the strap. That didn’t stop him. All the biting, the marking he did to her neck, now it was ten times as intense, as if he couldn’t stand to think an centimeter of skin had not made in into his mouth. He rolled her nipple in his mouth, his teeth barely grazing, and she let out a keening wail, her hips pushing down and into him, brushing against that hard cock and their hands still wrapped around it.

 
His hand let hers go and began to move up her thigh, pushing her skirt up as he went, the fabric teasing as it slowly rode up her leg. His mouth let go of her nipple and he turned his head so his eyes could now follow the trail of newly exposed skin, the beard rougher on this more delicate skin.

  How would it feel against her pussy?

  She shivered at the thought, then shivered again once the skirt was pulled up so it now exposed her panties and the bottom swell of her stomach. He growled, the sound barely more than a rumble against her skin, and an answering wetness answered that claim.

  He tucked the skirt up into the waistband so it stayed out of his way, and now she was exposed to him, only her thin white panties hiding her from his view.

  One finger hooked into the side of the fabric and drew it across her flesh, exposing the pink, wet mound of her pussy, hot and waiting for him.

  “Fuck,” he breathed, the word reverent, broken as it escaped his lips. He inhaled, his nostrils flaring as though he wanted to bring her essence to within him. The hand that had always remained on her ass now fisted into her hair, manhandling her so her face was only an inch from his, where the only thing now in her vision was his eyes, the pupils blown wide so no hint of blue existed anymore. “This is mine.”

  It was a question, and a statement, and a claiming. “Yes,” she breathed her agreement, not daring to deny him in any way – not wanting to deny him.

  She wanted his brand. She wanted his heat, his mark, and his come, and she wanted them now, with a fierceness of feeling she never thought possible before this night, this man.

  Then he shifted, dislodging her hand, and he was inside her, his cock filling every inch of her bare pussy and demanding more, hotter and harder than she’d thought even as it filled her hand.

  Her mouth fell open, a hard exhalation as he bottomed out inside her, not an inch of space not full of him.

  Mica pushed up in small, intimate movements that had her head falling back, even that small sensation overwhelming her, lighting up her nerves and causing hot pleasure to course through her body. A harder push, and she cried out, the sound torn from her, and her hands came up to her cover her mouth, her fingers pushing in to silence herself.