He tugged his shirt off, tossing it aside, exposing his incredibly drool-worthy chest. The taut muscles, tanned lines, and ripples of his abs were smoldering and damn right perfect. All of it was smoldering perfection. And—oh God—he had that ‘V’ thing going on with his lower abdominal muscles. Kind of like a treasure map pointing down to his pants. I’d seen him without his shirt before, but had never had a full opportunity to study him. Seeing him now made my mouth go dry and sent tantalizing tingles all through me. I’d called his good looks generic before, mostly as a self-defense mechanism, and partly because I was too stubborn to admit to myself how downright handsome the man was. Because guys as gorgeous as Mickey—they might have paid for one night with me—but they sure as hell didn’t want anything more than that. They fucked me, they paid me, and they left me.
I sat up, feeling a little vulnerable all of a sudden. I watched as Mickey next pushed his drawstring sweatpants down, not even the least bit hesitant, exposing where the treasure map led. Lord have mercy. He these thick, powerful thighs that only seemed to accentuate his full hardness.
“Your turn,” he commanded, taking his erection in his hand, stroking lazing up and down the length of it. “Take everything off for me.”
I bit down hard on my lip, needing a little bit of pain to serve as a distraction away from the beautiful sight of all of him in front of me. I was in awe and a little dumbstruck over his sheer sexiness. But…I did as he asked, unhooking my bra, pulling it away from my chest.
My nipples pebbled immediately against the exposed air.
“Keep going,” he encouraged.
Easier said than done when there was a Greek God standing in the room.
Mustering up as much confidence as I could, I shimmied out of my pants, pulling my underwear down too as I went. I pitched the clothes aside, giving him a ‘are you happy now’ look when I finished. I’d done this for plenty of men. Gotten naked, that is. Many paid extra for a little strip tease as part of the package. Plus, Mickey had already seen me naked—fully naked—and spread out on his desk under the unforgiving lights in his office. But none of that stopped the heat that spread across my skin, or lessened the painful thumping I felt in my clit.
With his pupils dilated and darkening his normal light blue, his eyes took me in. “You’re a goddess,” he stated, moving closer to the bed, close enough so that he stood next to where I now moved to sit on my knees. He touched my chin, gently tilting my head up so that I was looking at him as he looked down at me. “I’m not going to be able to hold back this time.”
“You were holding back before?” I muttered, my breathing uneven.
“Yes. I was a little out of it. I think your ‘no kissing’ thing threw me off—distracted me. I felt everything, though, when you kissed me for the first time.” He bent down and gave me a small, tender kiss. “I’m feeling everything now.”
Yeah…me fucking too.
“Should I get a condom?” he asked. This hadn’t come up the first time.
I shook my head. “I’m on birth control. I normally insist on using one—but I don’t ever want to with you.”
“Good. Same. If you’d rather we spend another night sleeping together with no touching—that’s fine, too. Whatever makes you happy.”
“No.” Hell, no! “I want you. If you were holding back the first time then you better not hold back this time.”
For a moment he only stared down at me. I wondered why he wasn’t already inside me. But then he spoke something so powerful that I could only remain frozen, stuck staring up at him.
“I love you.”
He said those three words for the second time today. Three words I was not accustom to hearing, and I especially did not know how to process them coming from him. Three words that turned me to instant goo and set my insides on fire.
“It’s blinding. Fucking debilitating. You completely own me. Raven, I’m seriously in love.” The smallest hint of a smile cracked on his lips. “Now put me in your mouth again,” he commanded.
A heat ran over me, surely turning my skin a bright shade of crimson. I had a feeling I was about to see the side of him that turned smart girls like Sandra stupid.
Obliging him, I took his length deep in my mouth, sucking gently. He must have only wanted the lubrication though, because after one second he immediately pulled out and pushed me down on his bed. He moved swiftly, covering me, using his legs to spread open my legs, bringing the head of cock right up against my ready and waiting entrance.
With no pause, he thrust inside me—deep and hard. Powerful and sure. I yelped at his sudden, glorious, substantial contact. I loved that he hadn’t prepared me and had simply taken me. He was hard and wide, all man, almost painfully big as he filled me. He pushed in fully then pulled out fully. He repeated the motion, going in hard and strong, giving me yet another unrelenting, commanding thrust. Then another. Then another. Then another.
Sweet Jesus. “Yes!” I cried out. I could already feel the muscles low inside me tightening and beginning to swirl around an orgasm. We’d been fucking for no more than thirty seconds and the delirious feeling was already stirring. Mickey inside me was just too much, felt too good, and provoked too much emotion. I cried out again, this time in frustration.
His eyes met mine, narrowing. “You okay?” he grunted, not slowing, not relenting.
“Fine,” I exhaled—doing my best to fight off the feeling that desperately wanted to run me over. Looking at him wasn’t helping, so I closed my eyes. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to come. Not hardly. Of course, I fucking wanted it. I just didn’t want to come so soon. I didn’t want Mickey to know how much control he truly had over me. Because he did. This man owned me. He owned my heart. He owned my body. He owned my sex. And, apparently, that meant he could bring me to an orgasm faster than anything I’d ever experienced.
He hooked one of his muscular arms under my right leg, bringing it higher, changing our position slightly. Which only made me feel him even deeper.
“Mickey,” I whimpered.
“Open your eyes,” he demanded. “Look at me, Raven.”
Obliging, I opened my eyes. And the moment I did, staring into his pretty blue eyes, I lost my control. I couldn’t fight off the inevitability even a second longer. Like a bat out of hell, the rush of the most intense orgasm I’d ever experienced plowed through me. The sweet tingling electricity started at my core, and then vibrated and shook across every inch of me. Wanting more, wanting less, I dug my fingernails into his back and cried out. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Mickey—yes!”
Mickey did not stop. He did not slow. He did not give me a moment to breath or think. His pace continued, drawing out my orgasm, prolonging it, absorbing it. And even when the world came back into focus, and I came down off the high, he still continued.
“Nothing has ever been this good.” He breathed. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
He let my leg go, and instead moved to a sitting position, lifting my body and bringing me along with him. I straddled him while he repositioned himself inside me. I was sore. I was tender. But I in no way wanted any of this to stop.
“Ride me now, Raven,” he instructed, his voice low and guttural, almost pleading.
Lacing his large fingers through my smaller finger, he held each of my hands with his, giving me some support. His eyes were on my eyes. His breathing mixed with my breathing. I started to move up and down. No stopping. No slowing. No mercy. Hell, no time for tender kisses. This was passion like I’d never known it before. This was excitement, and a little bit of anger at the universe for splitting us all those years ago, combined with a powerful need neither of us could control.
In the midst of it all, yet again, another orgasm came down on me with a vengeance. This time I didn’t even bother trying to fight it off; I only let it consume me. From the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair, I felt the world shift off its axis. I loved this man. I’d loved him my entire life. Even through the pain of his decision to l
eave. Even through all the years we’d been separated. I never got over Mickey. I never would. He was my person—forever. I kept ridding him hard as this realization struck me, and I bit his shoulder to muffle my cries, while doing my best to merely survive this second orgasm.
When it ended I was so fucking drained—both physically and emotionally. Mickey slowed, lowering my body back on the bed. I was so sated. I rested my hands above my head, barely able to move, barely able to think, barely about to breathe, as he changed his momentum. Now he slid ever-so-slowly in and out. Stick a fork in me—I was done. But he wasn’t yet. The way he leisurely moved was satisfying in its own way. Instead of being blinded by my own delirious bliss, I got to enjoy watching him. And, oh boy, was it a beautiful sight to see. It only took a minute longer before Mickey pulled out, gripping his cock tightly in his hand, and I felt the delicious warmth of him as he spilled his seed against my swollen entrance.
I loved the look of ecstasy on his face as he came. Nothing in the world was hotter. I loved that I’d brought him to that level. A twinge of jealous mixed with the good feelings though. I instantly hated all the women before me who’d gotten to experience Mickey in this same way.
My mind only dwelled on that for a second though because Mickey distracted me when he said, “You look so damn beautiful.” And he ran a finger against where I felt most tender. He pushed that finger deep inside me. I gasped and the muscles inside me involuntarily clinched with desire all over again. “Mickey,” I warned. “I can’t. No more.”
He smiled, all lazily and playful as fuck. “See, I told you you’d beg me to stop.” With way too much energy for a man who’d just had sex, he hopped out of bed. He grabbed his pants off the floor, yanking them on. Then he found his shirt.
Returning to me, he tried to use his shirt to wipe away at the stickiness he’d created between my legs. A nervousness came over me and I squeezed my thighs together. “I can do that. You don’t have to do that.” I tried to take his shirt away from him.
“Don’t get shy on me.” He did not let go of the shirt. “I plan on coming on you, in you, with you, every single night from now on. So if there’s any bit of modesty in you. And let’s face it—you’re like the least modest person I know. You can just forget it.”
We had a mini tug-o-war session before I gave in, letting go of his shirt. I also let him in between my legs where he used the shirt to wipe away the evidence of his lovemaking. Once he finished he placed a soft kiss against my sex. It was almost kind of sweet—if a man kissing a woman’s pussy could be considered sweet.
He smiled like a kid on Christmas before he moved to collapse on the bed beside me. For a moment Mickey laid very still, and I thought maybe he’d drifted off to sleep with the lights still on. But then he shifted, grabbing my body, pulling me in against his warm chest. He tilted my chin up and kissed my lips—tenderly, sweetly, slowly.
“I can’t again,” I said against his lips. His kisses were nice, but I needed some time to recover still.
“I don’t want to have sex again.” He smiled against my mouth. “I just want to kiss you. All night maybe—at least until we fall asleep.”
Oh—
I guess I’d been so conditioned into always assuming that kissing always had to lead to sex. “Okay,” I whispered. “We could do that.” And it occurred to me that we hadn’t kissed much during sex—we’d just attacked each other like wild animals.
But we kissed now.
It was slow, soft, passionate, and deliberate. When the inevitability of sex was taken off the table, the simple act of kissing shifted entirely. It meant something more, and I felt like I got to know Mickey in a completely new way. He was sweet. He was gentle. He was the same boy I used to know—the one who’d tell me secrets with a flashlight under the covers, the one who’d play hide-and-secret with me for hours at a time in the overgrown grass fields, the one who used to make me promises about running away one day. He was my best friend. I’d missed him so much over the years.
Eventually we had to break for air, and I laughed because it was crazy how much I was enjoying this whole just kissing thing.
“What’s so funny?” he asked with an equally large grin on his own face.
“Nothing.” I snuggled in against him, and he wrapped his arms around me tighter. “I love you,” I told him. The words just popped out of me. I hadn’t planned on admitting this to him—possibly ever. But out the words came with no control.
“There,” he joked. “You finally said it. I’ve said it like four times to you now. I thought maybe I was losing my mind, being a guy and the one throwing it around so much.”
“Whatever you’ve said it like twice.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re finally on board with this.”
“I’m on board,” I whispered.
He took my hand and pressed it flat against his chest. I could feel the steady beating beneath, as we stared at each other, and it made my own chest felt all slippery and warm inside.
“What were you like in high school?” His blue eyes were watching me, studying me, dissecting me. Like a mystery he needed to solve.
“That’s a random thing to ask.”
“I just want to know more about you from the years I missed.”
I shrugged. There wasn’t anything special to tell.
“Were you a rebel?”
“Hardly. More like an outcast and a bookworm. I got pretty good grades in school—I might have graduated with honors. But then I got pregnant with Samantha. I had terrible morning sickness in the beginning and kept missing school. My mom got fired from one of her jobs for stealing around the same time, so I had to work to help out and missed more school. It all was a mess; I barely graduated.”
He sighed. “I could have helped.”
Maybe he could have. “What about you? Let me guess. You were the cocky, popular, jock type.”
He didn’t even try to deny it. “Yeah,” he simply said.
“Of course you were.” I could almost picture him in one of those letterman’s jackets with some dumb blonde permanently attached to his hip.
“I kept every one of your letters. Well—my letters. The ones you sent back to me with the drawings on the front. I kept them all until they stopped coming back to me.”
Oh God, did this conversation have to go there? I swallowed. I stopped bothering to return them back to Mickey after his uncle violated me. I was broken for a while after that. Then eventually Mickey’s letters stopped coming altogether. I figured he’d forgotten about me by that point.
“They’re in the closet if you ever want see any of them. You were an exceptionally good drawer. You drew the cutest pictures of yourself giving me the middle finger.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay fine,” I decided. “I want to see one.”
“Right now?”
“Sure. Why not?” Leaving the warmth of his arms, I sat up, glancing at the clock on his dresser. It was after two in the morning. But whatever, I decided I needed to see one of my old drawings. I had to work tomorrow and probably should have been getting some sleep. But that seemed irrelevant at the moment.
In only my birthday suit, I left Mickey for his closet. He got out of bed and followed close behind. I flipped on the light to his walk in, moving past Sandra’s big boxes in our way. “There,” he said, pointing to a shoebox in the right corner of the top shelf. For as much as I’d already snooped around in his closet, I couldn’t believe I’d missed this box. I mean, it said my name across the fucking front: RAVEN.
He grabbed it for me, pulled it down, and handed it over. I lifted the lid and immediately sunk to the floor with the box in my hands. Pictures. There were several pictures of the two of us, some of just me, scattered across the top. I didn’t know he had these pictures. Some of them I barely remembered taking. We were scraggily little kids—always dirty from playing outside, always in clothes either too big or too small—but in all the pictures we both looked surprisingly happy. I was happy. Despite eve
rything else, my first ten years of life had been happy years. I never knew we were poor. I never knew the world had so much more to offer. I never knew anything but Mickey. And I loved him, with every ounce of my being I loved him.
After briefly looking at the pictures, I picked up the first letter I found among a few other mementos. The letter had my mom’s address across the front in Mickey’s sloppy handwriting. RETURN TO SENDER, it said in big bold letters under the address. I flipped over the sealed envelope to find my drawing on the back. A girl with pigtails giving the middle finger.
I smiled. It was a pretty decent drawing.
But I stopped smiling and instead tore open the unopened, fifteen-years-old envelop.
“Maybe you shouldn’t—” Mickey started to say, sitting beside me on the floor.
But it was too late. I already had it opened and the discolored letter from inside clutched tightly my hands. I didn’t know the exact date of when this letter had been sent to me—if it was soon after he’d left or later. It didn’t matter. I started to read—
Dear Raven,
Please read this letter. I miss you. Maine is weird. The people are weird—too nice. The air smells weird—too clean. Everything is too green here. I know you’re not going to read this letter even though I wish you would open just one of them. I know you’re mad at me. I’m sorry I left. I wish I would have stayed. I miss you too much. I think about you all the time. You’re still my best friend. I’ll write you again tomorrow.
Love, Mickey
When I finished reading I had tears running down my face. I’d been stupidly stubborn not opening even a single letter he’d sent me during that time. Maybe if did then I would have seen that he too was hurting just as much as me.
Mickey took my face in his hands, pressing his lips against the tears on my cheeks and then against my lips. When I regained my composure we spent the night looking through the pictures and letters, filling each other in on all the time we’d missed between then and now.
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