Soaring (9781311625663)

by Ashley, Kristen

  “Yes,” I breathed.

  I saw the grin hit his blazing eyes before he warned, “Get ready for more.”

  Before I could, he drove inside me.

  Oh yes, what I’d been stroking was promising.

  Rigid. Thick. Long.

  Amazing.

  My back curved up and my limbs curled in, cocooning him as he thrust hard, deep, fast.

  “Yes,” I whimpered, not having come down, I was again climbing.

  “Yeah,” he grunted and then kissed me.

  I kissed him back, clutching him to me, gliding my hands over the muscles of his back, over his short-cropped hair, in every way drawing him in deeper, closer, wanting him to soar in the clouds with me.

  I knew he was getting there, I could feel it, taste it, then I lost it.

  But only for a second when he pulled out, flipped me to my belly, kicked my legs apart with his knee, positioned, yanked me up at my hips and reentered me, slamming me back with his fingers curled at my ribs as he powered inside.

  “Yes,” I repeated on a gasp, taking over, pushing back as he thrust forward.

  Mickey said nothing intelligible, but the power of his grunts matched the power of his drives, and both pushed me higher.

  “Mickey,” I gasped as I again began to soar.

  “Padded headboard,” was his reply.

  Too far gone, all I could do was keep rearing back and blink.

  Then I wasn’t rearing back.

  He pulled out, flipped me again, lifted me up and walked on his knees until I crashed into the headboard and Mickey thrust back up inside me.

  I looked into his blue eyes and moaned, “Honey.”

  “Yeah, Amy,” he grunted, one arm around my waist holding me to him, the other hand slipping over my hip and in.

  His thumb hit my clit right when he drove his cock deep.

  “Honey,” I breathed and I was gone, arms curled around his shoulders, heels digging into his ass. The power of my orgasm meant I gripped his sex with mine as I clutched the rest of him to me and fought for air. So high it felt there was no oxygen left to breathe as bliss scored through me.

  “Fuck, astounding,” he grunted before he groaned, “Amy,” and fucked me wild, his face buried in my neck, as he pushed me higher, making mine last longer, score deeper, and he joined me.

  The pounding gentled and slowed before he slid inside and stayed there. He glided his lips up my neck, along my jaw and up where he caught my mouth, sweeping his tongue in, kissing me, this time wet and sweet.

  I held him close and kissed him back.

  Still needing oxygen, it was me who tore my mouth free and pushed my face in his throat.

  Mickey slid his hand from between us, over my belly, around and across my back, tightening his arms and pressing deep, giving me a sexy, sweet hug as he called, “You okay, baby?”

  I was.

  I absolutely was.

  Even though he’d wrecked me.

  He gave me a squeeze, prompting, “Amy.”

  “I’m good,” I replied faintly.

  He heard it. He read it.

  He knew he’d wrecked me.

  I knew he did when his body started shaking and a low satisfied chuckle vibrated up his chest, but he did this moving back. He held me to him as he shifted in a variety of ways and I would know what he was doing when he slid me off his cock, laid me down in bed and touched his mouth to the base of my throat before he murmured there, “I’ll be back.” He rolled away and twitched the covers he’d yanked from under us over me.

  I stared at my ceiling a moment before I turned to my side, languorously stretched, then curled into myself, pulling the covers up to my shoulder.

  Mickey came back from my bathroom in nothing but his jeans, his eyes on me.

  I kept my eyes on him too, delighted I was not wrong.

  That body was hard everywhere.

  And utterly fascinating.

  I was in the throes of memorizing the definition of his collarbone as he sat on the edge of the bed.

  I didn’t move, just shifted my gaze to look up at him.

  He grinned at me as he brushed my bangs out of my eyes and slid the hair away from my cheek and over my shoulder.

  “Been a while?” he asked gently.

  If he hadn’t just wrecked me, I might find this question annoying.

  Since he had and the answer was obvious considering I’d gone wild and come two times (maybe three), I just said, “Yeah.”

  His grin remained as he bent to me, putting his weight into both forearms on the mattress in front of me and his face close to mine.

  “Omelet on the counter, I take it you didn’t have dinner,” he remarked.

  “Nope,” I answered.

  “You like Chinese?’ he asked.

  “Yep,” I answered.

  His grinning eyes moved over my face as a breathtaking mix of tenderness and amusement slid into them, something else I gave him even as he was giving it to me.

  “I’ll order delivery,” he declared.

  “Crab cheese wonton and hot and sour soup,” I ordered instantly. “Surprise me with the meal.”

  His gaze stopped wandering, he looked right at me and said, “You do know this means we’ll have to be irresponsible and insensitive to the starving nations of the world by throwing away that omelet. Eggs don’t keep.”

  I had enough in me to narrow my eyes. “Don’t piss me off, Mickey.”

  He pushed closer and dropped his voice low. “Think doin’ that’s workin’ for me, baby.”

  Too sated to rise to the bait, I rolled my eyes.

  “We’ll talk while we eat,” he went on after I rolled them back.

  I held his gaze and whispered, “Yeah, honey, that’d be good.”

  He pushed even closer and kissed me lightly.

  Then he moved away and, not moving a muscle, only my eyes, I watched him bend down and snatch up his shirt. I also watched him tug it on as he sauntered out of my bedroom and into the hall.

  He even made tugging on a dirty tee look sexy.

  I sighed.

  Then I snuggled deeper into my bed, thinking that had actually gone quite well.

  Mickey was no longer seeing Bridget.

  Auspiciously, at this early juncture, he expected exclusivity from me and intended to give the same.

  The fact he didn’t text me since the morning of the day before was a simple mistake.

  He was insanely phenomenal in bed.

  And he liked Chinese.

  Yes, that had gone quite well.

  So well, naked and alone in my bed while Mickey was off ordering Chinese, I started smiling.

  * * * * *

  After ordering, Mickey came back to me and told me he was going over to his place to shower and get out of his dusty clothes.

  He then sat at the edge of the bed again, but lifted me in his arms this time, kissing me thoroughly before he ended it, kissed my nose, placed me back in bed, got up and walked away.

  I was wrecked but I’d just had sex with Mickey. We were going to have dinner together, alone at my house.

  And I didn’t care what I was going to do was going to say.

  I wasn’t wasting this opportunity.

  So the minute I heard the front door close, I threw back the covers and launched myself out of bed.

  I put on new undies—ecru, lacy, sexy—and a pair of loose-fitting yoga pants (that Josie disapproved of me buying, looking at them with revulsion and stating she feared yoga pants were heralding the death of fashion). I paired these with a powder pink, light cashmere sweater that had a deep dip in the back that was held together with a thin strap of cashmere across my shoulders.

  I arranged my hair in a messy knot at the top back of my head, pulling out tendrils around my ears and neck that I hoped looked both adorable and appealing.

  Then I dashed out of my bedroom, got rid of the omelet, did the minimal clean up and ran around lighting candles and lamps so the effect would be cozy and roma
ntic.

  I left Pandora on my Billie Holiday station. I wasn’t feeling the blues but Billie Holiday worked for a variety of situations.

  I was pulling down plates when Mickey came back.

  I watched as he caught my eyes, grinned, then looked around the house and back to me, his grin turning smug.

  I didn’t care. He knew I was into him and I wanted him to know that what we’d just shared and spending time with him was important to me.

  He could be smug about it. He was gorgeous.

  And right then he was all mine.

  The delivery guy came, Mickey paid and I brought plates, silverware and napkins down to the sectional while Mickey pulled out food. I also got myself a glass of wine and Mickey a beer (something I started stocking when the possibility of him being over became a probability, something that, until then, I’d never had the chance to offer him).

  Mickey was lounged back with an eggroll over a plate and I’d torn the corner of a crab cheese wonton loose and had dipped it in some sweet and sour sauce that was resting on a scrap of the brown paper bag the delivery came in that was sitting on the couch between us.

  I held the dripping wedge over my plate, my eyes to it, when I said quietly, “I like spending time with you, Mickey.”

  “Got that, Amy.”

  At his response, I lifted my gaze to him and put the wonton in my mouth.

  As I was chewing, Mickey went on, “Need you to get that I like spending time with you, too, baby.”

  I nodded, swallowing.

  “We both got busy lives,” he told me. “This isn’t going to be easy. We just gotta work at making it worth it.”

  He was right about that.

  His tone had changed when he continued, “And I gotta admit that I took it for granted you’d get it without me giving it to you.”

  It wasn’t an accusation.

  It almost sounded contrite.

  But I took it as an accusation. “I understand you’re busy, Mickey. That’s not what I’m saying. And don’t take this as ugly, just me sharing, but even knowing you’re busy, it doesn’t feel good that in all that busy, you don’t have a lot of time for me.”

  “Got word out that I’m takin’ private roof jobs.”

  I held my forgotten plate with its lone, partially dissected wonton on it in my hand and stared at him.

  “Already?” I asked.

  His eyes warmed. “You gave me the idea. It was a good idea. I thought on it and when I did, I thought, why wait? Either I’m gonna be able to pull this off or I’m not, but either way, I gotta know sooner rather than later. So I told a few folks, talked to a few of the crew. That rain last week, had two people phone me because they had leaks and they didn’t want Ralph to deal with them. They wanted me.”

  I smiled big and said excitedly, “That’s great, Mickey.”

  He smiled back, popped the rest of his eggroll in his mouth, chewed, swallowed and told me, “Sent boys to do those jobs and do ’em right and also had a meet with Arnie so I could find out what I had to do legally to establish a company. Started work on that too.”

  “Arnie?” I asked, resting the plate in my lap to rip off another wedge of my wonton.

  “Arnie Weaver,” he answered. “Attorney in town. Him and his partner the only ones I’ve met that I actually like.”

  I hoped that didn’t color his hopefully eventual meeting with Lawr.

  I didn’t remark on that.

  “So you’re busier than normal,” I noted.

  His voice lowered. “No, Amy, I’m usually busy. I’m definitely busier, but I’m always busy. Now we’ve had that out, though, won’t take where you’re at with me and what we’re tryin’ to build for granted.”

  The light feeling I was experiencing got lighter and I gave him another smile as I replied, “And in return, I’ll try to be more understanding.”

  He smiled back but his was different. His was sexy.

  “You could. Or you could get pissed, stick up for yourself, get in my face, be a smartass and earn yourself a couple of orgasms.”

  I felt my knees tingle in a way I knew they’d be weak if I was standing instead of sitting cross-legged, facing him on the couch.

  I didn’t show this reaction. I shook my head like he was annoying and kept eating my wonton.

  “Though,” he kept going, “after my dainty heiress went wild for me, we’ll see about you gettin’ orgasms on a more regular basis.”

  I felt a tingle elsewhere at that and the tingle traveled north to my nipples when I caught the look in his eyes that told me how much he wanted to give that to me.

  And how much he wanted me to give it back.

  I liked that. I wanted more.

  It was frightening but I couldn’t deny that, from the moment I saw him, I wanted it all from Mickey.

  But in getting, I had to give.

  “I appreciate you being so sweet about all this, honey,” I said softly. “But I’ll still try to be more patient and get that you have a lot on your plate.”

  “That’d be good, darlin’,” he replied softly. “But I’ll repeat, I get in my head or in my life and I’m not givin’ you what you need, you let me know. We both got hot heads. We get into it, we do.” His lips twitched. “Just as long as we make up.”

  I liked the variety of ways Mickey was showing that he could make up, so I shoved more wonton in my mouth and smiled at him with my eyes.

  “One thing,” he stated.

  I swallowed and asked, “Yeah?”

  “I’m not him.”

  I stilled and forced my mouth to say, “Mickey.”

  “I get he scarred you. I get that might take time to sort your head about. But I’m not him. Told you I’d never do that shit to a woman, and it’s arguable, but with the one I had, I actually had cause to go lookin’. I didn’t. If you need to work that out with your girls, or me, you do it. I’m here. I’m gonna make time for you, for us, because that’s important. I’ll definitely make time for that. Us startin’ out, both of us got a lot going on, I know I’m already askin’ a lot of you. But that’s not gonna stop me from askin’ that. I can’t promise I’m gonna do everything right, and it sucks but you already know that with how we got right here.” He dipped his chin to indicate us eating Chinese on my couch. “But I’d never do that to you and you gotta get that.”

  “Okay, Mickey,” I whispered.

  “Okay,” he replied. “Now come here and give me a kiss.”

  I balanced my plate, avoided sweet and sour sauce, and leaned toward him to give him my kiss. He helped by leaning into me and lifting a hand to cup the back of my head.

  It was a quick touch but I liked it very much.

  I didn’t move very far away before he stated, “Spendin’ the night, Amy.”

  “Okay, Mickey,” I repeated my whisper.

  He leaned and touched my mouth again, let me go and settled back.

  I settled back too, finished my wonton and reached for the soup.

  * * * * *

  “Mickey,” I breathed and went flying.

  He let me.

  Then he kissed me as he kept taking me.

  I descended but kept gliding as I felt him move inside me. Listened to his noises. Took him in with fingers and mouth. Moved my hips with his increasing rhythm. And helped coax him there until he slid a hand up my forearm, pushing it up over my head, linking his fingers with mine and pressing our hands into the pillow.

  He squeezed hard as he thrust deep and groaned loud.

  My heart took flight.

  I gave that to Mickey too.

  How was it that his weight was on me, his body connected to mine, and it felt like I was floating?

  I knew he recovered when his hips stopped spasming between mine, he tweaked my nose with the tip of his then took my mouth in a slow, deep, tender kiss.

  He ended it, brushing his lips along my jaw, as he gently slid out of me, rolled off but pulled the covers over me before he got out of bed and sauntered naked to m
y bathroom.

  I watched, my first view of his sculpted behind a vision I enjoyed greatly, before I shifted to sitting on the side of the bed. I reached and grabbed his tee from the floor, tugged it on and straightened off the bed, nabbing my panties.

  I had them up and was walking to the bathroom as he was walking out.

  Mickey, naked in my bedroom, full-frontal view.

  He had a great ass, an amazing back.

  But his chest and other attributes were better.

  He stopped to bend his neck as I stopped and got on tiptoes. My hand was light to his flat stomach as I touched my mouth to his.

  He lifted away and I walked into the bathroom going direct to the drawers in my walk-in closet.

  I exchanged Mickey’s tee for a short, satin nightie in a dusky rose with deep edges of delicate oyster lace and thin spaghetti straps that crisscrossed at the back.

  I walked out holding Mickey’s tee, turned out the lights of the bathroom and walked into the bedroom.

  There I saw Mickey Donovan in my bed, under my duvet, on his side, head in his hand, elbow resting in the pillow, long legs partially visible but totally tangled in my sheets, eyes on me. Eyes now telling me he really liked my nightie.

  I took him in.

  I had that. I’d had that.

  That was all for me.

  I wanted to cry. I wanted to jump with joy.

  Instead, I dropped his tee and joined him in my bed.

  He grabbed hold of me the minute I did, shoving his face in my neck, brushing it with his lips, touching it with his tongue, before his hold got tighter and he rolled this way and that, taking me with him to turn out the lights on both nightstands.

  He settled us front to front, covered by my duvet, tangled in each other.

  He slid the tip of his nose down the bridge of mine before he whispered, “’Night, Amy.”

  “Goodnight, Mickey,” I whispered back.

  He lifted up, kissed my forehead and settled in to the bed, doing this tightening his arms around me.

  I pressed closer and returned the favor.

  I didn’t think I’d do it.

  Heck, I didn’t want to do it.

  I wanted to lie in the dark in my bed with Mickey Donovan and exalt in the feeling.

  I did that.

  But I did it quickly falling to sleep.