Games of the Heart (The 'Burg #4)(77)

But I knew Mike looked. I knew this because that was when I learned another new, unbelievably fantastic something about Mike.

And this was that Mike was a good guy, an excellent father, a responsible citizen who could f**k me hard, controlling and dirty but he was also macho and possessive and when he got angry, seriously angry, it was hot.

And I learned this when he growled, “You are f**kin’ shittin’ me.”

“Mike, ignore it.”

But he didn’t. He ignored me. His hand went from between my legs and he stayed inside me even as he reached a long arm to the nightstand. I heard the weird electronic click of him sliding his thumb on my screen to take the call and then to my shock and, I had to admit, with what he said, extreme titillation, he started speaking.

“You got me and you gotta know you got me when I’m buried deep in Dusty, f**kin’ her hard, she’s facedown in bed, lovin’ every stroke and I know this because she’s purrin’ for me like a cat. And when I make her come, she’s gonna say my name. So with that, you also gotta know you are done. If you don’t get this, Rivera’s out and it’ll be me who explains it to you in a way you’ll finally f**kin’ understand.”

Then I heard the beep of the call being disconnected, the soft thump of my phone hitting the bed somewhere and then Mike’s hand was back at me, his h*ps were thrusting into me but his lips were at my ear.

“You come, you say my f**kin’ name.” He was still growling and he was still pissed.

I liked both. A whole lot.

“Yes, honey,” I panted.

Then, five minutes later, I did as ordered, my neck arched way back, Mike’s face shoved in the side, it came out as a whisper.

Then he was no longer inside me and I was no longer on my belly. I was on my back, Mike’s hands behind my knees shoving them up and his mouth on mine ordering, “Keep them high.”

“Okay, baby,” I agreed, still feeling the burn he gave me.

Then he pushed his hands under my shoulders and up so his fingers were in my hair his palms at the base of my neck and he kept f**king me as he kissed me.

Five minutes later he came too, whispering my name against my lips.

It was glorious.

He stayed buried but moved his face into my neck and his lips worked there.

That felt nice.

We didn’t move, didn’t lose the connection and didn’t speak for long moments until Mike slid out and then did something new. Something he’d never done or any lover. Something amazing. Something I loved.

He gathered me in his arms and exited the bed taking me with him. Then he carried me to the bathroom and when we got to the sink, he gently dropped my legs but kept his other arm around me, holding me close and strong as my still trembling legs settled. He turned on the faucet, reached for a washcloth and threw it in the sink, all this never letting go of me.

My head tipped back, his tipped down and we held each other’s eyes.

We’d had the conversation at dinner. He knew I was on birth control. He knew I’d had no lovers but him since Beau. I knew he had no lovers but me for two months prior to me. So we decided to dispense with the condoms.

And with what he did next, I was more glad than the glad I already was that we did.

Mike turned off the faucet and then, his eyes still holding mine, he grabbed the cloth, squeezed out the water and, gently, he pressed it between my legs to clean me.

My lips parted and his eyes dropped to them and darkened. There was a care to this, an intimacy I’d never experienced. I was an independent woman, on my own for a long time and I didn’t mind that. Not at all. But I found I liked him taking care of me. I liked it that he didn’t want to be away from me even long enough for me to go clean up. I liked his gentle touch.

I liked it all.

He tossed the cloth back into the sink, bent, lifted me into his arms and carried me back to the room. Down went my legs again when we made it to his dresser. He opened a drawer, yanked out a tee then he pulled it over my head. I shoved my arms through and tugged it down as he opened another drawer and pulled out a pair of plaid, flannel pajama bottoms. He tugged them up and then I was again in his arms, he walked us back to the bed, sat on its side with me in his lap then stretched out, arranging me on top of him.

We ended up, legs tangled, Mike pulling my tee up, one of his hands on my ass, the other one wrapped tight around my back and he ordered, “Now, kiss me, honey.”

I decided to kiss him. I did this because I wanted to. I also did it so I wouldn’t start crying at experiencing all the beauty Mike Haines just gave me.

When I was done, I pressed my face into his neck and relaxed into him.

Mike’s fingers moved light on the skin of my ass.

I sighed.

Then I teased, “Is that official protocol for dealing with a stalker? Saying macho, badass, possessive alpha male shit that would piss him off and send him over the edge?”

Mike’s hand at my ass stopped drifting. His fingers cupped it firmly, possessively and he replied, “No. I didn’t take that call as a cop. I took that call as a man who was f**king my woman for the first time in my goddamned bed and I did not like some other man who will not clue in he cannot lay claim to what’s mine callin’ while I was doin’ it. So I didn’t think like a cop. I thought like a man who was pissed off an ass**le was calling while I was pleasurably engaged in makin’ my woman purr for me.”