Soaring (Magdalene #2)(127)

“Can I help you?” I asked coldly.

“I’m a dick,” he replied.

Unfortunately, as I’d spent the day gearing up to hold a Robin-style grudge against him (the new Robin, the one who held a grudge for twenty-four hours, not eternity), his words delivered a direct hit to that determination.

I held on to enough to share, “You can be.”

“We both been through the wringer. You got shit left over to process and get past with your ex. I do too.”

He was correct about that and my determination took another hit.

This time, I decided on no reply.

His brows went up. “Gonna make me stand on your doorstep sayin’ this shit?”

“You have an ongoing issue with my wealth, Mickey,” I informed him.

“Workin’ on that,” he informed me, but he didn’t deny it.

He might be working on it but he was obviously failing.

“I am who I am. I have what I have. And frankly, before things progress further between us, we need to discuss it so this doesn’t fester in a way that it wreaks devastation at a later date.”

“Agreed, but I’m takin’ a break from the house to come do this so I don’t have the time to do that now.”

“We’ll schedule that meeting,” I said tartly.

His face softened as did his tone when he replied, “Amy, let me in. Let me give you a kiss. And let me go knowin’ you’re good and we’ll sort this out when we got time.”

I was no match for Mickey’s soft looks.

So I sighed as I reached out, bunched his t-shirt in my hand and pulled him in.

He made it easy and, once close, wrapped his arms around me, bent his neck and I lifted up on tiptoes to offer my mouth.

His kiss was deep and sweet and when he broke it, he lifted a hand to sweep the hair off my shoulder before curling his hand around the side of my neck.

“Phone by your bed,” he murmured.

“Okay,” I replied.

He looked relieved and it was troubling that we’d had the fight we had and the possible reasons behind it that I experienced deep relief just seeing his relief.

“See you later tonight.”

“Okay, Mickey.”

He gave me a squeeze, let me go and walked out of my house.

I was watching as well as closing the door when I stopped because he did and he turned.

“I am who I am. I have what I have. And one of the things I got that I wanna keep is you.”

I licked my lips, pressed them together and held his eyes.

“We’ll sort it, baby,” he finished.

I nodded.

“Sleep good,” he said.

“Stay alert,” I replied.

He smiled, lifted a hand, turned and walked to his truck.

I closed the door thinking I knew top on the list of things that could kill a relationship was money.

And the kind of money that sat between Mickey and me was serious.

And Mickey was the kind of man that was Mickey.

I liked that he wanted to keep me. I wanted to keep him.

I just worried that one day something that was obviously disturbing him because he brought it up so frequently would make him rethink that.

* * * * *

I was on my knees, face in the pillows, taking Mickey’s cock, doing it moaning and whimpering.

He was giving it to me hard and rough.

He’d arrived after his shift at the firehouse and it had been what it always was. I opened the door; it started insanely good and progressed even better.

But this time, it was different.

Mickey didn’t talk much during sex, but I said things.

Both of us were silent.

But still, something was being communicated.

I didn’t get it and I had my mind on other, vastly more pleasant things, so I didn’t attempt to figure it out.

But I felt it.

Mickey knew what he wanted in bed. This was commanded sometimes verbally but mostly physically. He let me do things. He let me take things from him. But mostly he guided it and I followed his lead. He could get rough. He was strong enough to move me around, position me, so far as arrange me. We made love and there was always a sense of the tenderness to that, even when we were f*cking.

Now, we were f*cking.

But we were just f*cking.

It was rough, fast, connected physically (obviously) yet disconnected emotionally, close and distant and there was something about it that was freeing at the same time vaguely alarming.

I couldn’t think on that either, whether it was good or bad how completely I was getting off on it.

I couldn’t think because I was close, reaching for it, when Mickey pulled out, flipped me, ran his hands up the backs of my thighs, positioning them up his chest. Then he clamped his fingers on my hips and reentered me.

I dug my heels into his shoulders and was powerless to do anything but watch his face, his eyes, hard and dark and stormy, as he f*cked me.

He watched me too, his gaze moving over me, then he bent his neck and watched his cock thrust into me.

When he did, his hips started pistoning.

And when his hips did that, I lifted my arms up and pushed against the headboard so I could drive myself into his thrusts.

Digging my head in the pillows, eyes closed and focus entirely on taking his cock, loving what he was doing to me, I was losing it at the same time I was losing the disconnection and distance.