Текст книги "Dangerously Bound"

Автор книги: Eden Bradley

Соавторы: Eden Bradley
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

“Mmm . . .”

He kissed her lips, took her bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled, pulled back and bent to kiss her breasts.

She reached for him, holding on to his strong forearms, loving the corded muscle there. And as he arched into her, taking his time, kissing her neck, her shoulders, she explored his hard frame with her hands. She slid her palms over his sides, pausing to touch the scar on his ribs before slipping her hand between their bodies to stroke the rock-hard surface of his abdomen. She smoothed her fingers over every ridge, loving the contraction of muscle as he arched his hips, pressing his cock deep inside her.

Pleasure was a slowly building blaze. Scorching her, lighting her up inside. He moved faster and she held on to him, her arms around his waist, her hands spread wide over his back.

Desire rose, spiraled, her sex impossibly wet, clasping his rigid flesh inside her.

“You feel so good, baby. So good,” he murmured. “Love you, my baby.”

“Love you, Mick. Oh . . .”

“Yeah, that’s it. I can feel you . . . come with me, my girl.”

“Oh!”

Their bodies rose at the same moment, arms winding tightly around each other. They shook together, burned together, cried out. Her mind spun, light flashing behind her eyes as if all the stars in heaven were reeling past.

“Mick!”

“Love you, my baby,” he whispered into her hair. “Love you . . .”

The night was quiet around them. She couldn’t even hear the cicadas that sang all over the city of New Orleans. All she heard was his steady breathing. The sound of her heart beating in time with his.

Together.

This was everything she’d ever wanted.

She loved him.

He loved her.

She was scared to death.

She buried her face in his muscled shoulder and let the tears come.

CHAPTER Thirteen

“HEY.” HE ROLLED onto his side, taking her with him. “What’s this?”

She sniffed. “It’s nothing.”

“Transparency, baby.”

“Sorry. You’re right. It’s just that . . . I’m scared, Mick. Aren’t you?”

“Hell, yes. But I’m trying not to run anymore.”

She pressed her cheek against his chest, taking comfort in the solidity of his big body. “That makes me feel a little better.”

He laughed. “That I’m not running or that I’m still scared?”

“Not that you’re scared. I mean, yes, that you’re scared, but not because I want you to be.” She wiped the final traces of tears away. It just makes me feel a little more . . . normal.”

“Baby girl, there is nothing normal about us.”

“No, I guess not,” she agreed, smiling. “A pastry chef with no bakery who likes to be beaten, and a security expert who gets into illegal fights and likes to hurt pretty girls. Pretty fucked up, huh?”

“I only want to hurt you, from now on. In the good way. And yeah, pretty fucked up. Anyway, about the bakery . . .”

She pulled away and looked up at him. “I’m going to start my own business doing bakery catering. I’ll rent kitchen space somewhere. I don’t want to work for anyone else anymore.”

“You should keep at it with your family—you can get through to them eventually, get them to see your ideas are the best possible plan for Dolcetti. That’s where you’re meant to be. Where you’ve always belonged. Like you do with me. Like you do in New Orleans.”

“They’re never going to listen, and I’m done banging my head against that particular wall. I need to redraw my business plan with this other course of action in mind. I can’t wait on them forever. And Mick? Can we argue about this another time?”

“We’re not arguing. I just want the best for you. You know that, right?”

“I do. But right now I need to just be here with you. I don’t want to have any serious discussions for a while. Is that okay?”

“Anything you want.”

He pulled her in close, and she sighed as she breathed in his familiar scent. Smiled when her sex went wet all over again. But she didn’t need sex right now. His arms around her, their bodies pressed close, knowing he loved her, was enough.

“Don’t fuck it up, Mick,” she murmured, smiling to herself.

“You are one sassy little wench, girl.”

“You love that about me.”

“Yeah, I do. Doesn’t mean I don’t owe you one hell of a spanking later, though. With a small club.”

She closed her eyes, burrowed in closer. “You would never spank me with a club.”

“I’m beginning to consider it.”

He bent and kissed the top of her head, pushed her hair back and kissed her cheek, her lips. He pulled back and she looked up to see him shaking his head.

“What?” she asked.

“Who would have believed this? After all this time.”

“Marie Dawn did. Jamie sort of did or he wouldn’t have helped me.”

“Remind me to take that club to his ass, too.”

She giggled. “Like that’ll ever happen.”

His face grew sober. “This happened. I feel like it’s a miracle, Allie.”

So did she. No matter how much she’d wanted to believe they could be together again, she’d always harbored doubts. A screaming fear she couldn’t quite put voice to—it was too painful to really consider. But here they were. Together. Happy.

“You’re right. It is a small miracle. It’s what I wanted for so long. Thank God I was stubborn enough to get it.”

“Thank you,” he whispered as his arms tightened around her.

*   *   *

THEY SPENT THE next several weeks, in between Mick’s work gigs, visiting all their favorite old haunts, like the Court of Two Sisters, where they feasted on peppery shrimp wrapped in bacon and cold beer over long conversations about politics, their families, their high school days. Art and movies and kink. Friends and books and travel. They stopped at Café Du Monde sometimes twice in a day to drink the chicory-laced coffee and eat the sweet, scalding-hot beignets, or sometimes just to see how much powdered sugar was on the sidewalk surrounding the canopied patio before wandering across the street to hang out in Jackson Square, making out on the benches like they had when they were teenagers.

They discovered new common interests, things they’d never done together before. They both loved the old architecture of the city, and they visited the famous homes that were part of the official Historic New Orleans Collection. They both particularly loved the Perrilliat House, with its spiral wooden staircase.

They had dinner with Neal and Marie Dawn, and Allie realized how much she’d missed seeing Mick with his family, the two men joking with each other in the rough way brothers often did. And it felt right somehow, everyone being together as couples. Of course, she’d told her best friend that she and Mick were together, but neither Marie Dawn or Neal questioned them too closely. Everyone had simply accepted their being together, almost as if it were expected. Perhaps it was.

They had a late brunch with her mother and her aunts and uncles after they’d all returned from church one Sunday. Mick was immediately taken into the family as if it hadn’t been thirteen years since he’d last been in her mother’s house, eaten her coq au vin, the wonderful French peasant stew recipe that had been passed down from Allie’s long-gone grand-mère, her father’s mother. They sat around the table and drank wine and talked and argued for hours, a ritual that had always been part of her family, from both her mother’s Italian side and her father’s French side—something Allie realized she missed, too, and she vowed to spend more time with them.

In June Mick invited her to his parents’ house for their annual Father’s Day barbeque. They’d been back together for almost six weeks, and she still hadn’t seen any of Mick’s family aside from Neal. She was trying to decide what to wear when her cell phone rang.

“Marie Dawn—just the person I needed to talk to.”

“What’s up, chérie? Everything okay with you and Mick?”

“Everything’s great.”

“Is he there? Or are you at his place?”

“No, I’m at my house, alone. Why?”

“Just making sure that wasn’t girlcode because he was standing right next to you.”

“Things really are great. Better than great. It’s been amazing with us.”

“Then what did you need to talk to me about?” Marie Dawn asked.

“I need my best friend for more than relationship advice, you know.”

“Like what?”

“Like fashion advice.”

“You’re the one who traveled the world and came home with that sense of simple European sophistication, mon amie.”

“I did not,” Allie protested, digging through her dresser drawer while holding her cell phone between her ear and shoulder. “I came back with oven burns and an overwhelming urge to kiss everyone’s cheeks.”

Marie Dawn sighed. “All you do is add one of those tissue-thin scarves to a wifebeater and jeans, and you look like a million dollars. It’s so damn . . . French.”

Allie laughed. “Okay, the scarf trick is French. But what I really need to know is what to wear to this barbeque.”

“It’s a barbeque. Wear your jeans and that scarf.”

“But it’s Father’s Day and I haven’t seen his family for years, other than you guys. Shouldn’t I wear a dress or something?”

“Sure, a sundress, if you want. This is New Orleans, in case you’ve forgotten. It’s going to be almost ninety and humid out there. My only advice would be to put your hair up.”

Allie bit her lip, holding up a dusky pink cotton tank trimmed in lace. “Hmm . . . okay, I’ll do that.”

“So . . .” Marie Dawn started. “How are things with you two . . . you know . . . at the club?”

“We haven’t been going. We’ve just kind of wanted to spend time reconnecting. We both feel the same way about it—like the club would almost be a distraction right now. We just want it to be about the two of us.”

“That sounds really good. I’m happy for you, chérie.”

Allie straightened up, smiling. “So am I.”

“So you’ve put the kinky stuff on hold, then?”

She laughed. “You are so nosy! But no, we haven’t put the kink on hold. We’re just doing our thing at home. Technically. There was that one time in his truck . . . and maybe one time on a bench at Washington Square Park.”

“Allie! You had sex at a park? Where there are kids?”

“It was right after sunset, and the park had emptied out because it started to rain. And we didn’t have sex. He was just sort of . . . holding my hands behind my back and kissing me really hard and pulling my hair and . . . you really don’t want to know any more than that.”

“Oh, but I do. Brother-in-law or not.” She paused for a moment. “You know, I’ve been thinking lately that Neal and I could spice things up a bit. I may need to come to you with some questions.”

“Anytime. Except for at this Father’s Day thing.”

“Oh my God—can you imagine their mother overhearing a conversation like that?”

“Please. She’d die of shock.”

Marie Dawn giggled.

“Promise me you’ll behave,” Allie demanded. “You’ve been part of the Reid family longer than I have.”

“Longer than . . . ? Allie, are you guys planning on getting engaged or something?” Allie heard her take in a breath. “Did you get engaged and not tell me? Are you two going to announce it today?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Why ‘of course not’? You just said—”

“It was a slip of the tongue. We’re not there yet, Marie Dawn. We haven’t even been back together for two months yet. We haven’t talked about anything that far in the future. If we had, you know you’d be the first person I called.”

But they sort of had—they’d both used the word forever. Still, now that Marie Dawn had asked, Allie couldn’t help but wonder if either of them truly had a grasp on what forever meant.

Part of her wanted it. That commitment. That promise of enduring love.

No. This is enough.

She and Marie Dawn hung up, agreeing to talk more later, and it came to Allie all at once that she’d been trying to allow it to be enough. But some part of her was left unsatisfied.

She hated to be such a girl. But when had she ever imagined walking down the aisle with anyone but Mick Reid?

She shook her head, slammed the dresser drawer shut. She was being ridiculous. She was happy with things as they were. They were happy. And did she really have any better grasp on forever than Mick did? Wasn’t the idea of that what scared her?

Or maybe it was the idea of something as wonderful as the love they had for each other being taken away. It felt . . . inevitable.

Don’t think about it.

She’d been pushing that thought to the back of her mind ever since they’d talked about love. But she couldn’t help that it came creeping back in sometimes. Like after they’d made love staring into each other’s eyes and it felt like a gift, and she’d have to swallow down her tears.

She’d gotten good at pretending, hadn’t she? Pretending the fear wasn’t always there, hovering. Waiting.

No.

She had to shake it off or the fear was going to ruin everything. It was the one thing she couldn’t talk to Mick about. The one thing she had to keep locked away in a dark corner.

She opened the dresser drawer again and stuffed the tank top back in, going to the closet to distract herself more than anything, maybe. She finally decided on a long cotton-knit sundress in a modern print in shades of orange and brown. She grabbed her favorite flat brown leather sandals she’d bought in Barcelona years earlier, and added a pair of silver hoop earrings after putting her hair up, as Marie Dawn had suggested.

Looking at her reflection in the mirror she told herself not to be silly—his family had always liked her and there wouldn’t be a problem. But the real problem was the nagging voice in the back of her mind that worried about this being one more step in a serious direction.

“What are you even thinking?” she asked her reflection aloud. “You’re with the man you love, who loves you back.”

She was too afraid to assure herself it wouldn’t all disappear at some point, just dissolve like soap bubbles on the wind. Because she loved him. She didn’t dare believe in it too much. It made her so sad—it hurt to the core—if she let herself dwell on that thought.

She squared her shoulders. “So I just won’t.”

But the mirror didn’t lie. She could see for herself the haunted look in her eyes. She’d have to do better before she saw Mick.

*   *   *

MICK HELPED HER out of the truck in front of his parents’ home, a perfectly kept two-story wood-sided colonial built in the 1930s.

“Ready to see everyone?” he asked, holding on to her elbow as they made their way up the front steps.

She turned to smile at him. “I can’t wait.”

It was true, even if her stomach had a few gently fluttering butterflies.

He opened the door, and Mick’s father was on the other side, waiting for them.

Emmet Reid was nearly a carbon copy of Mick. He was almost as tall, with the same dark hair and gray eyes, the same hard, handsome features, if a bit more weathered. And the same air of command that had helped make him fire chief. Even after being retired for several years, he still carried himself with a natural air of authority. But his broad, warm smile was full of welcome as he pulled Allie in for a hug, and she found herself relaxing into his embrace.

“Allie, it’s been too long since we’ve seen you, girl.” He patted her back and pulled away to look at her. “I’d heard you’d grown into a fine-looking woman, but my oh my. No wonder Mick’s so taken with you.”

She glanced at Mick, who rolled his eyes, but he was grinning proudly.

“It’s so good to see you,” Allie said. It was. It was good to be back in their comfortably familiar house, with its broad wood floors and the familiar lemony scent of furniture polish.

“Hands off her, Dad. She’s mine.”

Emmet released her, gave Mick a hard clap on the shoulder and waved them through the living room. “Your mother’s in the kitchen. Go say hello to her. Everyone else is out back. Which is where I should be, tending my grill. I have some gator sausage going that’ll set your tongue on fire—so hot it’ll take all my boys and me to put the flames out.”

She caught Mick’s silent wince. She knew he hated when his father in particular made reference to his other sons being firefighters. Not that Mick begrudged any of them. But she knew he still felt it like a stab to the chest that he hadn’t been able to be a part of that noble family tradition.

They moved into the kitchen, where Mick’s mother—still a beauty with a head of gorgeous dark curls even in her sixties—was spooning coleslaw from an enormous Tupperware container into a festive plastic bowl. She set it down and wiped her hands on her apron, coming around the counter to take Allie in her arms.

“Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you for joining us.”

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Maureen.”

“Of course.” Mick’s mother let her go and looked her over. “All grown up. I can remember you at sixteen like it was yesterday. How’s your mother doing?”

“She’s just fine. Still up at four a.m. every morning to bake, same as always.”

“Good. That’s good. Mick, you come give your mother a kiss.”

He leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek.

“Has he been nice to you, Allie?”

“He has. You’ve trained him well.”

“That’s my boy,” Maureen said, beaming. “Now, what can I get you to drink? Sweet tea? Lemonade?”

“A cold beer for us both, I think, Mom. Allie? Yes? I’ll get it.”

“I’d heard Allister did your kitchen remodel,” Allie said as Mick grabbed two bottles from the refrigerator. “It’s gorgeous. He’s started work on my place. I can’t wait for the dust to settle, especially if it turns out anything like yours.”

“Thank you, honey. I’m thrilled with it. And Mick told me about the work being done on your house. I’m awfully sorry about your aunt Joséphine, by the way. You weren’t close with her, were you?”

“I don’t think anyone was. I’m not even sure why she left the house to me. Maybe because I was the only relative left in the States, although she did have some family in France.”

Maureen took her hand and looked her in the eye. “Some things are just meant to be.”

She resisted the urge to pull away and smiled instead. “Yes, I guess they are.”

“You two go on out back and see the rest of the family. Allie, you haven’t even met my grandson, have you?”

“I haven’t.”

Mick reached into the bowl and pulled out a piece of cabbage, stuffed it into his mouth. Maureen gave his hand a slap. “Go on, now. I’ve got work to do in here.”

“Can I help with anything?” Allie asked.

“Don’t be silly—you know I have control issues when it comes to my kitchen. You go visit. Enjoy yourself. I’ll be out in a bit.”

“Come on.”

Mick took her hand and led her through the pantry and out the back door that led to the screened-in deck. She smelled the sausage and shrimp cooking on the grill right away, mixed with the summer scent of the sun hitting the green leaves of the big lacebark elm that grew in the Reids’ yard. Marie Dawn was next to her in a moment, pulling her away from Mick to greet his brothers. Gareth and Nolan both looked a bit more like their mother’s side of the family, with rounder features and her blue eyes. They introduced her to Nolan’s fiancée, Katie, and Gareth’s wife, Leanne. Their teenage son, Colby, was throwing a Frisbee on the grass for Emmet and Maureen’s old yellow lab, Scratch, who had been a puppy the last time she’d seen him.

She felt that sense of family right down to her bones—the bond they all shared. It was one of the things she and Mick had in common. Except that he always held a part of himself at a distance from the people she knew wanted to love him, to take him in and accept him completely. She could almost sense his walls coming up the moment they’d walked in the door.

Did he live with that pressure constantly? Carry it nearly every day of his life?

“Come and talk wedding stuff with Katie,” Marie Dawn said, pulling Allie out of her musing to sit with the Reid family’s newest member-to-be. Katie was a lovely young woman, sweet and friendly, and it was easy for Allie to lose herself in discussions about wedding cakes and flowers.

By the time the food was ready, she was much more relaxed, remembering what it felt like to be at home in this house as if by muscle memory. Everyone ate at long wooden trestle tables set up in the yard under a tent of mosquito netting. There was a veritable feast: the promised barbequed shrimp and spicy alligator sausage, Maureen’s coleslaw and cornbread and icy lemonade, red beans and rice, and pecan pie for dessert. Allie ate until she couldn’t move, and everyone but Colby stayed at the table for hours, telling all the old stories about New Orleans’s great fires and the Reid men being there to battle the flames. Gareth was cajoled into showing off his scar from a bad warehouse fire that had almost gotten him killed saving a fellow firefighter from a back draft, and all of Emmet’s sons talked with pride about their father having served the city for almost forty years.

Everyone except Mick.

He sat beside Allie like stone. He tried to smile, to nod his head, but the fact that he couldn’t be an integral part of the conversation was killing him, she knew. The family didn’t do it on purpose, of course, and she understood there was no way they could have ignored Emmet, Gareth, Nolan and Neal’s accomplished careers in the department. But for the first time she came to understand how it must grate on Mick’s nerves, like drilling on a bad tooth, every time the family got together. She hurt for him.

“Mick,” Maureen started, turning to him, “tell us about the time you saved that young girl from being trampled to death at that concert.” She glanced at Allie, pride and something else in her blue eyes. “He was bruised all over by the time he got her out, but there wasn’t a scratch on the girl. Her parents sent him so many thank-you cards you’d think they bought stock in the company.”

“No, Mom. It’s Dad’s day.”

“Ah, come on, Mick,” Neal urged, jostling his shoulder. “It was pretty damn heroic.”

Mick just shook his head and raised the bottle of beer he’d been nursing all day. “To Dad. Happy Father’s Day, chief.”

“To Dad,” the entire family echoed.

There was much clinking of bottles and plastic cups, then everyone fell into different conversations, including Mick and Neal. But Allie was acutely aware of what that bad moment had cost him.

Eventually the party broke up and they said their good-byes, Maureen making Allie promise she’d come by the house again, and Katie having gotten Allie’s number to talk more about making her wedding cake.

Mick was quiet on the drive back to his place. Or, she’d thought they were heading to his place, but he took a turn that led into her neighborhood.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I’m taking you home.”

“But . . .” She paused, chewing on her lip for a moment. “Mick? Do we ever see each other and not spend the night if you’re not going out of town?”

He kept his eyes on the road. “I guess not.”

“So, this is different because . . . ?”

When he didn’t answer she looked out the window, waiting. He was quiet as they passed a row of houses laced with scaffolding, another row of homes that had been newly rebuilt. There were shops on the next block, one a produce market with stands on the sidewalk, stacked high with melons and cabbage and beans, oranges and peppers in every imaginable color. She was glad to see the city had gained so much of its old vibrancy.

She wondered if Mick ever would.

When they got to her place, he parked and sat staring out the front windshield.

“Are you coming in, at least?” she asked.

“I’d rather you not see this.”

“See what, Mick?”

She laid a hand on his arm but felt him stiffen under her touch.

He shook his head.

She waited.

After a few moments she said quietly, “You know, I’m not getting out of this truck until you give me some sort of answer.”

“I kind of figured you wouldn’t, you being you.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re stubborn as hell, Allie.”

“I thought you liked that about me.”

“Maybe a little less right now.”

That stung.

“Fuck you, Mick,” she said quietly.

He whipped his head around. “What did you say?” His eyes were blazing.

“You heard me.” Anger was hot in her veins suddenly, burning her up inside. “You and your surly attitude. I used to think it was sexy. Damn it, maybe I still do. But I don’t like it one bit when it’s turned on me. When it’s turned on us. I get it. I have some family issues, too, you know, but maybe you’re too caught up in your own shit to notice. So go on. You do whatever you need to do about your issues—indulge in your juvenile desire to get your face bashed in or whatever the hell helps you get it out of your system—but don’t take it out on me.” Her hands fisted at her sides. “Don’t you do it, Mick.”

He looked stunned. Then his tight features relaxed, his mouth going wide until there was nothing short of a grin there.

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked in shock.

“Maybe I’m laughing at me. But Lord, were you mad.”

“Maybe I still am,” she said, not entirely certain herself.

He watched her for several long moments, then he launched himself at her.

It wouldn’t have been possible had his truck been any smaller, but in seconds he was on top of her, having pushed her down on the seat, and he was kissing her hard, one hand fisted in her hair, holding on tight.

She tried to push him off her, but she may as well have been shoving at a brick wall. He kissed her harder, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth, and he tasted of beer and spices and only a little of quickly recovering ego.

*   *   *

MICK PULLED BACK, watching her. He’d felt her surrender, had forced past her stubbornness and her anger to get there. But she was still pissed, he could tell from the way her fingers dug into his shoulders, still pretending to push him away.

“You angry with me, baby?”

“Yes.”

“You’re damn pretty when you’re mad.”

“Didn’t we talk about condescension being a hard limit?” she asked, only partly fake fuming.

“We did not.”

“We should have,” she muttered.

He grabbed her and pulled her closer, heard her small gasp as he lifted her hand and bit into her palm.

“We can have that talk in bed. While I’m fucking you into a better mood.”

“My mood was just fine! Yours is the one that sucked.”

“I never specified whose mood we’d be improving.”

“But . . .” she sputtered. “Whatever.”

“Whatever what?” he demanded.

“Whatever . . . Sir?” She rolled her eyes, but there was a small grin on her face.

“Ah, that’s my girl. Come on.”

He got out and pulled her, sliding her across the seat and out his side of the truck. He took her hand and hurried up the walk, took her keys from her and opened the door, slamming it shut behind them. He led her into the kitchen.

“You. Here,” he ordered, yanking her in hard, until he could feel every soft female curve pressed up against him. His cock went rock-hard.

She was a little breathless already. She licked her lips. He leaned in and bit them—he couldn’t resist.

“Mmm.”

She smelled so damn good—he could smell the sun on her skin, in her hair. He reached behind her and pulled out the clip, and she shook her long tresses free. He buried his face in her hair, inhaled. Dug his fingers in and pulled tight.

He whispered in her ear, “I’m going to fuck you over the kitchen table, princess. Take your panties off.”

He let her go and she took one step back, lifted her dress to reach under it, bent and came back up with a small handful of pink lace. He took them from her and tossed them on the floor before turning her roughly and bending her over the edge of the small, round table, using a hand to press her down onto the wood surface until her cheek laid there.

“Mick . . .”

“Shh.”

He flipped the hem of her dress up, baring her perfectly rounded ass, pulled open the buttoned fly of his cargo pants and pulled his cock out. Christ, he was so hard it hurt. Had to be inside her.

“Spread,” he told her, and she complied.

He reached under her, found her pussy already wet.

“Have to just fuck you, baby.” He guided his cock to her opening, rammed inside her all at once. “Fuck, yeah . . .”

“Oh!”

He pulled back, thrust hard again, needing it to be hard and fast and merciless for reasons he didn’t understand. He took one of her arms and twisted it behind her back, held it there as he plunged into her over and over.

Pleasure was like a hammer, pounding into him. She was moaning, crying out, and he felt her sex tighten around him. He reached around her and found the tight nub of her clit. He tugged on it, pinched, twisted the tender flesh between his fingers as he rammed into her.

“God, Mick!”

She came, her sweet pussy clenching around him, then drenching him with her pleasure. It was too much for him. He came in a torrent of fiery sensation, fucking her harder and harder, pleasure and heat blinding him as he shivered inside her.

“Baby, baby, baby . . .”

He could barely breathe. He’d barely stopped coming and he needed her again already.

He slipped out of her, turning her and pulling her into his arms. Hers went around his neck.

“You okay?” she asked.

“What? I’m so good, baby girl.”

And it was true. Partly. The other part he’d either ignore until it went away, or he’d just keep fucking Allie until it disappeared. It was either that or go fight. He had to admit the fucking was better.

She stood on her toes and kissed his neck.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m going to need you again in about five minutes.”

She stepped back, kicked her way out of her sandals and pulled her dress over her head. Her eyes were a smoldering gold. “Ready when you are.”

She offered her hand to him and he took it, let her take him to her bedroom, where he got out of his clothes and pushed her down on the bed.

“Hands and knees,” he told her.

He wasn’t even certain himself why he was being so curt with her. But she wasn’t fighting it, didn’t seem to mind. But when he came up behind her and started to wrap his T-shirt around her eyes, she pushed it away. “Hard limit, Mick,” she reminded him. “I just can’t.”

“No problem, baby.”

He dropped the shirt and reached under her, sliding his hands over her breasts and playing with her nipples. They went hard immediately.

“Does that feel good, Allie girl?”

“I like it.”

“But . . . ?”

“But I need you to pinch them.”

“Like this?” He twisted the stiffening flesh between thumb and forefinger. She groaned. “I take that as a yes?”

“Mmm, yes . . .”

Hearing her moans, feeling her heat up beneath him, was making him hard again. He felt the desire like a pressure inside his body, his balls, his cock.