Soaring (Magdalene #2)

And it was the beginning of my recovery.

 

Even though that would be promising in the case of Rhiannon, who clearly needed to be shaken out of her delusion, it was not something to take lightly.

 

“I would cautiously advise that’s a last resort, honey,” I told him.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed.

 

“So, what are you thinking of doing?” I asked.

 

“Only one real choice,” he answered. “Wait until she fucks up again. Keep track of shit. Keep an eye on my kids. I don’t, I keep ’em away from her, she’s gonna go at me and then they’ll be dragged in and there’ll be nothin’ I can do to stop it.”

 

Suddenly, I hated yet another person I’d never met.

 

I’d hated Martine before I even knew her name. I just knew my husband had fallen in love with someone else.

 

And now I hated Rhiannon.

 

“What do you need from me?” I asked.

 

“You, keepin’ an eye on my kids. Droppin’ by. Comin’ around more often. Givin’ Aisling a good woman to be with. Givin’ my kids healthy.”

 

I nodded. “I can do that.”

 

“And I want you in my bed tonight.”

 

My head jerked back and I blinked.

 

“But—”

 

He cut me off, “I’ll get you home before they get up. Not a fan of sneakin’ and won’t ask you to do it often. But I had a shit day. I’m gearin’ up to face a shit time I don’t know how long it’ll last or how bad it’ll get. Right now, I wanna go in there and sit on my couch with you, relax, drink a beer then go to sleep smellin’ your hair.”

 

“I can do that too,” I said immediately.

 

Then I held my breath as I watched Mickey close his eyes and turn to face the dark of his backyard.

 

I pushed closer, pressing my hand in his at his chest, and called, “Mickey.”

 

He opened his eyes but kept them to the yard.

 

It took time and I gave him that time before he looked at me. “What if she gets behind the wheel with my kids in the car and she’s shitfaced?”

 

“You talk to them,” I answered firmly. “Do it trying not to bring Rhiannon into it. But Ash is a freshman. High school kids, they do stuff. They party. You could couch it in a warning they have to be smart about that, tell Cillian you’re talking to him at the same time to save time or something, and you do this inflexibly so they get your meaning.”

 

“They’re not dumb. They’ll get my meaning. My whole meaning, Amy.”

 

Regrettably, I had a feeling they would.

 

“Then be certain they know at any time with anyone, if someone wants them to get in a car with a driver who’s inebriated, then they can call you to come and get them and there will be no recriminations.”

 

“My son doesn’t have a phone,” he told me. “Rule is, they gotta hit fourteen.”

 

“Maybe you should break your rule, Dad,” I said, giving him a weak grin and a weaker tease.

 

Mickey stared down at me, a muscle ticking in his cheek, unsurprisingly not ready to lighten the mood.

 

Then he growled, “Could strangle that bitch.”

 

I pushed even closer.

 

“I thought I’d scarred my own kids beyond healing, honey,” I told him. “And tonight my son came over of his own choice just to have dinner with his mom and watch TV. Proves you give them good, they’ll respond. You said it yourself, they’re not dumb. Yes, all this is terrible. But one day they’ll see how hard you worked to give them safe and healthy, and they’ll appreciate it. But you just giving them safe and healthy, you’ll get them through.”

 

Mickey again stared down at me for a while before he sighed, lifted his free hand, cupped the back of my head and pressed my cheek against his chest.

 

I wrapped my free arm around him and gave his hand in mine a squeeze.

 

I allowed us to stay that way for a bit before I pushed my head against his hand and looked up at him.

 

“Gotta get my guy a beer,” I said softly.

 

He didn’t respond except to bend his neck, touch his forehead to mine then he went in for a lip brush.

 

After that, he pulled away but kept hold of my hand.

 

We went inside. Mickey got a beer. We lazed on the couch while he drank it and we watched Letterman.

 

Then he closed down the house and silently, he guided me to his bed.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nineteen

 

 

Flash

 

 

 

I sucked hard at Mickey’s thumb in my mouth and I did this so I wouldn’t pant.

 

It was very early the next morning.

 

We were in Mickey’s bed.

 

We were spooning.

 

Mickey had his face in my hair.

 

And I had my hips tilted, Mickey’s finger at my clit, and I was taking his cock.

 

Suddenly, his thrusts increased in power and velocity, the pressure of his finger magnified, and his mouth was at my ear.

 

“Fuckin’ get there, Amy,” he growled.

 

He was close.

 

But I was too, and his growl shivered down my neck, my shoulder, across my breasts, belly, then gathered between my legs, and with his cock and his finger, I sucked his thumb deep and went soaring.

 

“Thank fuck,” he gritted, buried his face in my neck, his cock deep and groaned against my skin.

 

I felt nothing but my orgasm and all that was Mickey, his heat, his strength, the power of his body tensed with his own orgasm.

 

Then mine glided from me and I relaxed against him and lapped at his thumb.

 

I knew his had left him too when he slid it out of my mouth and ran it along my lower lip.

 

His mouth came back to my ear. “You on the Pill?”

 

“Yes,” I breathed against his thumb.

 

“You fuckin’ anyone but me?”

 

I grinned at his ridiculous question.

 

“No.”

 

“You trust I’m not takin’ anyone but you?”

 

I felt my body stiffen because that was huge.

 

But this was Mickey.

 

So I whispered, “Yes.”

 

His fingers at my jaw dug in and I knew he knew what I gave him was huge.

 

But he didn’t dwell on it.

 

He asked, “Then you good with ungloved?”

 

“Yes, Mickey.”

 

“Thank Christ,” he muttered. “Condoms are history.”

 

I relaxed into him, sliding a hand up his sinewy forearm and wrapping my fingers around his wrist.

 

He twisted it, caught my hand and pressed both gently to my throat.

 

He settled in and I felt his breath stir the top of my hair.

 

We lay connected for glorious moments before he said, “Thanks for stayin’ the night.”

 

“You need me, I’m here,” I replied.

 

I heard the lightness in his tone when he went on, “Thanks for takin’ my cock.”

 

“You need me, I’m here,” I repeated.

 

I felt his chuckle and squeezed his hand.

 

“My heiress wanna loaf in bed while I take a shower?”

 

I didn’t know what my other choices were, other than get up, get dressed and go home before he had to get his kids up.

 

Or shower with him.

 

But truly, a waking-up-being-made-love-to-after-getting-about-five-hours-of-sleep orgasm was maybe the only thing that would encourage me to “loaf” in his bed rather than be naked with him in his shower.

 

“If I’ve got time, I’m gonna loaf.”

 

“You got it,” he murmured, kissed my shoulder then slid out of me and the bed.

 

He pulled the covers up before he walked to the bathroom.