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 fucking.
Now, we were fucking.
But we were just fucking.
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 fucked 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.
It again became Mickey and me connecting in every way this could be, becoming what was always but always perfect between Mickey and me, and I begged, “Yes, baby, fuck me.”
He fucked me harder.
“God, yes, Mickey. Fuck me,” I moaned.
I was there again, nearly soaring, when he pulled out and whipped me back around so I was on my belly. He lifted me up with an arm wrapped around the chest, walked us forward on our knees and let me go to grip me tight on the inside upper thighs at either side of my sex.
He pulled me up, I tilted my hips, he drove back in and I grasped onto the headboard with both hands.
He shifted a finger and tweaked my clit.
That was it, taking his cock, feeling that touch, experiencing the power of Mickey, my body started spasming as I cried, “Mickey!” and then I took flight.
His grunts filled the room as he went at me harder, faster, his finger still pressing my clit and rolling.
“Baby,” I panted, still coming.
He kept at me.
“Mickey,” I pleaded, not knowing why and still coming.
His grunts became physical things against the skin of my neck and my body started shuddering.
I was still coming as he spoke.
“You had it this good?” he growled in my ear.
“No,” I gasped.
“You ever had it this good, Amy?”
His question was about more than our fucking.
I gave him the truth.
“Never, Mickey,” I rasped.
His finger at my clit moved, his hand sliding up so he could wrap his arm around my belly, he drove me down on his cock and groaned against my neck, “Fuckin’ right, Amy.”
I kept coming through his orgasm because he had it grinding into me. Finally I started gliding, soft pants whispering past my lips and I felt Mickey coming down with me.
I shifted and he surprised me by ordering roughly, “Don’t move.”
I stilled.
He slid his knees between my legs, settled me in his lap, still connected, and lifted his arm to wrap it around my chest, holding me to him there and at my belly, his breath warm on the skin of my shoulder.
“I can’t give you much, but I can give you this,” he stated thickly.
“Mickey, no—” I started, his words cutting deep, their meaning that all he had to give was good orgasms very much not sitting well with me.
“Shut it, baby, and listen,” he said and since his tone was tender, I let the words slide and did as he asked.
“I made the decision to be my own man a long time ago but that man is based on the man my father taught me to be. I’m a provider. And it isn’t lost on you that I’m strugglin’ with the fact that I’ll never be in a position to provide for you.”
Oh God.
“Mi—”
His arms gave me a squeeze. “Amy, shut it.”
I closed my mouth.
“But I can give you this,” he said.
“You’re more than just a fuck, Mickey,” I snapped.
“Baby,” he shoved his face in my neck and tightened his arms around me, “feel.”
I felt Mickey holding me, Mickey all around me, Mickey inside me.
I still didn’t get it.
“Honey—”
He again cut me off, “Tonight, you gonna sleep alone?”
I closed my eyes and relaxed in his hold.
I got it.
He felt it.
“Yeah, Amy. This is what I got to give. This progresses, your money, we’re gonna have to have ground rules. But whatever those are, however we work it out, the way this feels with you even after I fucked up, forced a stupid fight, hurt your feelings, what we got, you can only get it from me. Even disconnected, we connected. Even upset, you opened your door to me. Twice. Means what we got means somethin’ to you and no matter what obstacles we face or put up ourselves, you’re gonna work on it with me. I just gotta come to terms with the fact that all I’d want to give you, I can’t give. But you got something from me that you want and you can only get it from me.”