“You got back from Junior really quickly after his win.” I heard Josie, sitting to one side of me, note softly to Alyssa, who was on my other side.
“Went back. Blew him real quick. He’s good until I see how our girl here becomes a fight fanatic,” Alyssa replied, also quietly so the kids sitting beyond Josie couldn’t hear. “Once Mickey kicks ass, I’ll hang around and make sure she doesn’t rush the ring and rip his trunks off. Then we’ll hit the motel that does an hourly rate on the way home and he can rock my world.”
I heard these words.
I didn’t tear my eyes away from the ring.
They only fought three rounds and these seemed to last two seconds of sheer exhilaration and goodness before the referee had to stop the fight because Mickey got a technical knockout.
I burst from my chair, and much like Alyssa did when Junior had won the fight before (except with less foul and suggestive language), I screamed, “Way to go, baby! You rock!”
Mickey’s glove held up in the air, still sweaty and fabulous, his eyes dropped to me.
That was when I got an easy grin.
Yes, very much like orgasming.
It was then I realized that having the kids on fight night was not that great of a thing.
And it was then I realized that next Saturday, he wouldn’t have his but I would have mine as Pippa already told me she was having Polly for a sleepover, and maybe another girlfriend. Further Auden had shared he and his buds were going to camp out in front of my big TV to watch football all day after he was done with conditioning.
With all those kids there, kids of two different sexes, they needed chaperoning, so I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave.
So when Mickey had his kids back, I’d have to either finagle his kids doing sleepovers somewhere else, the same with mine, or I’d have to wait for my real fight night to come and it might take weeks.
This was disappointing.
But it was helped when we went back to the locker rooms and I could give Mickey a lip brush before Cillian took over for his blow by blow with his dad about the fight.
This was cute because Cillian was excited and his blow by blow included much reenactment. This meant he did a lot of fake punching of his dad, who fake punched back, still sweaty but with his gloves off, his hands taped, warm in his boy’s excitement.
Though, in Mickey’s case it wasn’t cute. It was sweet-dad-cute—hot.
Alas, we separated in the parking lot. I had brought the kids there but Mickey, not having showered but in workout pants pulled over his boxing trunks and a zip up jacket, was taking them home.
And we were all going home to houses across the street from each other, me alone to my empty house, Mickey with his kids to his.
This was what we did and the whole way I tried to come up with ways to suggest he find sleepovers for his children when he had them again in two weeks.
I was in my nightie, standing by my nightstand, moisturizing, and I still had not come up with how I would suggest this to Mickey when my cell on my nightstand rang.
My pulse zinged when I saw it was Mickey.
I snatched it up, took the call and put it to my ear.
“Hey.” It came out as a breath.
“Door,” he growled.
My entire body zinged. I dropped the phone back to the nightstand without even disconnecting, and sprinted to the door.
I threw it open.
Mickey, still in his track pants and jacket, crowded me. His arm going around me, he backed me in, kicked the door closed and shifted me, backing me toward the dining room table.
“Tell me your kids didn’t decide to spend the night,” he ordered.
I shook my head. “No, baby. It’s just me.”
Then I was up right before I was down, ass to the table then back to it as Mickey leaned into me.
His mouth to mine, his eyes staring into mine through the shadows, he didn’t kiss me.
He just looked into my eyes as his hand yanked up my nightie then dove right in my panties.
My lips parted and my back arched.
His eyes flamed through the dark. “Fuck, you’re wet.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah, honey.”
He moved away only to tear my panties down my legs and I whimpered.
Then he came back, I felt him working at his pants between my legs and then he was inside me.
I pushed my hands up his jacket to touch him but ended up clawing at him as he fucked me hard and relentlessly, his mouth brushing mine, his eyes to mine, his breaths harsh and assaulting my lips, his eyes blazing.
He slid one hand up my side, my arm, pulling it from around him and wrapping his fingers around my wrist where he pinned it to the table over my head.
I shivered and pressed the insides of my thighs tighter to his sides in order to hold him to me and use him to lift me up so I could get more of him.
He groaned and drove deeper.
God, amazing.
“You like fight night?” he rumbled low.
“Oh yeah,” I gasped.
“You always gonna want your fight night fuck?”
“Absolutely,” I breathed.
He fucked me harder and took my mouth in a hot, deep, brutal kiss.
That was it for me.
Then again, I’d had three rounds of foreplay so that was all I needed.