“I know.” She paused, swallowed the ache in her chest that was partly from thinking about her dad and partly from Mick caring about her and being willing to show it. Being willing to admit that the two of them being together was possibly going somewhere. But that was too much to think about and have this discussion at the same time.
“I don’t talk about this,” she said, her fingers picking at the edge of the cotton sheet, her gaze focused there. “Not with anyone. But you’re right. I have to. And it’s you. Even though we’re in kind of a scary place right now, I still understand we’ve known each other forever.
“So . . . you know that it was mostly Dad who got me ready in the mornings while Mama was at the bakery. He would play the piano for me sometimes while I was eating breakfast, or brushing my teeth—sometimes it would be a classical piece, sometimes jazz. Sometimes just silly stuff, cartoon music. That last morning . . . he was playing Mozart’s Piano Concerto number twenty-one. I’m sure you’ve heard it. It’s a light piece. Supposed to be cheerful. Well.”
She stopped to draw in a long breath. She wasn’t sure how to say the words out loud. “That morning . . . the music stopped suddenly, and I came downstairs demanding that he play some ragtime for me, which I did a lot. I just skipped into the room and . . .” She stopped again, swallowed hard. “He was sort of slumped over the piano.” She had to close her eyes. She could see him there, his blue striped shirt, his dark hair shining in the morning sun streaming through her mother’s lace curtains, the pattern of light and shadow it made on the floor. She drew in another breath and went on. “Even in my ten-year-old brain I knew right away he was gone. That he wasn’t coming back. I started screaming. Apparently a neighbor heard me, because suddenly there were a lot of people in the house. I don’t remember much more after that.” She stopped and gulped past the hard lump in her throat, tightening her chest. “All I knew—all I believed—for a long time after was that he’d left me.”
Mick tightened his arms around her. “Jesus, baby. Poor girl.”
She shook her head—or tried to, which was difficult being held so hard against his muscled shoulder. “Don’t, Mick.”
“Don’t what? Feel bad that you had to go through that?”
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t feel sorry for myself. Life happens, right? Everyone’s gone through something difficult.”
“Yeah, I guess so. But not that.” His voice was rough. “No one should have to go through that. I get that you’d probably carry those feelings with you through your life. And I guess I get how you might have felt the same way when I didn’t call you, that it would have been a trigger. If I’d known more . . . maybe . . .”
They both let the sentence fade and quiet descend as they held each other.
It had felt good to tell him, somehow. And bad, like opening an old wound that would now have to grow a new scab. But if things were going to continue between them, she was going to have to get used to being vulnerable with him. It was different with Mick than it was with the other Doms she’d played with, the men she’d had relationships with. Mick knew her in ways no one else did, and that made the rawness all the more wide open. She didn’t like that part.
She sniffed, rubbed at the makeup that had undoubtedly run under her eyes.
“Mick?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you tell me something now?” she asked.
“What?”
“I sort of feel like I’ve just laid my soul out to you on a platter, and I’d feel a lot better if you did a little of the same with me.”
He shifted her in his arms so he could see her face.
“Really? That’s the only thing that’ll make you feel better?” he lowered his voice an octave. “What about this?”
He leaned in and kissed her softly, his lips pressing to hers, then pressing again, gently, sweetly.
“That’s nice, too,” she admitted.
“Tell me if this is any better.”
He kissed her again, this time teasing her lips open with his tongue. He slid the tip of his tongue between her lips, giving her just a taste before pulling away. Cupping her face in his hands he did it once more, this time sliding in farther, pulling back, doing it again, a lovely tease that built desire in her body like a slowly heating flame. She couldn’t help but moan. Couldn’t help the way her body—her need—betrayed her.
There would be time to talk later. For now, there was Mick. She’d never been able to resist.
CHAPTER Nine
HIS HANDS SLID down to her shoulders, and he kissed her lips, her cheek, her neck, as he slipped her tank top over her head. One strong arm wrapped around her back and he unhooked her bra, and that came off, too. His mouth was on hers once more as he pulled her in close, sliding down into the sheets with her. He held her in his arms, their bodies pressed close, until she could feel his erection against her belly. The gears had shifted, her mind emptying out, her body filling with desire, her sex aching and wet.
“Here, baby girl,” he said, kicking his way out of his sweats, then helping her slide her underwear off before rolling her onto her back and climbing on top of her.
God, his body felt so damn good, the weight of him pressing her down. He folded her fingers into his, raised her arms over her head and held her there while he kissed her, teasing her with lips and tongue and teeth while his hard cock pressed into her abdomen, his hard thigh pressing against her swollen mound.
“Come on, Mick,” she begged.
“Shh, baby. Just lie here and take it for now.”
No, she’d never been able to resist him. Certainly not his command. Her body responded even before her brain did, her muscles going lax.
“Perfect,” he murmured before bending to kiss her neck, to bite there. Then lower until his teeth were grazing her nipple, making it go hard, making her muscles go limp with need.
His teeth grazed her skin as his mouth traveled all over her breasts—light nibbling at first that gradually built to harder nips. The bites were quick, leaving tiny shots of pain behind, creating a lancing pattern of sensation all over her breasts. Her nipples were so damn hard they hurt, aching to be touched. Begging for the pain.
He moved down her side, over her rib cage, down to the tender skin at her waist. He bit her there hard, his teeth sinking in, making her yelp.
“Oh!”
“Does this hurt you, baby?” he asked, his voice muted, his mouth a breath away from her body.
“Yes,” she moaned.
“But you like it?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Do you want more? Tell me.”
“Yes, please, Mick.”
He kissed the sore spot where he’d last bitten her, making her sigh with pleasure. “Your skin tastes like fucking heaven, baby girl. I’m going to bite you hard now. I’m going to eat you up. And you must hold very still for me. Don’t make me tie you up. If you do, there will be consequences.”
Consequences.
Oh . . .
Her sex clenched, went soaking wet at the thought.
He bent and sank his teeth hard into her flesh, right at the curve of her waist, and she had to breathe through the pain. It was exquisite, searing, and followed quickly by a lovely rush of endorphins. He bit again, a little higher—the fragile skin over her ribs—and this time the pain was more severe. She gasped, tried to breathe through it.
“You can take it. Come on, baby. For me.”
She nodded, forced her body to calm, waited for the next bite.