“Good?”
She opened her eyes and met his curious gaze. “Heaven. I love the way you fit inside me.”
He arched, and she gasped. “I like being inside you, Tara. I like feeling the way your pu**y grips me, the sounds you make when I f**k you.”
She rocked forward, dragging her clit against him, and felt the walls of her pu**y grip his c**k in response. Mick grabbed her hips and pulled her toward him, then back, setting the pace.
“Yeah,” he said, watching where their bodies were connected. “Look down, Tara. See my dick pulling your pu**y lips apart when I pump up inside you?”
She bent forward, watched his c**k disappear inside her, then pull out, coated with her cream. “Yes.”
“I love the way you swallow me up.”
Her belly clenched, her entire body going up in flames at the way he touched her, the way he spoke to her, his touch, his voice, everything about him hot and sexy and filling her senses with fire. She leaned forward, pressing her br**sts against his chest, running her fingertips across his jaw and his lips.
He cupped her face and drew her to him for a soul-shattering kiss, then grabbed her butt cheeks and lifted her up and down off his c**k while his tongue dueled with hers. She gasped against his mouth, so close now she felt the stirrings of orgasm tightening inside her.
“Mick.” She pulled back just enough to search his face, her nails digging into his shoulders.
“Come on, Tara. Let me feel it.”
She held on for only a few seconds more, driving her clit against his body, letting the sensations take her to the ragged edge. Then she cried out and let go, latching on to his mouth as she came. Mick dug his fingers into her hair and kissed her deeply, held on to her as she shook against him with the force of her orgasm. He groaned against her lips as he thrust upward into her when he came, his fingers digging into her flesh. It was just so good to be held tightly in his embrace, to know it affected him as hard as it had her.
She blew out a breath and laid her forehead against his. “So glad you stopped by tonight.”
He laughed. “Me, too.”
They cleaned up and dressed, then sat on the sofa together watching TV while Tara made her notes. Her cell rang about eleven p.m., and she frowned as she went to grab it, thinking it was odd that Nathan would call early to be picked up from the party.
But it was Maggie, and her eyes widened as she listened, tried to calm Maggie down, then hung up and turned to Mick.
“What’s wrong?”
“Maggie’s having a meltdown.”
“About what?”
She chewed her lip, wondering how much she should confide in Mick about Maggie’s personal life, then decided she didn’t have much of a choice. “Her brother is a mess. He gets into a lot of jams, then expects Maggie to come to his rescue. She doesn’t know what to do, she’s in crisis mode, and she’s not clearheaded where he’s concerned because he’s her baby brother and she’s practically raised him by herself. We’ve been friends a long time and seen each other through some rough spots. I’d like to help her.”
“You need to go to her? I understand.” Mick stood.
“There’s another problem. Nathan. I was supposed to pick him up from the party at midnight.”
“I’ll get him. You go take care of Maggie.”
“Are you sure? I can go get Nathan now, then go to Maggie’s.”
“And Nathan would hate that. Write down the address, and I’ll pick up Nathan, bring him back here, and wait for you to come home.”
“God, Mick, I hate burdening you with my personal stuff.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and steadied her. “Things between us are personal, Tara. So write down the address and let me go get him, okay?”
She nodded, gave him the address and her spare garage door opener, then kissed him, thanked him, and ran out the door. As she climbed into her car, Mick stood at her open doorway, waving to her.
She waved back and a sudden pang of abject fear slammed into her.
How had he become such an important and integral person in her life?
And what was she going to do about that?
IT WASN’T HARD TO FIND THE BRIGHTLY LIT HOUSE where the party was. Mick looked for all the cars parked haphazardly in the driveway. And the noise level was jet engine loud. For this late at night, he was surprised the cops hadn’t been called. These people must have really understanding neighbors. He went up to the front door and rang the bell, then figured there wasn’t a chance in hell they’d hear it since the music was ear-splitting. He tried the knob, and the door opened. Great. He rolled his eyes and walked in.
Disaster, was his first thought. Discarded paper plates and plastic cups and napkins and food and drink and furniture had been shoved out of whack. It looked like a crime scene. Or a party. The first thing Mick smelled was the alcohol, which had a stronger odor than the pizza, surprising considering there were about twenty or so empty pizza boxes strewn all over the room.
He picked his way through a throng of beefy football players, several jailbait-age inappropriately dressed girls, all of whom sized him up—were they serious?
“Anyone seen Nathan?” he asked of one of the guys, who looked up at him with a half-lidded gaze that spelled either drunk or stoned.
“Nuh-uh.”
Mick moved on toward the kitchen. So far he hadn’t seen an adult in sight. Good thing Tara hadn’t come to pick up Nathan. She’d be near fainting by now.
He found Nathan out back hanging with a group of three guys and two girls. And he was just about as shit-faced as the rest of the partygoers.
Not good.
“Mick! My man! Wazz up?”
“Let’s go.”
“Dude, let’s stay and party.” Nathan threw his arm around Mick. “Do you know who this is? This is Mick Riley, San Francisco’s quarterback.”
“We know, dude. Dude, you are one lucky sonbitch.” One of the guys grinned. “How awesome is it that your mom is with him?”
“Like, wow, you’re Mick Riley.” One of the girls stumbled out of her lawn chair and fell toward him, trying her best to look provocative.
“Whose house is this, Nathan?” Mick asked.
“Tim O’Banyan.”
“And where are Tim’s parents?”
“Cabo,” everyone said in unison, laughing as they raised their plastic cups to Tim’s parents in a toast.