I gave a little half snort. “Please. You’d have been bored with me a long time ago if I weren’t so difficult.”
“Not with that tight pussy of yours,” he said. I glanced at him over my shoulder and he winked.
“Such a flirt.” I shook my head as I ducked into the bathroom and tidied up.
I was washing my hands when he came in. He stripped off the condom, washed his own hands at the double vanity and gargled a little mouthwash. After he spit it out, he lifted his head and caught me staring at him in the mirror. He grinned. My stomach fluttered.
He straightened and, without saying a word, clasped my hips with his hands and lifted me onto the countertop. He spread my legs and knelt on the floor between them. My breath caught as his fingers opened me and his tongue flicked over my clit, again and again. So very wicked!
I positioned my hands behind me, on the counter, to steady myself. He licked my pussy and suckled my clit. Clearly, I was destined for an abundance of sexual bliss this evening.
“Christ, that feels so good,” I told him.
He worked a finger into my pussy. I lifted my hips slightly off the counter as he finger-fucked me while continuing to flick his tongue over my clit.
“Michael,” I whispered. My head fell back on my shoulders. My nipples were hard again, a prickly sensation dancing around the areolas and tight buds. “I’m going to come again.”
He stroked me a little faster, inside and out. The climax that burst inside me made my hips jerk and a sharp cry fall from my lips.
I barely had a moment to catch my breath when he withdrew from me, dragged me off the counter and then whirled me around to face the mirror.
“Look at how stunning you are,” he murmured in my ear.
I didn’t know what to say. My reflection revealed a woman with rosy cheeks and slightly swollen lips. Mussed hair and sparkly eyes. Whatever he saw, I was grateful he liked it. The desire in his soft blue gaze made my heart stutter.
“You have to embrace this side of you, Fiona. This free bird you’ve become. See how special you are inside and out, so that you can walk into that party tomorrow—and every other family event from now on—with your head held high. Knowing you are the person you want to be.”
I had to fight back the tears again. Not to mention the rush of emotion he so easily evoked. I stared at Michael in the mirror and wondered if I hadn’t just fallen a little bit in love with him.
Chapter Six
We showered and then ordered Chinese after our stint in the bathroom. I wore Michael’s white button-down shirt, and he had on his faded Levi’s. Nothing else. He was damn sexy. His hair was a damp,
tousled mess he didn’t bother straightening when he answered the door and collected our food delivery. I poured fresh cocktails and we settled on the sofa again, the fire still burning in the hearth.
“I wonder why Chinese is such a great after-sex meal,” I mused as I dug my chopsticks into the chicken chow mein. We were curled up on the couch together with a half-dozen white boxes spread out before us on the coffee table.
He said, “Probably because you can order a ton of it and not look like a pig. Stick it in the fridge after each round and it just gets better each time you heat it up.”
“Fuck, eat. Fuck, eat. Fuck, eat. Nice pattern.”
“Good way to burn off the calories too. I’d rather have sex with you than hit the gym any day of the week.”
I smiled. “And I absolutely cannot afford to put on any weight tonight. The dress I bought for the party will reveal every extra ounce.”
“Describe it to me.”
I finished chewing and said, “Red and clingy. Short, short hem. Off the shoulder. Low dip in the bust area. Very provocative.”
He whistled under his breath. “Sounds like a hot number. You’re not pulling any punches tomorrow, are you?”
I shrugged. “Can you blame me?”
“I still can’t believe you’re going.”
“Well, I am. And so are you. You promised.” We resumed eating until I wanted the duck. “Ready to switch?”
We exchanged boxes of food. Funny how we had these little rituals. I’d never thought much about it, but he’d known exactly what Chinese food to order tonight without having to ask. He’d opened a bottle of Chardonnay earlier, knowing my favorite type. He knew what drove me wild in bed. Knew my family. Knew my drama.