He let me.

Then he kissed me as he kept taking me.

I descended but kept gliding as I felt him move inside me. Listened to his noises. Took him in with fingers and mouth. Moved my hips with his increasing rhythm. And helped coax him there until he slid a hand up my forearm, pushing it up over my head, linking his fingers with mine and pressing our hands into the pillow.

He squeezed hard as he thrust deep and groaned loud.

My heart took flight.

I gave that to Mickey too.

How was it that his weight was on me, his body connected to mine, and it felt like I was floating?

I knew he recovered when his hips stopped spasming between mine, he tweaked my nose with the tip of his then took my mouth in a slow, deep, tender kiss.

He ended it, brushing his lips along my jaw, as he gently slid out of me, rolled off but pulled the covers over me before he got out of bed and sauntered naked to my bathroom.

I watched, my first view of his sculpted behind a vision I enjoyed greatly, before I shifted to sitting on the side of the bed. I reached and grabbed his tee from the floor, tugged it on and straightened off the bed, nabbing my panties.

I had them up and was walking to the bathroom as he was walking out.

Mickey, naked in my bedroom, full-frontal view.

He had a great ass, an amazing back.

But his chest and other attributes were better.

He stopped to bend his neck as I stopped and got on tiptoes. My hand was light to his flat stomach as I touched my mouth to his.

He lifted away and I walked into the bathroom going direct to the drawers in my walk-in closet.

I exchanged Mickey’s tee for a short, satin nightie in a dusky rose with deep edges of delicate oyster lace and thin spaghetti straps that crisscrossed at the back.

I walked out holding Mickey’s tee, turned out the lights of the bathroom and walked into the bedroom.

There I saw Mickey Donovan in my bed, under my duvet, on his side, head in his hand, elbow resting in the pillow, long legs partially visible but totally tangled in my sheets, eyes on me. Eyes now telling me he really liked my nightie.

I took him in.

I had that. I’d had that.

That was all for me.

I wanted to cry. I wanted to jump with joy.

Instead, I dropped his tee and joined him in my bed.

He grabbed hold of me the minute I did, shoving his face in my neck, brushing it with his lips, touching it with his tongue, before his hold got tighter and he rolled this way and that, taking me with him to turn out the lights on both nightstands.