His hand cupped my cheek.

“Amy, baby, fair warning.”

Each word was a groan.

I slid him up, kept the tip in my mouth as I rolled it with my tongue and looked up his fantastic torso to his burning blue eyes.

That was mine. I gave him that.

Me.

Holding those eyes, I slid down, taking him deep.

His head fell back to the arm of my daybed and watching it, I felt a rush of wet hit between my legs.

Then I went for it, gave it, gave it good, and swallowed the evidence of the last.

I licked him clean then made my way up his body, kissing his stomach, his chest, his neck, and only when his arms closed around me did I settle, skin against skin on Mickey.

I caught his eyes and when I did, he muttered, “She’s cute, a smartass, makes great brownies and swallows.”

“Is this a stamp of approval?” I asked.

His hand slid down and clenched my behind. “Like you don’t know a man gets off on a woman who takes all of him in her mouth.”

I grinned and I could tell it was smugly.

His gaze narrowed on my mouth right before he surged up. I cried out. Then I was down, head to the pillow on the other side of the daybed and Mickey was on top of me.

“Payback,” he whispered.

And without hesitation, he commenced working his way down my body until he threw my legs over his shoulders, dipped his face to me and proved that payback Mickey Donovan style was, one hundred percent, not a bitch.

* * * * *

It was September, the weather had cooled, though not that much. But I had a fireplace in my bedroom. It was easy to light and it was romantic. So, in front of said fire, after I gave it to Mickey with my mouth and he returned the favor, we laid under my new, fluffy, soft afghan, naked and silent on my daybed, sometimes stroking but mostly just holding each other and watching the fire.

It was Wednesday after my kids left me and Cillian and Aisling were at friends’ houses, Cillian hanging, Aisling doing some school project.

This meant we had time.

It was just time that was going to end.

“When do you have to go get Cill again?” I asked.

“Eight thirty,” he answered.

I stayed as connected to him as I could and reached to the closest thing that would give me what I needed, this being his phone. I pressed the button on the bottom and saw it was just going eight.

I dropped the phone and snuggled back into him, muttering, “Half an hour.”

“Come away with me.”

My head jerked against his chest before I lifted it and looked at him. “I’m sorry?”