Chapter 17 Try Me
The kitchen slowly emptied after breakfast.
Josh vanished with a mug and a book. Drew took his waffles upstairs, mumbling something about pretending none of this had happened. Patrick lingered by the sink, rinsing dishes with that same quiet intensity that somehow said everything without saying a word.
And then it was just me and Mike.
He leaned back in his chair like he owned the house, arms folded behind his head, legs kicked out under the table, bare feet crossed at the ankles. That smirk on his face was lethal — smug, amused, dangerous in the way only Mike could be.
“You still thinking about it?” he asked, voice low and lazy.
I raised an eyebrow. “Thinking about what?”
His grin deepened. “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what.”
I finished the last sip of my coffee and pushed the mug aside. “Maybe I’m wondering if you’re all talk.”
Mike stood — not rushed, not cocky, just decided. He came around the table and stopped in front of me, hands sliding into the waistband of his joggers, eyes dragging over the oversized shirt I was still wearing from Jake.
“I don’t bluff,” he said simply. “And I never lose.”
I tilted my head. “You sure about that?”
He took a step closer, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his chest. “You want me to prove it?”
My heart thudded once. Then again.
I nodded once. “Try me.”
That was it.
Mike moved.
He didn’t take me to the bedroom.
He pinned me against the hallway wall with his mouth on mine, hot and reckless. His hands were on my thighs, lifting me in one swift motion like I weighed nothing, and I wrapped my legs around his waist with a breathless gasp.
“Fuck,” he groaned into my mouth. “Been watching you walk around in tiny shorts for three days. You think I don’t notice?”
“You didn’t do anything about it.”
He bit my lower lip just hard enough to make me whimper. “That’s on me. I’m correcting the mistake now.”
He carried me, stumbling and laughing against my neck, until he reached the nearest guest room. He kicked the door open with one foot and dropped me on the bed like a challenge.
Then stood back.
Watching me.
His eyes were dark, sharp, completely focused.
“You just gonna stare at me?” I teased, breath unsteady.
“I like the view.” His gaze dragged down my bare legs, over the curve of my thighs, back up to the shirt still hanging off my shoulder. “And I want to take my time ruining it.”
My skin prickled. “Big words.”
“You haven’t even heard the filth yet.”
He stepped forward, pulled the shirt off in one smooth motion, and dropped it behind him.
I reached for his waistband, but he caught my wrists.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “You don’t get to rush me. I’m going to make you feel this.”
He kissed down my throat, across my collarbone, sucking marks into my skin like he wanted to leave proof. His hands were rough but careful — cupping my breasts, dragging his thumbs across my nipples until I arched beneath him.
“You’re already shaking,” he whispered. “You sure you were ready for this?”
“Mike—”
“Shh.” He moved lower, trailing heat down my stomach. “Let me show you what you’ve been missing.”
Then he dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed and shoved my thighs apart.
He didn’t tease.
He licked me with one slow, firm stroke and groaned against me like he was starving.
My head fell back, a sharp gasp escaping before I could stop it.
“Oh my God—”
“There she is,” he murmured, mouth dragging hot over my clit. “Sounds even better than I imagined.”
His tongue worked with brutal precision — circles, flicks, flat strokes that made me cry out, hips jerking off the mattress. He held me down with both hands, dragging me across his mouth like he owned me.
“You taste so fucking good,” he muttered. “Been dreaming about this.”
“You’re such a cocky asshole,” I gasped.
“Still making you come.”
He sucked my clit hard.
I shattered.
My thighs trembled, vision going white as I came on his tongue, back arching, hands fisting the sheets.
He didn’t stop.
He moaned against me like my orgasm was his favorite meal and kept licking until I whimpered and shoved at his shoulders.
When he finally came up for air, his mouth was shiny, his eyes wrecked.
He leaned over me, lips brushing my ear. “One down.”
I blinked at him, still panting. “One?”
“Think I’m done with you?”
He shoved his pants down, lined himself up, and pushed inside in one deep, brutal stroke.
My breath punched out of me.
“Fuck—”
“Yeah,” he growled. “Feel that? You’re mine right now, Emmy. All fucking mine.”