Chapter 18 Again
He didn’t stop moving.
Even after I came.
Even after I said his name like it was the only word I knew.
Mike stayed deep inside me, bracing himself with one hand beside my head, the other wrapped tight around my hip, keeping me exactly where he wanted me.
His breath hitched as he rocked into me again—slower now, but deeper. Meaner.
“You thought that was it?” he muttered. “Round one’s just the warm-up, baby.”
I whimpered, body still trembling. “Mike—”
He groaned against my mouth. “Say it again.”
“Mike.”
He cursed, then kissed me hard—open-mouthed, filthy, tasting like sweat and sex and the echo of my own orgasm. His tongue slid against mine with a hunger that hadn’t faded, only sharpened.
Then he pulled out.
I gasped at the sudden emptiness, but before I could move, he flipped me effortlessly onto my stomach and dragged my hips up.
“Hands on the headboard,” he said roughly. “Knees apart. Don’t move.”
I obeyed without thinking.
Then I heard the sound of him spitting into his palm. A moment later, his slick fingers slid between my legs, circling my clit with slow, deliberate pressure.
“You’re already dripping,” he murmured. “Fuck, Em. This pussy’s so ready for more.”
My whole body clenched.
“You like me like this, don’t you?” he whispered against my shoulder. “Loud. Messy. A little unhinged.”
“You’re not a little anything,” I muttered.
He laughed low in his throat. “That’s what I like about you. Mouthy even when you’re shaking.”
I didn’t have time to respond.
Because he pushed back inside—one slow, devastating thrust that made me cry out.
“Still tight,” he hissed, grip tightening on my hips. “Still fucking perfect.”
He set a punishing rhythm, hips slamming against me with enough force to make the headboard rattle. Every time he pulled out, it was just enough to make me feel empty again—and every thrust back in made me see stars.
“Mike—oh god—”
“Take it,” he growled. “You asked for this. You wanted this.”
“Yes—”
“Say it.”
“I wanted this. I wanted you.”
“Damn right.”
He leaned over me, chest pressing to my back, one hand sliding under my body to rub fast circles over my clit. His mouth was at my ear again, filthy and breathless.
“You’re mine right now, Emmy. You hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
He groaned—loud and ragged—and kept moving, dragging me over the edge again like it was nothing.
I broke apart with a scream, body locking up, vision swimming.
And Mike didn’t stop.
He chased me through it, fucking me through every spasm, every wave, until his rhythm faltered.
“Fuck, baby—gonna come—” His voice cracked as he slammed into me one last time and buried himself deep, groaning like it tore something out of him.
Then he collapsed over my back, both of us gasping for air, the room thick with heat and silence.
We stayed like that for a long moment.
His arms wrapped around me.
His breath was warm on my neck.
His cock still twitching inside me.
I could feel his smile without seeing it.
“Okay,” he said finally, voice hoarse. “Now round one is complete.”
I laughed weakly into the pillow. “That was round two.”
“Semantics.”
He kissed my shoulder, then nuzzled against my skin like he wasn’t in a hurry to move.
“You good?” he asked.
“Very,” I breathed. “You?”
“I’m gonna need electrolytes and a nap, but yeah.”
I turned my head enough to meet his eyes. “You gonna be like Jake now? All soft and sweet after?”
He gave me a look. “I’m always sweet.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, sweet and chaotic.”
He kissed me again, slower this time. His hand slid over my back, down my spine, not sexual—just steady.
“You kill me a little,” he murmured.
My heart gave a weird little skip. “Yeah?”
He nodded once. “But it’s a good death.”
We lay there until the world caught up to us again. Until we remembered the guys downstairs. Until the sweat dried and the high settled into something warmer, quieter.
And when he pulled out—slow, careful, reverent—I could already feel the ache setting in.
But I didn’t mind.
Because he didn’t let go of me.
We lay tangled like that for a long time. No rush. No need to fill the silence. Just the slow return of breath and heartbeat and the shared warmth between our bodies.
Mike’s hand drifted lazily across my lower back, fingers tracing circles like he couldn’t stop touching me, even if he tried.
“You still alive?” he asked eventually, his voice rough and smug.
“Barely.”
“I mean, I told you not to challenge me. I did warn you.”
I gave him a half-hearted swat. “You’re insufferable.”
“I’m incredible.”
I groaned into the pillow. “Why are you like this?”
He stretched behind me, satisfied and lazy. “Because it works.”
And damn it, he wasn’t wrong.
He moved to sit up a little, pulling the sheet over both of us like we weren’t still covered in sweat and wrecked from the inside out.
“You sore yet?” he asked.
I turned my head, raising a brow. “Are you hoping I am?”
Mike gave me a slow grin. “Just wondering if I should get you an ice pack or a trophy.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
I rolled onto my back with a sigh, the sheet slipping to my waist. He watched it fall, gaze dragging over me again like he was already debating round three.
“You’re a menace,” I muttered.
“And you keep crawling back.”
He leaned down to kiss me again — slower now, less fire, more aftermath. His tongue brushed gently against mine, his fingers stroking my cheek like he couldn’t decide between worship and teasing.
When he finally pulled back, he lingered over me, resting on one elbow.
“You know what I like about you?” he asked.
“I’m scared to ask.”
“You don’t pretend,” he said. “Not with me. Not with any of us.”
The quiet honesty in that made me pause.
Because he was right.
With Mike, I didn’t have to soften. I could be loud, stubborn, and sarcastic. I could push back, and he’d just push harder — not to break me, but to match me. Meet me. Flip me over and make me beg without ever making me small.
I didn’t say anything.
Just reached up and pulled him down into another kiss.
(You can end the chapter here, or with a transition like below to bring the word count closer to 1,200 and set up the next chapter.)
A knock sounded on the bedroom door.
Mike groaned, dropping his head to my chest. “If that’s Josh with a glass of orange juice, I’m throwing him out the window.”
Another knock, followed by Patrick’s dry voice: “You’ve got five minutes. We’re doing drinks in the hot tub.”
Mike yelled back, “Tell the water to wait.”
I laughed. “You’re not skipping the hot tub.”
He pulled back, eyes dragging down my body one more time. “You come with me, or I’m dragging you in naked.”
“Tempting.”
He leaned close, voice lowering. “You think I’m kidding?”
I arched a brow. “Five minutes?”
He grinned. “I only need two.”
“Mike,”
“I’ll save the other three to kiss you after.”
And somehow, that hit harder than the sex.