velvet sins

Mickey's POV Her body was already trembling underneath mine, but I wasn’t done. Not even close. We weren’t slow tonight. We weren’t soft. We were starving. I didn’t kiss her lips at first. I kissed her throat, pressed my tongue flat against her pulse, dragged it down to her collarbone, a bit lightly. She gasped. Her hips arched up into mine, and it was like we both snapped in sync. “You wore this knowing what it does to me?” I whispered, yanking her oversized T-shirt over her head, revealing lacy black underneath. She wasn’t wearing a bra. “Maybe I wanted to be ruined,” she said. My fingers slipped under her panties, teasing at first, just to feel how wet she was already. “f**k,” I growled, my voice low and cracked. “You’re dripping for me, and I’ve barely touched you.” “I’ve been waiting all damn day,” she hissed, tugging at my jeans. “I’m not in the mood for games, Mickey.” I grabbed both her wrists, pinned them above her head, and lowered my body over hers. My length rubbed against her through the thin fabric, and she whimpered. “Oh, baby… I’m not playing games,” I said. “I’m going to make you scream my name.” She clenched her thighs around me and pulled me closer, practically begging for it without words. Her need was written all over her—on the flush of her cheeks, the heaving of her chest, the shake in her breath. I released her hands only to yank her panties down and toss them somewhere—anywhere. I needed her bare, raw, exposed. I needed to see her come apart. I rubbed the tip of me against her folds slowly, deliberately. Her whole body shook. “You want me to f**k you like I own you?” I asked darkly. “Yes,” she breathed. “Do it Now.” And I did. The first thrust knocked the breath out of her lungs. Her mouth opened, but no sound came—until I pulled back and slammed in again. Then came the moan. Guttural. Real. The kind that echoed off the walls and sounded like salvation. Her nails clawed down my back. “Harder,” she panted. I gave her harder. Skin slapped. Her head rolled back. My name spilled out between gasps like a chant. “Micky—f**k—Micky, yes, just like that—don’t stop.” “Never,” I whispered, slamming in again. “I’m gonna f**k you until you forget every other name but mine.” Her legs shook. Her grip on the sheets turned white-knuckled. I reached between us and rubbed her c**t in rough circles, not letting up for a second. Her thighs tightened around me. She was close. “Come for me,” I ordered, my voice wrecked. “Let me feel it.” She cried out—loud, desperate, wild. Her orgasm ripped through her like a wave. And I didn’t stop. I kept f*****g her through it until she was twitching, breathless, scratching at me like she needed more. “Again,” I said, slamming in deeper. “I want another.” “I c–can’t—” she whimpered. “You will.” I flipped her onto her stomach, grabbed her hips, and took her from behind. Her moans hit a new octave, raw and shaking. I leaned down, biting her shoulder, growling, “You’re mine. Say it.” “I’m yours,” she sobbed. “Louder.” “I’M YOURS.” I came with a grunt, deep inside her, holding her hips so tight she’d feel it for days. My body collapsed over hers, breath ragged, mind gone. We laid there for a moment, bodies tangled, soaked in sweat, hearts thudding against each other like war drums. I kissed her shoulder, then her spine. “You drive me crazy, darling.” She smirked, cheek still pressed to the pillow. “Then I’m doing it right.”