"Why Oscar?"
"I don't know. It's a thing. I name everything Oscar. Dogs, cats, fish. If it gets confusing then I just add a suffix. He can be Oscar the Ninth. Fear my originality, Mike."
"Oh, I do. You gonna do the same thing with your kids?"
"Maybe," she said with mock defensiveness, hugging Oscar to her chest. "Even the girls."
"Like George Foreman." Chuckling, Mike pulled her closer as they waited in line for an empty car on the Ferris wheel. She gazed up at it, feeling so light and carefree. It was a good feeling. She couldn't wait to be up there with the wind in her hair with the cityscape all around them.
And then it was their turn, and they slipped into the dangling circular car and snuggled together as it took them higher and higher into the sky. A busy freeway was their view on one side, but on the other was the Aquarium with its palm trees, and even farther, a panorama of the city. She was able to watch the blue and white – striped sky drop as it rose slowly and released its riders for a quick descent that had the kids squealing in delight.
At the top of the wheel, Mike kissed her. She'd been so hoping he would, and she'd been hoping it would be exactly as it was: gentle, thorough, sensual enough to make her legs tremble with need. Oscar, stuck between their bodies, nearly had the stuffing squeezed out of him.
"Oh, no! Aw, Oscar!" she cried once she realized, snatching him up and comically inspecting him for injury.
"Is he okay?" Mike asked. "Do I need to return him? Jesus, what kind of a mother are you?"
"I know, right? Maybe I shouldn't have kids after all. Sorry, Oscar."
He grinned and pulled her back to her original position, cuddling against his side, Oscar hugged to her as the ground slowly rose to meet them again. "I think you'll be all right, Savannah."
Smiling, she turned her face into his solid chest, thinking that if she could sleep right here, just like this, all night, that would be fine with her. "I think you're right."
His loft was as breathtaking as everything else about him, a sprawling expanse of brick, hardwood floors, exposed ductwork, and the fantastic view she had expected through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Like his beach house, the contemporary decor was minimal but effective, a few large art pieces and rugs with steel-gray furniture and blue accents, and she had to grin at the framed Bruce Lee Enter the Dragon posters on his living room wall. A metal spiral staircase went up to a second level, where he told her he'd set up a small home gym. The entire thing was simply mouthwateringly masculine, the very definition of a bachelor pad, but it fit him perfectly.
"Wow. When you say ‘apartment,' you don't mean what I mean when I say ‘apartment.'"
Chuckling, he moved toward the kitchen, hanging his keys on a hook along the way to the stainless steel refrigerator. She situated Oscar the Ninth on the bar next to her clutch. "Need anything? A drink? I'm more well stocked here than at the beach, promise."
"No thanks, I'm fine." She walked over to the bank of windows, gazing up at the skyscrapers and high-rises beyond. "How long have you lived here?"
"About five years."
"Um, do you mind me asking how old you are? I honestly don't know." Another detail she couldn't remember from his stats.
"Thirty-two."
Five years older than her. Tommy had been twenty-nine and already joking about getting old. He'd figured he had a good five to seven years left before he began to decline, and at that point, he'd insisted, he would bow out. With that kind of deadline looming, he'd pushed himself hard. Even if Mike didn't want to retire just yet, she wondered if he was going to be much longer for the MMA world. She couldn't imagine him wanting to take much more punishment.
Then again, from all she knew, the man was a machine, and some of the fighters kept going well into their forties and beyond.
He strolled casually over to join her, bringing a heavy glass with a scant amount of dark amber liquid in it. There was such a predatory element in the way he looked at her as he approached that her panties threatened to combust. She let her gaze slide down his body and knew precisely at that moment what she wanted to do to him. Something she'd never gotten around to last night.
"Will you do something for me?" she asked, letting an impish smile curve her lips.
Without taking his eyes from hers for a second, he threw back what was in his glass. Savannah watched his throat muscles work as he swallowed, licking her lips in anticipation. "Anything," he said gruffly, the burn of the liquor evident in his voice. Unable to resist getting a taste for herself, she stood on tiptoe and pulled his head down to sample the flavor and heady scent that went straight to her head and lit up all her pleasure centers.
"Sit on the sofa," she murmured against his lips. He did so, only reluctantly leaving her kiss to skirt around the piece of furniture and settle onto it, putting his empty glass on the glass end table at his elbow. Savannah followed him, kicking her cursed shoes off before placing her hands on both his knees and easing herself down to her own. Luckily the rug beneath her was soft; she hoped to be here for a while. Mike never took his eyes from her, never moved, but his breathing quickened, his gaze darkened. The outline of his cock was already evident in his pants and her hands itched to go to it, but she contented herself with running her nails up his thighs and back to his knees, delighting in his heat, his involuntary responses, his firm muscles pressing against the fabric.
She was only interested in one particular part of him at the moment, though, edging ever closer to it with her fingertips and then skating them away until he was almost panting. Finally, she had mercy and let her hands go to his zipper, gently working to free him without taking his pants down. She wanted him this way, all in black, dark and dangerous but at her mercy while she sucked him off with the city lights twinkling behind him.
He groaned when she finally pulled him from his pants, sprawling his legs wider and stretching his arms across the back of the couch. She had to admit, since losing her virginity to her high-school boyfriend on her eighteenth birthday, she hadn't seen too many cocks she'd actually looked forward to putting in her mouth. Her enthusiasm for blowjobs with past loves had been lukewarm at best, but she'd still been generous with the act as long as her lover reciprocated.
But Michael's dick was gorgeous and she wanted to go down on it like it was ambrosia. Long. Thick. Strong. God, whatever else was going on in her life, at this moment she was a lucky girl. The mere sight of it made her ache, made her wet, made her yearn to crawl over him and ride him to ecstasy, but no, this moment was for him alone. He would be a challenge, but she was up for it.
Leaning over, she traced the ridge of his corona with her tongue, glancing up in time to see his head fall back, his chest heave at the first touch of her lips. She left no inch of him unexplored, licking, kissing, sucking, and when the time came to angle him toward her mouth and pull him as deep as she could, his hands flew to her head. Not pulling, not pushing, just there, clenching her windblown hair as his head came up and he watched himself disappear between her lips. "Fuck. Fuck. Savannah."
He made her fall in love with her own name when he said it like that.
She scraped her nails down his chest, wishing now that his shirt was open but still able to delight in the tense muscles beneath. Watching him come undone was a thing of pure masculine beauty, and she couldn't get enough of the sight. God, he was hard, and getting harder, and more difficult to take deep, but she did it, and loved every second of his responses: the groans and writhing movements and pleasure curses. Wrapping the base of him in her fist, where her fingers didn't meet, she relaxed her jaw and took him until his tip hit the back of her throat. It surprised her when his fingers came up gently under her chin, lifting her off him.
"I'm gonna come," he said breathlessly.
"Then come," she urged. "Come for me, Michael, please."
"Goddamn," he groaned, releasing her to go back to her task. And she couldn't wait to watch him unravel, didn't take her eyes off him a single time as his breath caught and his hips wrenched off the couch, his handsome face contorted in the anguish of pleasure as his taste flooded her mouth. She took every drop, staying with him until his grip on her hair softened and he began to relax all at once, sinking into the cushions and breathing as if he'd run a marathon. Beneath her hands, his raging heartbeat began to slow.