His gaze was steady, deep somehow. It made her breath catch in her throat.

“I’m not,” she protested weakly.

“But you are. It takes a lot to be a sub. Don’t think I don’t know that. It takes strength. Courage.”

All she could do was blink for a moment. “Thank you for saying that. It does. In my experience not everyone sees it that way. But . . . you and I see a lot of things the same way. We always have.”

He nodded slowly. And in that moment she felt something blaze between them, their mental as well as physical chemistry like the sharply burning edge of ozone in the air.

He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, brushed a hot kiss across her knuckles. Her body shivered in answer.

“You are one beautiful girl,” he said, a sense of wonder in his voice.

She smiled. He smiled back, his strong white teeth framed by his wicked goatee.

She’d always loved a goatee on a man. Loved that evil edge it gave a man’s face. And on Mick’s face . . .

“More coffee for you two? Yes, and drink it while it’s hot,” the waiter asked and answered in the same breath, already pouring, bringing them both back to the world around them, full of sound and the warm scents of breakfast cooking.

Mick shook his head as he lifted his cup, one corner of his mouth quirking. “If these waiters only knew who they were bossing around,” he said quietly, humor in his low tone. He took a sip, set the cup down and picked up his fork once more, spearing a piece of waffle and offering it to her lips. “Here, have a bite before they get cold. And before we cause a scandal in the middle of this restaurant.”

She grabbed the fork. “In the interest of not causing a scandal,” she said, slipping the bite of waffle into her mouth. “Mmm, good.” She finished chewing. “Can we get out of here now?”

“You insatiable girl.”

“Luckily you like me this way.”

“Lord, do I ever.”

They finished up and paid the bill, and soon they were in his truck, moving back through the city toward the French Quarter.

Mick took her to his place, and they parked in the garage he rented for his truck a few blocks from his house. They walked hand in hand down the street, and it was sweet strolling with him through the sleepy Sunday city that smelled of ancient wood and brick, flowers and spices, along with the familiar edge of decay from the tropical air. Sweet, and yet her heart was racing, her body burning for him just from the feel of his big hand around hers. From knowing it was Mick she was walking with. From knowing what would happen when they got to his place. They reached the second block, having walked in silence when she turned to him.

“Why so quiet?”

“I’m concentrating.”

“On what?”

“On not tearing your clothes off in the middle of the street.”

“Oh . . .”

Heat shimmered through her, reached deep into her belly, in between her thighs to that warm spot that was nearly always just a little wet for him. It was tingling now. Needy instantly.

She gripped his hand tighter, and they both moved faster until they reached his door, where he let her hand go long enough to fit the key in the lock before taking her hand again and pulling her inside. He kicked the door shut behind them and grabbed her, yanking her body in tight and kissing her hard.

She moaned into his mouth as he opened her lips with his wet, seeking tongue, and her hands slid into his hair, holding him closer. In moments they were both panting, their bodies pressed close together, hips moving in rhythm.

Mick pulled away. “Fuck it,” he growled as he yanked her tank top over her head, and she was grateful she’d gone without a bra today. His gaze lingered on her bare breasts, making her feel all the more naked for him.

She helped him slide his T-shirt up. It caught on one arm, and they both yanked together, the fabric ripping before they were able to work it free. She groaned as she slid her hands over his chest, over his flat, hardening nipples, leaned in to taste his skin.

“Christ,” he muttered. “Come here, baby.”

He wrapped a hand around her hair and pulled her head back, biting into her throat, then sucking at the skin, while with the other hand he unbuttoned her jeans and shoved them down her legs. He slid a few fingers under the edge of her underwear, and she heard the tearing of lace as they came off.

“God . . . yes, Mick.”

She went for his jeans, and his hands were there, too. He shoved them down around his ankles. They got stuck and he kicked off his boots, the worn denim of his jeans slipping off easily, and she found his big cock hard as granite, her fingers wrapping around it.

He filled his hands with her breasts, squeezing, caressing. Her body was on fire, desire a fierce blaze, building so quickly she couldn’t think straight. She didn’t want to. All she knew was this panting desperation, this tearing of clothes, the need to touch and taste and feel.

He bent to take one nipple into his mouth and she surged into him. He licked until it was hard, began to suck while she moaned and held his head, her fingers digging into his scalp. When he bit her she only sighed. And began to stroke his cock.

“No.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled it away, and before she could protest he turned her around, had her on her hands and knees at the bottom of the stairwell.

“Can’t wait to be inside you,” he said from between gritted teeth, picking her up and moving up a few steps.

“Don’t wait, Mick. Come on.”

She reached back for him, digging her fingernails into his thigh as he gripped her hips with firm, hurting hands. She welcomed the pain, welcomed his command. She spread her thighs wider.

“Hang on, baby,” he ground out as he plowed into her.

“Oh!”

But it was all good—the pain and the pleasure as he thrust into her in one long, hard stroke. The hard surface of the old wooden stairs pressing into her knees. He pulled back, stabbed into her. She swore she could feel the tip of his cock ramming against her G-spot over and over. Pleasure speared through her, desire rising to a dizzying height instantly.

“Come on, baby. I’m going to fuck you so hard. You can take it. Tell me,” he demanded.

“I need you, Mick. Fuck me hard. As hard as you can. Please,” she gasped.

He bucked into her so hard she would have collapsed on the stairs if he hadn’t been holding on to her. And along with the exquisite pleasure was the warm sense of yielding to his command, like lightning filtering through her veins in small electric jolts.

“Oh, fuck, baby girl. You feel so. Damn. Good.”

He rammed into her, again and again, bringing her to the edge.

“Not yet,” he ordered her. “Don’t come yet.”

“God . . .”

But she bit it back, forcing her climax to hover at the precipice. He reached around her and pinched her clit.

“Oh!” She shook her head, her hair flying around her face.

“Not yet,” he ground out, his body shivering so hard she knew he was fighting it, too.

She inhaled, struggling against sensation that threatened to overload, her sex squeezing his big cock with every punishing stroke.

“Gonna come.”

“Please,” she begged.

“Wait.”

To her surprise he turned her over until she was sitting on the stairs. He wrapped her legs around his waist, pausing with the tip of his cock at the opening of her hungry, aching sex.

“Mick,” she breathed.

“Look at me, Allie.”

She locked her gaze to his as he reached under her, lifted her, and impaled her.

“Mick . . . oh . . .”

Her arms went to his shoulders and she hung on while he surged into her.

“Ah, baby girl.”

Something shifted. He tilted his hips, in, then out. Slowly. Excruciating. Wonderful, as pleasure coiled inside her, waiting. And his glittering, gray gaze never left her face.

One big hand cupped her ass, and with the other he reached between them to press on her swollen clitoris.