Pure Iron (18 page)

“Mommy, Sara didn’t do what you told her,” a sleep little voice tattled as the little girl, probably woken by her older sister’s loud squealing, walked out of her bedroom. Caitlin looked up, saw Mick, and smiled. “Hi, Mick. Did Mommy give you lemonade?”

“She offered, moppet,” he said with a smile, squatting down again. The girl trotted toward him and launched herself at him. He hugged her lightly and then set her back solidly on her little feet. “I have to go home now. My wife will be wondering where I’ve wandered off to, just like your Mommy and Daddy wondered where you went.”

Caitlin considered that and pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek. “I like you better than Sara,” she confided in a loud whisper.

“You’re really married?” Sara shrilled with disbelief.

Mick ruffled the child’s sweat-damp curls and stood. “Yes,” he answered, “I really am married.” He looked to the girls’ mother and said, “I went out for a walk while she was napping—” no need to explain why she was napping “—and I’m sure she’ll be wondering what’s keeping me. I’m just glad I was able to help the moppet there.”

“He calls me moppet!” Caitlin shouted with glee.

“Wait!” Sara shrieked. “I still need your autograph.”

The nubile young woman lifted her tee shirt to bare her chest, barely covered in a neon pink bikini top.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a pen with me,” Mick apologized as he slowly sidled away from the girl.

“Sara!” her mother gasped.

Unrepentant, Sara thrust out her hand, holding a black indelible marker. “Here! Use this.”

The old Mick would have happily scrawled his name across the girl’s chest and suggested something very naughty afterward. The new, married Mick took the marker and scrawled his name across her forearm. Then with an uncomfortable shrug and nod, he excused himself and walked out.

His long stride looked unhurried, but covered a lot of ground quickly. He began humming as he walked, that morning’s luxuriant lovemaking turning into rich, languorous music in his brain. Once again, he vowed never to fuck up this relationship; his muse was far too important to lose in a moment of stupid temptation.

“You’re back!” Sonia exclaimed joyfully when he walked into their cottage. “Have a nice walk?”

He chuckled and crossed the floor to envelope her in a hug and kiss her senseless.

“Oh. Oh, wow,” she said breathlessly when he released her. “What was that for?”

“I missed you,” he said with a panty-melting grin.

“Some young, nubile things throw themselves at you?” she asked dryly.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” he answered. At her raised eyebrows, he told her the story of finding—or being found by—a small cherub of a girl who’d wandered from her inattentive, older sister.

“That was good of you to take her to her family,” Sonia praised.

Her admiration made him feel ten feet tall and mighty—rather like Superman with tattoos and an
über
cool career. He just barely stopped himself from shuffling his feet and saying something corny like, “Ah, shucks, ma’am, ‘tweren’t nothin’.”

So, he did what he wanted to do, what he always wanted to do, and gathered her against his body so he could kiss her senseless again. He loved how easy that was, how satisfying. Before Sonia, kissing was something used to warm a woman, get her motor revved. It meant no more than that. But with Sonia … damn. With Sonia, kissing could be an Olympic sport, a designer drug, something incredible and fulfilling in and of itself. It was like getting dessert before the meal.

“Did you have anything planned for today?” she asked after he lifted his mouth from hers and she managed to collect her thoughts.

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckled softly and ground his hips into her.

“Besides that,” she said.

“Nope. Can’t say that I did and can’t say that I see anything wrong with it, either.”

She opened her mouth, then realized that there really wasn’t anything they had to do. No appointments. No obligations.

“You’re right,” she agreed with a naughty smile.

“I am?”

“Yep, just this once. Don’t get used to it.”

He laughed as she took his hand and led him back to the bedroom.

He never would have imagined that lovemaking could be wonderful when seasoned with laughter and merriment.

Their bellies growled ominously when they finally rolled out of the rumpled bed and into the shower where they drained the water heater of all its hot water. “I don’t like cooking tonight,” Sonia said as she sprawled in a chair, one leg draped over the padded arm. Mick knelt on the floor in front of her and gently lifted her other leg over the chair’s other arm. Her bathrobe gaped, revealing the treasures concealed beneath the fabric. His gaze was drawn to the swollen, wet, pink flesh of her sex, which beckoned to him like a siren’s call. He dipped his head to lick at it, savor the musky honey that flowed so readily to his tongue. She moaned and his licked more forcefully. The extra-sensitive tissues convulsed beneath his tongue. Within seconds she was grinding herself against his mouth as best she could from an angle that robbed her of leverage. In a few short minutes she shuddered helplessly as he drove her over the precipice and drank all her body had to offer.

Mick straightened his spine and rubbed his hands over the soft skin of her spread thighs. He pulled down his briefs and aimed his heavy cock at the entrance of her body. As he guided himself into her body, he leaned forward to eat at her mouth as he had just eaten at her pussy. He cupped his hands under her, holding her body steady as he pumped in and out. The soft sounds she made spurred him to give her as much pleasure as he could. Judging by the next two orgasms that rippled over his cock, he succeeded.

When she reached down to gently squeeze his balls he, too, found a release.

They panted, inhaling their comingled scents as the perspiration dried and their bellies still growled.

“I still don’t want to cook dinner tonight,” Sonia quipped in a mild tone.

Mick chuckled helplessly, head falling forward to rest between her breasts.

After a minute or five, he rose and returned with a warm, wet washcloth which he used to gently wipe her body. He pressed a kiss to her knee and said, “Get dressed, wench, or you’ll get no supper tonight.”

She giggled and quickly pulled on undergarments and a sundress while he cleaned up. She watched appreciatively as he dressed, concealing the hard muscled body beneath cotton and linen.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he walked her to the old truck.

“There’s a Japanese steakhouse just outside downtown that’s really good,” he said. “Do you like Japanese food?”

“You bet,” she answered.

They made small talk on the short drive. They walked hand-in-hand into the lobby and followed the hostess to the hibachi grill seating. They ordered drinks and waited while other patrons entered and were seated at the table with them. In short order their chef arrived with a smile and theatrical twirl of fork and spatula. The diners oohed and ahhed and clapped at the chef’s cheerful performance as they tucked into the mounds of food tossed onto their plates.

“Why does this place even offer dessert?” Sonia groaned before she’d eaten even half of her food. “I’m stuffed. If I eat much more, I’ll explode and that won’t be pretty.”

Mick laughed and said, “We’ll get those take-home boxes for the leftovers.”

She nodded and leaned back in her chair. “Let’s take a walk,” she suggested, then burped. Her hand flew to her mouth to cover the faux pas. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

Mick chuckled again and whispered reassurance that it was only a little burp and no one noticed. Sonia leaned her forehead against his upper arm and giggled foolishly while the elderly couple at the table looked upon them with nostalgic fondness. Mick raised Sonia’s face with a finger beneath her chin and kissed her forehead. The old man’s eyes twinkled and he commented in a low voice to his white-haired wife, “That could have been us sixty years ago, don’t you think, Gladys?”

The elderly woman’s wrinkled face creased even further with her indulgent smile.

They paid for their meals and departed. The old man reached over and patted Mick on the back. He leaned over and said, “You treat that pretty girl right and she’ll stick by you just like my Gladys has stuck by me. A good woman’s a pure treasure. Don’t screw it up, boy.”

“No, sir,” Mick replied with the ingrained respect for his elders as taught to him by his mother. Some lessons couldn’t be unlearned.

Sonia’s hand found his and they took a leisurely walk through the commercial neighborhood, looking at displays in shop windows and talking about nothing and everything. They paused before a Swarovski store and admired the sparkling items.

“It’s amazing what they do with glass,” Sonia said. “I just love their stuff.”

“What do you want?” he asked, automatically ready and willing to open his wallet to get her whatever her little heart desired.

She laughed and said, “I’m not so foolish as to answer that. Let’s go inside. I want to admire, not purchase.”

He followed her inside the store where she gazed and raised fingertips that never quite touched the dazzling items displayed to tempt shoppers into parting with their disposable incomes. Her breath caught at the sight of a colored crystal hummingbird. She stopped in her tracks and feasted her eyes upon the objet d'art. Mick’s lips curved in a little smile at the naked greed in her eyes as she stared at the crystal bird.

“May I help you?” a clerk asked.

“We’ll take the hummingbird,” Mick said in a quiet tone, looking up at the hummingbird that had enthralled his wife.

The clerk nodded and replied, “That’s our display model. I’ll get one from the back.”

Mick nodded and waited while the clerk fetched his purchase. Feeling warm, he shrugged off his long-sleeved shirt, leaving the inked sleeves exposed beneath the A-line undershirt. Wadding up the shirt in his hand, he ignored the gasps and stares from the other patrons until one feminine voice squealed, “It’s Mick Hendriksen!”

Sonia glanced back, startled. She raised one eyebrow and he shrugged one shoulder. You know better than to take off your shirt in public, her dry gaze admonished him mildly. Yes, but you and I both know that I belong to you, his shrug silently replied. Her lips curled in a smile.

The clerk returned even as several patrons crowded around him asking for his autograph. He graciously signed his name on shopping bags, receipts, the backs of blank checks, and two women’s forearms. He accompanied the clerk to the cash register to pay for the crystal bird.

“Er …” the clerk began awkwardly.

“Got a scrap piece of paper?” Mick asked.

The clerk forced the cash register to spit out several inches of blank receipt tape, which he tore off and presented to Mick to sign.

“Thanks, Mick!” the clerk gushed as he finished processing the transaction. He gently put the box in a shopping bag and handed it to his famous customer.

“Thanks, man,” Mick said as he accepted the bag.

One of his fawning public sidled up beside him and, pressing her body suggestively against him, asked, “Where are you staying tonight, Mick?”

Mick sidestepped away from her and answered coolly, “With my wife.”

He walked away from her and presented the bag to Sonia. He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her snugly against his side.

“Hey, babe,” he said softly as he transferred the bag to her hand. “Now you’ve got a memento for Monterrey.”

She glanced up at the hummingbird, then at him, a question in her eyes.

“Yes,” he answered the unspoken question.

“I love it,” she breathed happily.

“I know you do, sweetheart. Now let’s get out of here.”

He put a possessive hand at her lower back and guided her out of the shop. Once they were back on the sidewalk, he wrapped his arm around her and swung her around. In full view of everyone, he kissed her, one of those passionate, drugging kisses that obliterated her every thought. Flashes from cameras and smart phones taking photos accompanied lusty sighs from onlookers, mostly women who wished they could trade places with the slender, tawny-haired woman in his arms.

Lifting his head from hers, he smiled and took her hand. They resumed walking.

“Let’s go home,” Sonia said after a while as the evening grew cool and dim. Mick put his (wrinkled) shirt over her shoulders. Those goose pimples weren’t from excitement.

They returned to the truck and drove back to the cottage where his cell phone, still lying on a table where he had left it, blinked to let him know that someone had called.

“Michael Kincaid Hendriksen, call me,” his mother’s voice ordered from the digital recording.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered.

“You didn’t tell your mom you got married?” she asked, round-eyed.

“That sort of slipped my mind.”

“Our marriage slipped your mind?”

Warning bells pealed in his brain and he rushed to save himself from the abyss of ill spoken words. “Not our marriage, baby. Telling my mother.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. Funny how that one gesture could convey so much meaning and in so many tones. He raised his own eyebrow back at her and asked, “What have we mostly been doing over the past two weeks?”