“Sometimes,” he managed.

“Well, don’t worry about it. I’ll hook you up with a sure thing when you get back.”

“Sure,” he barely bit back a groan as she took all of him into her mouth—and hummed. “Sounds great.”

Zach began to ramble about…something. Who the fuck knew? Conall gave some non-committal noises. Thankfully, Miki let him get away with it, probably because he kept his voice relatively steady. But he had no idea how much longer he would be able to keep that up. Especially once she tossed the ice pop, wrapped that soft hand of hers around his balls, and lightly squeezed.

“Well, since I’ve got you why don’t we go over the stuff for the new club in Barcelona?”

There was no way he’d be able to stay focused during that conversation. No way in hell. As it was, he was surprised he was still conscious.

“I don’t have the stuff with me. Can it wait?” Could Zach hear his panting? He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. She was working him and knew it, too. She smiled around his cock when she wasn’t sucking him into oblivion.

“Yeah. Sure. Sara just came in anyway. Hold on.” There was a muffled sound from the other end of the phone. “Uh…Conall. She has a sudden interest in my pants, so I need to go.”

Abruptly, Zach hung up. Thank God for Sara. Unlike Zach, her timing was impeccable.

Conall threw the phone across the room, dug his hands into Miki’s hair, and finally let out his harsh groans. So close, he growled in climax thirty seconds later.

She sucked him clean and then looked up with a smile. “Not bad. The conversation I mean.”

Okay. He owed the little brat. Big. Besides that talented mouth of hers had only made him hotter. Just looking at her made him hard all over again.

Conall reached down and picked her up. He kicked his jeans out of the way and carried her to the dresser, placing them both in front of its mirror. He turned her so she faced away from him, pushing her down across the wood.

She smirked at him in the mirror. “Dude. Nice idea, but not quite sure how this is going to work.”

The dresser had been built for humans of normal height. Conall wasn’t that human and his height was anything but normal. Miki wiggled that tight ass at him, thinking he was stuck.

“Again. The lack of creativity,” he teased.

He walked to the closet, grabbed her black leather pumps, the ones with the five-inch heels. He placed them next to her. “Put ‘em on.”

He caught her fighting that smile again. “I plan to wear those on Friday.”

He leaned into her, his arms on either side, blocking her in. “Do as I tell you and put ‘em on.”

Miki cleared her throat and stepped into the shoes. She looked at him in the mirror. “Well? Nowwhat?”

He yanked her skirt up and ripped her panties off.

Miki gasped as she held onto the dresser. Conall grabbed a condom from a pile next to his keys and change, and slipped it on. Then he grabbed Miki by her hips and slammed into her from behind.

“God, yes!” she bit out. She had her eyes closed, but Conall wanted her to see everything.

He had one hand on her hip to hold her steady while he wrapped the other in her hair and pulled. “Open your eyes, Miki.”

She looked into the mirror and their eyes locked in the reflection. “Watch me.” His voice low and rough, he barely recognized it. “Watch me fuck you.”

She didn’t think it possible, but the man had just made her wetter. But that’s what Conall did to her. He made her wetter, hotter. With him she was daring, brave, and kind of slutty. But in a good way.

He made her feel beautiful, hot. When she’d worn the pumps before she always felt stupid. Like a kid wearing her mom’s clothes. For the first time, she felt like she owned these shoes.

She watched his face as he began to fuck her. It was like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. No one else he’d rather be in. That alone was an aphrodisiac.

She picked up his rhythm quickly, like she always seemed to with him, and brought her body back as he surged forward. It boggled her mind that she made him crazy like this. “Dead below the waist” Kendrick made someone like Conall, who could have his pick of well-trained bar sluts, out of control.

“Touch yourself, Mik.”

She moaned as she watched him in the mirror.

“Do it.”

And what exactly was his deal with ordering her around when they were fucking? And what was her deal with not minding? And she didn’t mind. Dammit, she was a feminist! Marched on Washington to protect a woman’s right to choose, etc., etc. But damn if she didn’t love to hear him growl out orders. Although it was never orders for orders’ sake. He always made sure she got off. Always made sure he left her satisfied and smiling. The man was a fucking demon in bed.

“Now,” he ordered.

She reached her hand between her legs and trembled as her fingers found her clit. She began to massage the sensitive, straining nub. Her panting became louder, harsher. It didn’t help that Conall still had a good grip on her hair and every once in awhile, he’d tug.

Sometimes she felt like the sensations were too much. His big cock inside of her, his hands on her, his mouth. Sometimes she thought she couldn’t handle one more second of it. Of him. She never wanted to feel this way about anybody. She never wanted her body to be so responsive to just one person. But Conall the Viking had come into her life and blown it completely apart. Now she had no idea what the hell she was going to do.