Mikalo's Flame Read Online Free

asked quietly.
    He paused, deep in thought, and then shrugged
the question away, walking to the bar and pouring himself a new
drink, the ice clinking angrily against the glass.
    “It died. That is enough. And there is pain
in the thought of it.”
    I waited, choosing my words carefully.
    “So, your meeting with these Firms, it was,
what, a way to be something your father didn’t want? Do something
of your own?”
    He shook his head and shrugged, belting back
another swallow of the rich amber liquid, taking a piece of ice
into his mouth and slowly sucking it as he thought.
    “No,” he finally said, the ice crunched in
two and swallowed. “There is more, but it is not important.”
    “You said once I could ask you anything at
any time,” I said. “No secrets. Nothing hidden.”
    “My Grace, this is true. And you asked me the
question. I have answered.”
    “No,” I said. “There’s still something you’re
not --”
    “Yes, you are right,” he interrupted. “The
time is not now for all the answers you want. Soon, but not
now.”
    “Mikalo ...”
    “Not now,” he repeated, his tone almost
sharp.
    Now I was really curious.
    And, with me, curiosity and patience didn’t
walk hand-in-hand.
    He came close, kneeling in front of me to
wrap his arms around my legs and, his eyes on mine, rest his chin
on my knees.
    “We have our lives to share our secrets,” he
said quietly. “The reason for why I meet with these firms or why I
come to New York, that reason is not one you need to fear.
    “Please, trust me. You will know, and
soon.”
    I stroked his face, moving his hair from his
forehead, and cupping his chin.
    I nodded.
    Okay.
    He bent low and kissed my knees, his hands
moving from my legs up my back to wrap around my shoulders.
    And like that, I could feel myself growing
wet.
    Question time was over.
    I grabbed his hair in my fist as he pressed
his face to my thighs.
    Inhaling deeply, he moved his face between my
legs.
    And then he groaned.
     
     
     

Chapter Seven
     
    In the light of the fire, he watched me as he
sipped his scotch, sucking a small piece of ice into his mouth.
    And then, bending low, the cold, half-melting
nugget clenched between his teeth, he brought his lips to my
breast.
    I gasped, my back arching as he sucked me
deep, the chill of his mouth pressing against me almost unbearable,
the burn of the ice melting against my sensitive flesh addictively
delicious.
    Wrapping my fingers in his hair, I drew him
near, brought him to me, eager to taste him, to wrap myself in his
scent. My lips on his, my hands now on his hips, his waist, clawing
at his belt, wrestling with the zipper of his jeans.
    He lifted me from the couch, holding me close
as he gently laid me on the plush carpet covering the hardwood
floor. Pausing, he lifted from me, resting on his knees, towering
over me.
    One by one, the buttons of his shirt were
undone, his fingers patient and teasing. And then the fabric pulled
open to reveal his muscular chest and tight torso, the light from
the nearby flames bouncing off the subtle ridges of his stomach,
before the shirt slipped past the rounded, smooth shoulders and
slid free, dropping on the floor around my legs.
    He leaned forward, crouching over me, the
muscles in his shoulders and spanning the width of his chest
flexing.
    I lifted up, rising to him, eager to taste,
to lick.
    We kissed, deeply.
    My mouth moved from his down to his chin, his
neck. I paused as I reached his chest, my lips searching for the
dark circles of his sensitive nipples while breathing deep and
losing myself in his masculine scent.
    Finding the familiar small peaks, I took a
sensitive circle between my lips, my teeth grazing the skin, my
fingers finding and then pinching the dark flesh of its twin.
    Still crouched over me, he moaned, his hand
now on the back of my head guiding me as I sucked and nibbled and
teased, my fingers darting below once more to work the zipper of
his jeans, eager to free his hardness.
    He