Love

The low hum of the London night was a sharp contrast to the stillness inside the penthouse. Michael sat on the edge of the plush velvet sofa, his large frame hunched slightly as he toyed with the hem of his training shirt. He was usually a man of few words, his brilliance expressed through the fluid, calculated movements he made on the pitch, but tonight, the silence between him and Mimi felt heavy with a different kind of anticipation.

Mimi stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights reflecting in her dark eyes. She was a small woman, delicate in stature compared to Michael’s athletic build, but she possessed a quiet strength that always seemed to ground him. She turned away from the view, her gaze locking onto his.

"I meant what I said earlier, Michael," she said softly, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.

Michael looked up, his dark eyes searching hers. "You’re sure about this? No restrictions? No holdbacks?"

"None," Mimi replied, stepping closer until she was standing between his knees. She reached out, her small hands resting on his broad shoulders. "Tonight, I’m yours to use however you want. I want you to take everything you need. Don’t think about being gentle, and don't think about where you finish. Just... take it."

A slow, predatory grin spread across Michael’s face, a look that rarely made an appearance in the public eye. He reached up, his large hands gripping her waist, his fingers digging slightly into the soft skin there. The contrast in their sizes was never more apparent than in this moment; he could easily snap her in two, yet she was offering herself up with complete vulnerability.

"You have no idea what you're asking for, Mimi," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a low growl that vibrated through her.

"I think I do," she whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "And I want it."

Without another word, Michael stood, hoisting her up effortlessly. Mimi let out a small gasp as her feet left the floor, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He didn't head for the bedroom. Instead, he carried her toward the large dining table in the center of the room, clearing the scattered magazines and a stray laptop with one sweep of his arm.

He set her down on the cool wood, his body immediately crowding into hers. The heat radiating off him was intense, a physical manifestation of the desire he had been bottling up.

"I've been thinking about this all day," Michael confessed, his nose brushing against hers. "Ever since you whispered it in my ear this morning. It’s been driving me mad."

"Then stop thinking," Mimi urged, her hands sliding into his hair, pulling him down toward her.

The kiss was explosive, a collision of teeth and tongues that tasted of desperation. Michael wasn't holding back; he was claiming her, his tongue sweeping through her mouth with an intensity that left her breathless. He moved his hands down her body, his touch firm and possessive, tracing the curves he knew so well but was seeing in a new light tonight.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his breathing ragged. "Anything I want?"

"Anything," she breathed.

He didn't waste another second. He reached for the hem of her silk slip, pulling it over her head in one fluid motion. Mimi shivered as the cool air hit her skin, but the chill was quickly replaced by the heat of Michael’s gaze. He looked at her like a man starved, his eyes roaming over every inch of her small frame.

"You're so small," he muttered, his voice thick with lust. "I feel like I could break you."

"You won't," she promised, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

He helped her, stripping out of his clothes with a frantic energy until they were both bare. The sight of him was overwhelming—the lean muscle, the scars from years of play, the sheer power of his physique. He looked like a god carved from stone, and he was hers.

Michael grabbed her ankles, pulling her toward the edge of the table. He didn't ask for permission as he pushed her legs wide, settling himself between them. The intimacy was startling, the raw honesty of the position making Mimi’s heart race.

"I want to see you," Michael said, his voice commanding. "I want to see every reaction."

He started slow, his fingers exploring her with a clinical precision that soon turned into something much more primal. Mimi arched her back, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as he found the spots that made her whimper. He watched her face, his dark eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure, every hitch in her breath.

"Do you like that?" he asked, his thumb grazing a sensitive spot.

"Yes," she gasped, her head falling back. "Michael, please."

"Not yet," he countered, his voice a low rumble. "We're doing this my way tonight, remember?"

He moved his mouth to her neck, biting and sucking until he was sure he’d left a mark. He wanted the world to know she belonged to him, even if the marks would be hidden under her clothes tomorrow. He moved lower, his tongue tracing the line of her collarbone, then down to her breasts. He treated her body like a canvas, leaving his mark everywhere he went.

Mimi was a mess of sensations, her mind spinning as Michael took control. She had never felt so small, yet so powerful in her surrender. Every touch, every kiss, was a testament to the trust she had placed in him.

Finally, Michael couldn't wait any longer. He positioned himself, his eyes locked onto hers. "I'm not going to be gentle, Mimi."

"I don't want you to be," she whispered.

He surged forward, filling her completely. Mimi let out a sharp cry, her eyes widening as she adjusted to his size. He paused for a moment, letting her catch her breath, his forehead resting against hers.

"You okay?" he asked, the briefest flash of concern crossing his features.

"Don't stop," she pleaded, her hands clutching his biceps. "Please, Michael. Just go."

He didn't need to be told twice. He began to move, his strokes long and powerful. The table creaked under their weight, the sound lost in the rhythm of their breathing. Michael was relentless, his body moving with the same focused intensity he brought to the pitch. He wasn't just having sex; he was taking possession of her, body and soul.

Mimi was lost in the storm. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back as the pleasure built, a mounting pressure that threatened to shatter her. She could feel the strength in his arms, the way his muscles bunched and relaxed with every thrust. He was a force of nature, and she was caught in the center of it.

"Look at me," Michael commanded, his voice strained.

Mimi opened her eyes, her vision blurred with tears of pleasure. Michael was looking down at her, his expression one of pure, unadulterated need. He looked raw, stripped of his usual cool exterior.

"You're mine," he grunted, the words punctuated by a particularly deep thrust. "Tonight, tomorrow, always."

"Always," she echoed, her voice breaking.

The end came suddenly, a tidal wave of sensation that crashed over them both. Mimi’s body tightened, her breath hitching as she reached her peak. Michael followed moments later, his body tensing as he gave in to the release. He didn't pull away, didn't try to be neat. He followed her instructions to the letter, letting go completely, his essence staining her skin and the dark wood of the table.

They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the ragged rhythm of their breathing. Michael eventually collapsed against her, his head buried in the crook of her neck. He felt heavy, a comforting weight that anchored her to the present.

"You okay?" he whispered after a few minutes, his voice returning to its usual quiet tone.

Mimi nodded, her fingers tracing the patterns of his tattoos. "I'm perfect."

Michael lifted his head, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips. He looked softer now, the intensity of the past hour replaced by a quiet contentment. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her lips, a stark contrast to the fire of before.

"Thank you," he said simply.

"For what?"

"For trusting me," he replied, his eyes serious. "For letting me just... be."

Mimi reached up, cupping his face in her hands. "You don't have to thank me, Michael. I wanted this as much as you did."

He helped her up, his movements careful now, as if he were suddenly aware of how small she truly was. He carried her to the bathroom, the two of them cleaning each other in a comfortable silence. The air was lighter now, the tension that had been building all day finally dissipated.

Later, as they lay tangled together in the large bed, the city lights still twinkling outside, Michael pulled her closer. Mimi rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It was a sound she knew well, a rhythm that meant home.

"Michael?" she whispered, her voice heavy with sleep.

"Yeah?"

"We should do that again sometime."

She felt the rumble of his laugh against her cheek. "Yeah," he agreed, his arm tightening around her. "We definitely should."

As sleep finally took them, the penthouse was silent once more, but it was a different kind of silence—a peaceful, settled quiet that spoke of a bond deepened and a promise kept. Michael Olise was a man of few words, but tonight, he had said everything he needed to say. And Mimi had heard every word.