The motel in the Grove always carried the sharp scent of Pine-Sol mixed with stale cigarette smoke, but Mickey had grown used to it. If anyone ever discovered why he kept coming here, that smell would be the least of his problems.
He slid a thick roll of hundreds across the front desk - the usual price for the clerk’s silence - and received the key to Room 12 in return. Once inside, Mickey locked the door, dropped onto the edge of the bed, and lit a cigarette.
He was halfway through it when the familiar knock came: one sharp rap, followed by two slower ones. He rose quickly, unlatched the door, and stepped aside so Doreen could slip in unseen.
“I’m sorry for calling you out,” she started. “I just needed -”
Mickey cut her off with a tender kiss to her temple, then wrapped his arm around her. “I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get away. Are you okay?”
Doreen nodded. “The shipments have been handled.”
Mickey cupped her face in both hands. “I said, are you okay? Fuck the shipments.”
“I’m okay now,” she said softly.
He kissed her again and pulled her into his arms, letting out a long, relieved sigh as he held her close.
“I know we said we’d stop,” Doreen murmured against his chest, “but I need you, Mickey.”
“It’s too soon after your miscarriage. We shouldn’t.”
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a condom. “I brought six with me.” When she saw the hesitation in his eyes, she let out a small sigh. “Please? I really need this. I need you.”
The conflict was written all over Mickey's face: worry for her body, for what she’d been through, for how easily this could all come crashing down around them. He let out a slow, shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair.
“Damn it, Dee…” he muttered. “This is a bad idea.”
But even as he said it, his resistance was crumbling. Doreen stepped closer, pressing the first condom into his palm and sliding her arms around his neck. She kissed him again, slow and pleading, and Mickey finally gave in with a low groan of surrender.
“Okay. All right,,” he whispered against her lips.
Mickey pulled back to look into her eyes. The hunger was there, raw and undeniable, but so was something darker, something they both craved in these stolen moments. “We do this,” he said, voice low and rough, “but we do it the right way. Safe word is ‘yellow’. Say it if it’s too much. Promise me, Dee.”
Doreen nodded quickly, lips parted. “Yellow. I promise.” Though they both knew she'd never safe word out.
The confirmation barely left her mouth before Mickey’s hand cracked across her face, the sound echoing in the dingy motel room. Doreen gasped, her head snapping to the side, a bright red mark blooming on her cheek. Heat flooded her body, mixing pain with a rush of wet arousal between her thighs.
“Fuck,” Mickey growled, grabbing her by the hair. He kissed her brutally while his free hand shoved her coat off her shoulders and yanked down her skirt. Doreen moaned into his mouth, fumbling with his belt as he tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth.
He spun her around, bending her over the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked under her as he shoved her legs apart. He didn’t waste time teasing, he hastily pushed her panties to the side then thrust into her hard in one devastating stroke.
Mickey set a punishing rhythm, hips slamming against her ass, the sound of skin on skin loud and obscene.
“That’s it,” he groaned, voice thick with lust. “Take it! You wanted this so fucking bad…” A slap landed on her ass, then another when she pushed back against him desperately.
“Harder!” Doreen cried.
He fucked her like he was trying to punish them both for needing this, for needing each other.
Doreen came first, shuddering and clenching around him, nearly sobbing from both pain and pleasure. Mickey soon followed, driving deep and spilling into the condom, his body jerking against hers.
They collapsed onto the bed together, sweaty and trembling. Mickey pulled her close, one arm wrapped tightly around her. The slap mark on her face was already fading to a warm flush.
For a long minute, the only sounds were their slowing breaths and the distant hum of traffic outside.
“We can’t keep doing this, Dee” Mickey finally murmured, his voice low against her hair. “It’s too dangerous. Anton, Junior, Brett…if anyone ever found out…” He let out a shaky breath, but there was no conviction in it. “We have to stop. For real this time.”
The words hung in the air, but his body betrayed him, already half-hard again against his thigh and aching for another round. For now, they'd continue until the condoms ran out.
