His response was instantaneous.
02:12 Patrick:tell me when you’re coming and I’ll get your order ready
Pushing away from the wall, my line of sight teetered again and I braced my hands on the doorframe before knocking. There was a muffled crash inside Patrick’s apartment, and I laughed when he opened the door with a pleased, if not startled, expression.
“Come to think of it,” I said, leaning forward to wrap my arms around Patrick’s neck while his hands settled on my waist. “Peking duck sounds really good right now. I bet you know a place.”
“Mmm,” he murmured against my lips. “You sound better.”
My hands dove under the hem of his shirt and spread up his back as he kissed me. Huge improvement over the noisy club and smarmy guys and shots. It was always like that—when my hands connected with his skin, everything else seemed irrelevant and I wanted to lose myself in him.
Patrick leaned back, his brow furrowing. “Is that…peppermint schnapps?”
A laugh bubbled up from my chest, and I stepped out of his arms to remove my coat and boots. “I think so. I was at a bar with some friends and they got shots, what kind I don’t know, but drinking some was the toll for leaving even though I really hate shots.”
Patrick leaned over the leather sofa and turned off the soccer match on the obscenely large flat screen. Folding his arms over his chest, he watched while I discarded my winter layers. “You were out with friends?”
“Yeah, but,” I sighed, struggling to free my foot from my boot and nearly toppling over in the process. The room was swirling around me. “They’re good friends but sometimes hanging out with them is dreadful, and I’ve been waiting for an opening from you all night, and we were at the douchiest place in the entire world.”
“You’re adorable unfiltered,” he said. “Whatever was in that shot was totally worth it.” He approached, stilling me with a hand to my stomach while he unzipped the boot I was fighting. That explained why it wasn’t coming off. “Where were you?”
“Um, I think it was Undertow.”
Patrick snorted, and turned his attention to my other boot. “I can’t picture you there.”
“Try picturing me tied to your bed,” I said, my hand running through his hair. He glanced up, his hazel eyes hard. Patrick paused, and I had the distinct sense he was debating with himself. When I hiccupped—another graceless moment added to the evening’s tab—Patrick laughed, wrapped his arms around my thighs, and tossed me over his shoulder.
I yelped, and started to protest his barbaric stunt, but a quick slap across my backside ended my commentary. God, what I wouldn’t do to feel his palm on my skin. He was created with the sole purpose of giving me all the things I never knew I wanted and never found the courage to request. I flipped through memories of the past few weeks—our feverish bathroom encounters, that first night after dinner at Pomodoro, last weekend. He was intense and powerful and dark, and I’d swear he was built especially for my enjoyment.
“Your enjoyment, huh?” he asked when he set me on the bed. I stared at him in confusion, and he laughed. “You were thinking out loud just then.”
“Hm.” I shrugged and stared at the ceiling, and hoped my embarrassment didn’t show. Patrick didn’t prepare bubble baths or send evening gowns, but I was more than happy with innuendo-laced texts and good old-fashioned spankings.
He busied himself with stripping my clothes and muttering about my jeans being painted on when I registered that he wasn’t my boyfriend, and it didn’t matter what I was happy with because I forced him to agree to sex, and sex alone. The way I wanted it to be. The way I needed it to be.
“Doesn’t have to be.”
“What?” Our eyes met, and he looked away, shaking his head.
“Cute,” Patrick murmured, his fingers tracing the bands of color on my rainbow knee socks. “Cold?”
My eyes swept over the dark bedroom, and I startled, realizing that, aside from my socks, I was naked and a silky fabric tied my hands to the headboard. A wave of heat started in my core, and spread through my body. I spied Patrick’s sweater hanging off the edge of the bed, and noticed he was naked, too. Either my walk down memory lane was more extensive than I thought, or Patrick was The Flash.
And perhaps I was a little drunk, and not altogether aware of the events around me. I blamed the peppermint schnapps; I could handle my vodka.
“Can I take these off?” Patrick’s fingers dipped beneath the band of my socks, and I shook my head. His eyes narrowed, and he crawled up the bed to cage his arms and legs around me. His erection bounced against my mound, and I fidgeted for more contact. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Hm.” Thinking backwards, I attempted to recall the entire evening. When I didn’t respond, Patrick caught my attention by scratching a thumb over my nipple and I jerked on my restraints. His hands covered my breasts, and though I knew my B-cups were hardly remarkable, the rumbling growl from Patrick’s chest and glimmer in his eyes made them seem worthy of a spot in the Victoria’s Secret runway show. “There were two shots of something pepperminty, two dirty martinis, a few vodka gimlets, and some vodka tonics.”
“I’m surprised you made it up the stairs. Are you sure you want to do this?” He gestured toward my hands.
“Patrick, let me bring you in on a little secret.” He nodded, his fingertips trailing over my skin so lightly I couldn’t stop the shiver. “I haven’t stopped thinking about this since you said it when my pants were around my knees in your sister’s bathroom, and yes, I’m drunk, but I probably wouldn’t have the balls to ask without a sensible concentration of vodka in my blood. So please, fuck me now or get me some Peking duck.”
Patrick’s head vibrated against my sternum as he shook with laughter. “Shit, I need to get you drunk more often. You are adorable.”
Shifting my knees, Patrick settled between my legs. I was too hungry for his touch to complain that he didn’t restrain my ankles as promised. One swipe of his tongue, and I was convinced I’d break the headboard. There was no way I could survive Patrick’s tongue swirling around my clit or his teeth scraping across my folds without some damage.
“You will be just fine,” Patrick murmured, and I bit my cheek to keep my thoughts from sliding out of my mouth. Too much dangerous information in there.
