Patrick’s fingers tangled in my hair—they were always in my hair—and his lips swept along my neck. “Texting with you gets really complicated. You make Google work for it.”
“Let’s not talk,” I murmured, pulling him toward the bedroom. “Not right now.”
Patrick’s bedroom was fast becoming my favorite hideout, and even I could admit the old exposed brick and beams balanced nicely with the contemporary closets and bathroom. The high ceilings and angled windows at the roofline avoided the harshest morning sunlight while always providing the perfect amount of darkness and moonlight at night.
Getting Patrick naked and then feeling his skin were the only priorities, and I threw his shirt over his head and pushed his pants and boxers down without ceremony. His hands were busy unfastening my pants when I backed him to the edge of the bed. Patrick sat, observing while my clothes and boots landed in a heap, and I stripped to bra, panties, and socks. He summoned me closer with a hand on my hip.
“I don’t know why these are so fucking sexy,” Patrick said, his fingertips grazing my knees and circling the blue and white striped socks embroidered with tiny Eiffel towers. His fingers stroked higher, over my thighs and along my torso. One quick flick released my bra, and my panties soon hit the ground. “Can they come off?”
“As soon as I warm up.” I stalked him back against the pillows, and pulled the blankets around us. His clean scent was at once sedative and stimulant.
“For a Mainer, your blood’s thin,” he laughed, his hands coasting along my back to diffuse my body heat.
My teeth nipped at the thin layer of skin stretched over Patrick’s collarbone, my tongue soothing the miniscule bites. “Don’t call me that.”
His hands clutched my backside, scooting me closer to his erection. “Fine, but you spent five and half years in Ithaca with seventeen feet of snow. It’s not like you’ve been in Miami.”
Against Patrick’s growling protests, I levered up and glared at him. Every time we were naked—without fail—he launched into a game of twenty questions. “Would it be possible to reserve this topic for another time?”
“Of course,” he retorted, gripping my forearms and pulling me closer. “But you’re more forthcoming like this. I take the opportunities I get.”
‘You don’t give me much’ and ‘you don’t make a habit of telling me things’ echoed in my thoughts, and I shuffled away from Patrick long enough to peel my socks down, cast them to the ground with a harried look, and tangle my arms around his neck. I wanted to give him more—even if his methods were maddening.
Our lips met for a long, torturously slow kiss that summed up exactly what I wanted with Patrick tonight.Slow.Spanking and hair pulling and fast, demanding sex hung the stars in my sky, but tonight was going to be different. Every part of him was strong and hard, and I wanted him unraveling under my hands. I wanted those hazel eyes to soften and glow with pleasure, and I wanted to feel his heart pounding against his chest.
The kiss ended and I crept away, my fingers raking through his light chest hair, down his beautiful belly, and around his swollen length. Of all the cocks I had encountered, Patrick’s was the nicest—all the right proportions, appropriately manscaped, and reliably responsive.
I pumped my hand over him, squeezing the base and twisting my wrist at the crown while my other hand loosely cradled his balls, and Patrick’s hips lifted in response.
“Fuck, Andy, get up here and let me fuck you.”
“No,” I replied, my tongue sweeping over my lips in preparation. “Not yet.”
If there were words to describe the taste of Patrick’s cock, I didn’t have them—he just tastedgood. That first swipe over the flared head was always the best, followed closely by Patrick’s shuddering moan when I sealed my lips over him and sucked. His hips shot up when I took him deeper, and his fists were balling in my hair when my lips closed around the base. My gag reflex warned, and my eyes watered as he pumped against the back of my throat, but I maintained the pressure and Patrick starting spewing curses.
“Andy, your mouth is…fucking amazing. I want to fuck your mouth and come all over you. Fuck, I’ve wanted that for so long.”
It felt very wrong and very dirty to admit, but I liked the sound of that.
A firm shove to his sternum sent him falling back against the pillows, but his sighs and moans continued. My tongue swirled around his head, teasing at the underside ridge and tentatively squeezing his balls.
“Fucking Christ,Andy,” he yelled. “Get on my cock rightnow.”
My mouth stroked over his length with soft, easy suction that pulled him off the frantic edge of release. With a condom in place, I backed Patrick up against the headboard and settled on his hips, his erection throbbing over me as I slid against him.
“God, you are so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips fusing with mine.
“Slow,” I insisted, my hands cupping his strong jaw as I shifted, taking Patrick inside. He filled me, stretched my tissues, pushed deeper, made me arch and cry out. My hips canted back, dragging my wet flesh over him until only the head remained inside, and I gradually pushed over him again, feeling every ridge and sensitive spot come alive around the weight of him. “I just want to feel you, okay?”
Gone was the secretive fucking. In its place was a soul-deep desire that multiplied by the minute. In that bed, he wasn’t my boss, and he wasn’t an orphan, either. Patrick was the one the universe made for me, and in that bed, I was going to be his everything—the one the universe made for him.
“You say that as if there is anything I can deny you,” Patrick growled.
His hands were on my backside, pulling me closer as he moved in me. He set the measured rhythm, and powers far greater than mine commanded me to follow. My arms twined over Patrick’s shoulders, and I started moving my hips, feeling him invade me in the most magnificent ways and leaving tiny, pinprick sensations exploding over my skin.
We clung to each other’s bodies, holding and pressing and grabbing for more contact, kissing necks and shoulders and lips. Breathless and covered in a light sheen of sweat, quiet words passed between us, begging for more and deeper andnow.
“Andy, kitten, I’m close,” Patrick stuttered, his hips lifting up to match my downward stroke. “I need you with me.”
