The bitter laugh dies in my throat because he’s doing it again—dangling me on this string, pulling me close enough to taste what I can’t have before shoving me back.
“Don’t you dare.” My voice wobbles. “You can’t keep doing this to me, pulling me close one second then pushing me away the next. It’s cruel. I’m not a toy you can pick up and put down when convenient.”
My hands shake where they rest on his shoulders. “You talk about protecting me, but you’re not scared for me. You’re scaredofme. Because the fact you’re even affected by me rattles you.”
Something dangerous flickers across his face. “You want to know what rattles me? Having Jake’s little sister grinding on my cock like she knows what she’s doing. Having you look at me with those wide eyes like you’re begging me to fuck you.”
The crude words make my face burn, but I don’t back down even though he’s clearly trying to shock me into retreat.
“Maybe I do want exactly that.”
“No, you don’t.” His grip on my hips tightens. “You think you do because you’re drunk and feeling brave.”
“Stop treating me like a child—”
“You kiss one fisherman and suddenly you think you want this?” His chest heaves under mine, each breath pushing us closer together. “Christ, Georgie, you can barely handle your own reaction when I touch you. You’re shaking right now.”
The dismissal hurts, but it also makes me angry. “Life would be easier if you weren’t such a hypocrite.”
He groans against my collarbone. “Life would be easier if you weren’t straddling me in your underwear.”
“Well,” I breathe, rocking forward just enough to make his breath catch, “my dead great-aunt told me to get out of my comfort zone. And straddling you is definitely outside any zone I’ve ever been in.”
To prove my point, I shift my hips again, and his cock drags against me through the denim, sending shocks of sensation that make me gasp.
His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back in one brutal pull as his mouth crashes into mine.
I paw clumsily at the hem of his T-shirt, not entirely sure what I’m trying to accomplish. Am I trying to remove it? Just touch him? My motor skills seem to have abandoned me. My knuckles skid over solid muscle, and an embarrassing little moan escapes me before I can smother it.
He doesn’t make me struggle long. One swift movement and his shirt is gone, tossed somewhere behind me.
My hands land on bare skin, one splayed wide on the hard plane of his chest, the other gripping his shoulder. He’s so warm. So solid. So intimidatingly perfect.
I lean in too eagerly and nearly headbutt him in my enthusiasm. My mouth lands on his cheek instead of his lips, like I’m giving him the world’s most awkward kiss.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, mortified and breathless. “I’m… I’m not very good at this.”
His hands tighten on my hips, steadying me before I can cause any further cranial damage. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop?”
“No! God, no.”
My knees clamp tighter around his hips.
“Fuck.” The curse rumbles from him, muffled as he buries his face into my neck, mouth dragging roughly over my collarbone, down to the top swell of my breasts. His stubble scrapes sensitive skin in a way that makes me shiver and arch into him.
“Please don’t stop,” I gasp, grinding down against him, desperate for that friction. “Please... please take me.”
“Takeyou?”
“You know what I mean. I’m not very good at dirty talk, clearly.”
The sound Patrick makes vibrates through both of us, half laugh and half tortured groan. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to be good at dirty talk or perform for me. You just need to be honest. That’s all I want from you.”
My whole body clenches at the way “sweetheart” sounds in his rough voice, like something precious and filthy at once.
I want desperately to believe it’s just for me, that he doesn’t scatter endearments for every woman who crosses his path, because if he doesn’t mean it, it feels almost cruel.
His hands slide to the hem of my top, and coherent thought evaporates.
