“Oh god, I do! So badly. Every night.” The confession rips out of me. “I can’t believe I’m saying that.”
His growl rumbles against my back. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about you every time I fist my cock. Every time I come, it’s your face I see.”
Oh. My. God.
The coil in my belly pulls tighter, every circle of his thumb dragging me closer. My pulse hammers everywhere: in my ears, in my throat, between my thighs, like my whole body belongs to him.
“That’s it. You’re close. Such a good girl.”
“I… I can’t—”
My head tips back against his chest. My nails dig into the thick muscle of his forearm strapped across my waist.
“Yes, you can,” he growls, deep and rough in my ear. “You’re going to come for me right here, watching yourself.”
“I’ve never—”
“Don’t care what you’ve never done. You’re doing it for me now.”
I choke on a cry, my thighs jerking, toes curling. My breathing shatters into frantic, high-pitched gasps that match the thrusts of his hand.
“So fucking tight. You’re clamping down, trying to keep me inside. You feel that? That’s how bad you want me to fuck you with my big cock.”
I pant, caught between squeezing my eyes shut and being forced to stare at the filthy show before me.
“Don’t look away.” His fingers find my chin again. A command. “Watch yourself.”
The mirror owns me. I can’t look anywhere else. I see the tremble of my thighs spread wide over his, the slick gleam coating his thick fingers, the swollen lips of my pussy clenching greedily around them.
“Look at you. Begging for me to fuck you.” His thumb punishes my clit faster, ruthless little circles. “You feel that? That’s your body pleading for me. Begging to be filled.”
“Patrick—oh—oh—!”
“That’s it,” he growls, right in my ear, his voice jagged with dark satisfaction. “Fuck… that’s beautiful. Ride my hand, sweetheart. Take what you need.”
Pleasure rips through me. My body locks tight as I watch myself fall apart in the glass.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps driving until I’m nothing but noise and shivers, then slows, easing me down with slow, possessive thrusts that wring out every last spark until I collapse, trembling and wrecked against him.
I can barely breathe before he’s moving again, his hands sliding from my hips to my waist. The room tilts. He lifts me and lays me flat in the center of the bed. My head sinks into the pillow, my chest heaving in frantic bursts.
His gaze pins me. “You know what’s so special about women?”
I blink up at him, still dazed, words slurring in my throat. “This feels like a trick question.”
He chuckles.
“The right man—” His palm drags slowly down my stomach, fingers wide and possessive. “In the right circumstances—can make you come again. And again.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper, then let out a nervous, broken laugh. “But I just… I’m still… wet and messy, and you wouldn’t want to—”
The protest dies because he’s already moving. One swift motion, and my legs are hooked over his broad shoulders. His big hands spread me open, and then his mouth is on me.
I squeak, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets as heat jolts through my spine.
“Oh my god,” I gasp. “I can’t—”
His tongue drags through me in one long, greedy stroke. Slow. Deliberate. The kind of lick that makes my toes curl so hard I’m pretty sure I’ve just invented a new form of Pilates.
