The groan he lets out against me is filthy, vibrating straight through my clit.
“Patrick—”
His mouth seals over my clit, punishing and perfect. Hard licks. Deep sucks. His stubble scrapes my inner thighs raw in hot little bursts of friction, like he wants to leave proof of every second.
Then those big hands slide under my ass, hauling me up, grinding me into his mouth like I’m something he refuses to let escape.
“Oh god—Patrick—oh—”
Another orgasm rips through me. My thighs clamp around his head, but he just growls into me, licking me through every shudder until I’m shaking and limp against the bed.
“That was… holy shit.” My laugh comes out jagged, my body still buzzing everywhere as he gently lowers my legs back to the mattress.
“You alright?”
“Just…” I suck in air, trying to get my lungs under control. “A bit stunned.”
“Good stunned, I hope.”
“Good stunned,” I say, before a half-giddy, half-wrecked laugh slips out. “You definitely know how to use your tongue.”
He comes up over me. His mouth curves, slow and cocky, wet from me, gleaming in the low glow. “Sweetheart, I know how to use every part of my body.”
I melt into the mattress. My whole body is loose and humming. The man eats pussy like a porn star.
My eyes flutter closed without me realizing it, lost in the blissed-out haze of everything that just happened.
When they open again, the room is dark except for the angry red numbers glaring at me from the nightstand.
3:09 a.m.
I reach across the mattress, my hand finding only cool cotton.
He’s gone.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Pandora’s Box
Patrick
I tried to bethe good guy.
I sat in my cottage for a solid hour last night, pacing the kitchen, telling myself to stay the hell away fromThe Crooked Kilt. Opened a beer, then shoved it back in the fridge.
She’s not your responsibility,I told myself.Jake asked you to keep an eye on her, not shadow her around the island like a stalker. She’s old enough to make her own decisions.
I lasted another ten minutes before I grabbed my keys.
She looked like she was having a good time. The boy in the kilt looked harmless enough, until I clocked the car keys swinging from hands that could barely hold steady.
That was it. My body moved before my brain caught up. There was no way I was letting her get in a car with a drunk driver.
The truth is, it wasn’t just about her safety. It was about mine. Because if something happened to Georgie, I’d never come back from it. Jake would never forgive me. Hell, I wouldn’t forgive myself. And I don’t give anyone that kind of power over me.
I can live with her hating me. I can’t live with her getting hurt.
By the time I get back from my run, ten miles down the coastal path, I almost feel human again. I shower, towel off, crack open a bottle of water, and check my phone.
