Patrick, the pussy destroyer, was gone. Kneeling on her second-hand sheepskin rug was her kind and impossibly young, best friend. Cheryl lay a shaking hand to her cheek. “Oh my God…”
“It’s fine, I’ll fix it,” Patrick said. He adjusted his bulge as he knelt to assess the damage. “Okay, I can’t fix this.”
Cheryl wasn’t listening. “What have I done?”
He looked up at her and his brown eyes heated. “Goddamn, you’re gorgeous.”
She crossed an arm over her boobs and tugged at her skirt. “How can you… Stop talking!”
He tipped his head to the side. “You’re just making it sexier.”
“I can’t do this! I can’t do this! You need to leave. Now!”
He stood, grabbing his hoodie. “Fine.”
As he shrugged into his clothes, Cheryl watched his abs flex and felt a wave of desire so sharp it was nauseating. Despite her orgasm, her pussy was aching and empty, fluttering in the promise of what she wouldn’t let herself have.
“This can never happen,” she snapped, praying saying it aloud made it true.
He grabbed his keys and his takeaway coffee and headed for the door. “It will happen.”
“No, it won’t!”
He turned, his expression serious. “I told you, we’re done fucking around. You’re mine.”
“I’m your friend,” she screamed. She knew she was acting nuts, but her body had just been blasted apart, her couch destroyed and her life ruined. Everything was wrong and getting wronger. Why couldn’t he see that? Why was he being like this? “I’m your best fucking friend and that’s it!”
Patrick pushed back his shoulders and set his jaw. “Say you’re my friend one more time.”
She could have blamed it on the hangover. The panic. But in truth she looked at him, tall and gorgeous, and felt a desperate spark of something. Lust maybe, but also pain. She was so low, so ashamed, so already full of regret that she hadn’t slept with him and that she’d let him touch her. She couldn’t be what he wanted. She couldn’t be what anyone wanted. What did burning everything down matter?
“Patrick,” she said in a clear voice. “We’re friends.”
He didn’t move. Seconds dragged as he nodded to himself as though trying to process his next steps. He was studying psychology at Monash and at this moment, she could see him, sitting across the couch from his clients, wisely giving them advice. Then he stalked to her kitchen table and pulled open her ‘random stuff’ drawer. Before she could ask what he was doing, he yanked out a sharpie and pulled off the cap. “Hold still.”
“What do you—”
He crossed the room toward her. She could have run but her feet were glued to the ground. He dropped to his knees and flicked open the button on her skirt. She closed her eyes but he didn’t pull it down. He undid the zipper and pressed the felt tip to the skin below her belly button.
“No!” she squealed, but she didn’t back away as he wrote just above her panty line.
“No more randoms,” he told her pussy. “No more old cunts. The next man inside you is gonna be me. The last man inside you is gonna be me.”
“Patrick!”
He underlined whatever he’d written then stood, kissing her swiftly on the lips.
“Don’t worry, KitKat. I’m good at laying dick. Once I’m in you, you’ll never want me anywhere else. See you soon.”
He tossed the sharpie to the ground and then walked away, slamming the door behind him.
Cheryl stood there, her mind spinning as she listened to Patrick’s feet pounding down the metal stairs that led from her apartment. She walked to her bedroom and stood in front of her full-length mirror. Even backward, his writing was easy to read.
Property of Patrick Normal
6
Two and a half years before the yacht party
