Energy.
It wasn’t until she heard footsteps that she realised she hadn’t been hearing at all. She slammed back into her body and found herself writhing in Patrick’s lap like a stripper. Her arms were around his neck, her hips rocking against his. His cock was hard between her legs as he massaged her tits with the same lazy prowess he’d used on her scalp. She broke the kiss. Someone was walking past the weights room.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
“Yeah, we’re kinda in public.” Patrick’s thumbs brushed her nipples and heat whirled through her. His dick was like an iron bar, rubbing and pushing against her. He was so big, which wasn’t surprising considering he was a big guy, but imagining Patrick actually being inside her was mortifying. So was the sheer, soaking ache between her thighs. But she couldn’t stop rocking against his cock, could hardly speak, she wanted it so badly.
His forehead found hers. “Let’s go back to mine.”
To his. The place of a thousand sweet memories of movies and takeout and fun. Where she’d never felt tired no matter how little she’d slept. Never. She kissed him just to stop him talking, but as his tongue found hers, the world blotted back into nothingness.
It wasn’t fair he could do this to her, but she couldn’t deny she liked it. She’d dreamed of him this week. Electric, sweat-drenched dreams of Patrick fucking her hard, one hand around her throat. ‘You like that big dick? You like riding it? Scream for me, KitKat. Scream while I pound my cum into you.’
But this, now, his hands on her body, his cock between her thighs, it made her dreams feel like scraps of air.
Whoever had walked past before, walked back again, and she and Patrick broke apart, clutching each other.
He flashed her a tortured smile. “We’re really tempting fate here. Please, just come back to mine?”
She blinked.
Everything had changed. It wasn’t the two of them. It was him, and her. The twenty-three-year-old football player and a stupidly busy, practically middle-aged social media consultant. She shifted off Patrick’s knees, aware of the trembling need in her pussy and throbbing nipples. She stood, her legs as shaky as the rest of her. “I should go.”
Patrick shot to his feet. “Why?”
“I don’t… I think…”
His face went from boyish to brutal in seconds. “This is because I smiled, isn’t it?”
Cheryl wanted to say ‘no’, but with a growl, Patrick had already lifted her, pressing their hips together and slamming his lips onto hers. As they kissed, that irresistible ache came back like a flame popping from a lighter.
What is wrong with me? she thought. But she already knew. She was a sloppy mess and she wanted rough, fucked up, and wrong. It was the only thing she wanted. She wrapped her legs around Patrick’s back and slid her tongue into his mouth. Then she was moving, a cold wall hitting her back like water. “What are you—”
“Shut the fuck up.” Patrick ground between her legs, spreading her thighs wider.
“But—”
“Don’t fucking fight me.”
“I’m not,” she gasped.
“You are. You give me control, then you try to take it back.”
He withdrew only to slam her back into the wall. Cheryl had never been fucked standing up, but it was obvious Patrick could do it with ease. She stared into his face, familiar and unfamiliar. A sweet young guy and a Man with a capital M. Contradicting herself, she strained against his hold and found herself unable to budge an inch. He pinned her tighter to the wall, caging her with his body. “You wanna fight, KitKat? You want it rough?”
Cheryl wished he wouldn’t talk. He sounded too much like her best friend. “What am I even doing here, Patrick?”
His face went blank, and Cheryl felt sick to her stomach. Before she could apologise or explain, he moved them from the wall and lowered her onto the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I don’t know what I’m doi—”
His palm clapped over her mouth.
“Fine,” he said with a calm that was scarier than shouting. “You don’t know what you want? We’ll do it my way.”
He shoved down his gym shorts and she stared in something close to panic at his cock. It was enormous, longer, and thicker than anything she’d had before. She remembered the porn star she’d watched on Patrick’s laptop long ago, the hot guy hammering into the girl who looked like her. Patrick’s length, his muscled stomach, and his handsome face, made that man look like an amateur. Patrick wrapped a fist around the base of his shaft and presented it to her like a gift. “Like it?”
She nodded dumbly as he pushed her onto her knees.
