She moaned as though that was an answer.
“I could do it on your face if you want. How big a cunt do you need me to be? How degraded do you wanna feel?”
It was a question no one had ever asked. A question with claws. She didn’t need to feel degraded. She just didn’t want—
A hard knock on the door.
“Psycho? You in there?”
Adrenaline flooded her as Patrick’s hands closed around her head, keeping her impaled on his cock.
“Robbie?” he called, his voice terrifyingly casual.
“Yeah, mate,” Robbie said. “I’m heading off. You staying back?”
Cheryl stared desperately up at Patrick. He was looking at the door. “Yup. My mate Cheryl’s here. You’ve met her, yeah?”
Cheryl felt her eyes bulge.
“Sure.” The door rattled. “You locked yourselves in?”
“‘Course,” Patrick said. “Otherwise, we can’t go five minutes without you assholes trying to talk to us.”
Robbie, whoever the fuck he was, laughed through the door. “Fair. Well, you want me to come in and show you how to lift properly, Cheryl?”
Hearing her name while her mouth was still full of Patrick had her skin burning like a fever. This whole thing was so insane and so fucking hot.
Patrick laughed, his dick shifting in her mouth. “I don’t think so. What do you think, Cheryl?”
With that, he pulled out of her face.
She gasped. “Um… I’m fine, thanks, R-Robbie!”
“No worries,” Robbie said cheerfully. “See ya later, Cheryl. See you, Psycho.”
“Bye,” she and Patrick said in unison.
She knelt, panting, as the footsteps moved away.
“Told you we should have gone back to mine,” Patrick said in that same disturbingly steady voice. He pulled up his shorts and tucked himself into his waistband, the swollen head still clearly visible. Cheryl stared at it, wondering if this was how people went crazy. She shuffled backward, got to her feet, and collected her top. She threw it over her head then pulled on her shorts and socks and shoes. Patrick watched, his golden torso gleaming with sweat. She waited for him to say something, but he just stared at her, part sex God, part bemused friend.
Cheryl tugged at her crop top and readjusted her shorts. Maybe if she got the fabric just right, she could make all of this disappear. She’d told herself she’d come for clarity, but the waters were muddier than ever.
You fucked up, baby girl. What else is new?
She hated that almost as much as she hated herself, but at least it was an answer. It gave her the strength to push her hair back and smile at Patrick. “Should we go out for dinner?”
His face contorted.
“Or, I mean, I can finish you off if you want,” she said, gesturing at the blood-dark head of his penis.
Patrick shoved all of himself back into his shorts and Cheryl tried valiantly not to look at the bulge.
“You want to have dinner?” he asked, his voice all sexy-raspy.
“Sure,” she said brightly. “I know this really cute French—”
“Quick question, at this really cute French place, are we gonna talk about how you just sucked my dick?”
