Cheryl’s sly smile returned. “Oh, really?”
“I’m gonna play with you like this a lot from now on, kitten. You wait.”
“Good.” She yawned suddenly, covering her mouth with her still-gloved wrist. “Sorry, I’m so destroyed.”
“I’m not surprised. Come lie down for a bit.”
“I have to go clean up,” she protested, but when he promised to change the sheets, Cheryl let him bundle her onto his chest. He was glad. What was a little mess when he needed to hold her close? Her heart was still racing, and he couldn’t help but be proud of himself. For a first-time kitten role-player, he didn’t think he’d done too badly. As though reading his mind, Cheryl shifted. “Thank you for playing kitty with me, Patrick.”
“That’s okay, KitKat.” He traced circles on her back. “You’re a very good little girl, and I love you.”
“I love you too,” Cheryl said sleepily. Then she went rigid. “Oh God, I need to take out the tail.”
“Why? Does it hurt?”
To his surprise, Cheryl laughed. “No, but it’s probably getting soaked in… how much you liked this roleplay… and I have no idea how to clean it.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” she said, rolling off his chest. “And I’mnottaking it to dry cleaners.”
3
Cheryl studied her future husband in the light of the rising sun. He was reclined by the edge of the pool naked, his eyes closed, his powerful arms spread across the sides. His chest was covered in bruises the size of tennis balls, but that only added to his lustre. It gave him an MMA hardness that contrasted beautifully with his thick, curly hair and long black lashes.
Watching him, Cheryl felt one of those weak-in-the-knees moments she’d ignored when she and Patrick had just been friends. The combination of lust and fear that he would figure out how hot he was and leave her forever. But unlike when they were friends, Cheryl didn’t force the feeling away. She didn’t let it ride either. Instead, she did what her therapist suggested and reminded herself that everything Patrick had ever done showed he respected her, adored her and was committed to staying by her side. Also, he’d just fucked her senseless, then brought her wine and suggested a naked swim. Hardly the actions of a man looking for an escape route.
“I love you,” she blurted out. “So much.”
He blinked, his eyes so warm it hurt. “I love you more. C’mere.”
As always, she wanted to run, but instead, she dog-paddled into his arms and let him kiss her. “Sorry your brothers sprayed you with paintballs.”
“Pretty much what I expected.”
His tone was dry, but Cheryl still felt a stab of irritation toward her future brothers-in-law. Not just for hurting her beautiful man—though she was definitely going to throw something at all of them at the wedding—but because Patrick was always hoping his brothers would rise to the occasion, and they always failed. They still called him ‘Youngest’ and shit-kicked him for playing AFL and got wasted and acted the fool in front of their kids at Christmas. Patrick never wanted to outshine his big brothers, but at this point, a drunk panhandler harassing people outside Bunnings would have surpassed them.
“How bad was it?” she asked. “Your brothers?”
Patrick shook his head.
“That bad?”
“Worse. I think you’re right. They’re all headed for trouble back home. Jase, especially.”
“Because the girl getting paid to dance naked in his lap is the new love of his life?”
Patrick didn’t smile. He brushed some wet hair out of her eye, his expression as serious as she’d ever seen it. “I’m never gonna be like them. Never.”
“I know,” she said, shocked he even felt the need to say it. “You’re nothing like them.”
“Because of you.”
Cheryl fought back a stupid smile. “Don’t make me melt into this pool.”
“Never.” Patrick bent down and kissed her again, slow and soft. And supported by the water and her fiancé, Cheryl allowedherself to melt. To feel as lucky as she was, if just for a brief moment. Despite what she’d told Sal, she hadn’t tried to talk to Patrick about the wedding while he was fuck-drunk. She’d retreated to the shower, accepted a glass of Pinot Noir and agreed to go for a late night/early morning swim. After what they’d done, she didn’t feel like getting into wedding drama.
She was supposed to be in control in the kitten roleplay, but as always, Patrick had taken over in the gentlest, most amazing way—guiding her to a place she couldn’t have found on her own. In light of how he’d made her body feel, it didn’t seem to matter much that he’d shelled out so much for their wedding or had a bunch of whacky ideas about carriages and flower arrangements.
