Patrick groans. “Yes. Just like that.”
I trail my fingers down his side, digging my nails into the damp skin. He shudders, dipping his head, burying it into my chest as I reach behind him, kneading his ass. I clutch him instead when he opens his mouth, sucking as much of my tit into his mouth as he can. The warmth is searing compared to the shower, and I throw back my head as he tongues my nipple.
My boobs have always been super sensitive. Just having him lavish attention on one cranks me up to the point that I start keening, and I’m not really sure how it happens, but the next thing I know, I’ve wrapped my leg around his thick thigh, riding it as though I need further stimulation down below.
Patrick closes the distance between us, switching one breast for the other as he traps his erection between his hard body and my fluffy belly. Halfway outof my mind with lust, I understand that he’s being careful not to let his dick slip into me. The man I’m getting to know wants to earn his conquest, rather than take it. When he fucks me, it’ll be because he meant to, and though I’ve suddenly understood that hewillfuck me, for now he sucks my tit and thrusts against my belly while I ride his thigh, chasing my own orgasm.
I shift my weight, pressing up against him, letting instinct take over as he releases my tits, capturing my mouth again in the next breath. My body reacts with a ferocity that shocks me as I scream into his, two years of restraint—of self-imposed celibacy—snapping all at once as I come on his thigh.
Patrick lets it happen. He lets me chase sensation, clutching him, smashing our teeth together in an out-of-control kiss I’ll regret later until I break against the tide, breaking free, breathless and shaking, clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing left in this rotten fucking world.
When I finally start to come down from my orgasm, Patrick hurriedly puts enough space between us before I can spiral in a mix of shame, fear, and regret. He’s back in control while I have none, and it’s with a harsh, grating sound that he commands me again: “On your knees, Starling.”
Considering how weak and shaky they are from my explosive climax, I’m almost relieved to be told to drop to the floor of the shower stall.
Once I’m beneath him, Patrick takeshis cock in hand. With the other bracing the wall, he doesn’t stroke himself nicely. Each tug is ruthless, the look on his face determined as he yanks and he pulls and he jerks before he squats low enough to come all over my tits, grunting my name—Noelle—with enough possession that I know that while I must’ve just given him the third thing he wanted, the odds of me ever breaking free of Patrick North are slipping down the drain like his jizz and the soap he uses to wash me clean for a second time.
I don’t talkabout what happened in the shower. Since I don’t, Patrick doesn’t bring it up, either. He just helps me out of the stall when he’s declared we’re both freshened up enough to continue celebrating Christmas Eve, then grabs the towel to dry me off before passing me back my clothes.
Well, notallmy clothes. I guess I should be grateful he lets me have my panties, considering how the day’s gone so far, but I suddenly remember that he took off with my shirt earlier after he hands me my leggings, and the same cream-colored cable knit sweater he was wearing yesterday.
I give him a questioning look.
Patrick smiles. “It’s warm, and it’s mine. So are you. I expect you to wear this for the rest of the night.”
The way he says that… I’m immediately suspicious again. Especially since the way he spent so much of this morning talking to my tits because of the way the red silk blouse I was wearing really showed the girls off, I would’ve thought he liked seeing them on display. The sweater, while built for Patrick’s body, is still big enough to fit me, even if he does decide last-minute not to give me my bra so that he can see the way my nipples manage to poke through the thick material.
I figured that was good enough for him, and if part of me secretly likes the way that I was surrounded by his innate scent of ice and the woodsy cologne he wears, I pretend not to notice.
I’m dressed again, and that’s all that matters. Patrick is back in his suit, even as he brings us downstairs again so that he can whip up a Christmas Eve dinner for us both. I say whip up… he found a small roast in the freezer that he’s been defrosting all morning. After seasoning it, he put it in the oven for the next ninety minutes, making sides of potatoes and corn—two of my favorite veggies, surprise, surprise—that he’ll warm up as the roast rests.
While he cooked, he sat me on the couch, leaving me to stare at the Christmas tree, gaze drawn to the way the twinkling lights reflect off the silver foil wrapping paper of the four presents beneath it. I try not to be curious, and fail. Then, because I’d kill tohave my phone to distract me, I start looking around the first floor.
I know he has to have it in his room. Same as with my keys. Patrick is keeping me here, and thanks to the ongoing snowfalls, there’s nothing I can do but accept that for now. I still make it obvious—in actions if not in words—that I’d run if I could, becoming even more blatant after dinner’s finally ready and, all too aware of how he’s been watching me as though he’s more hungry formethan food, I grab a new bottle of red from the cabinet to drown out my anxieties.
Patrick plated for both of us. Unlike last night, he poured out soda from the fridge to pair with our meal. Since I don’t have a glass, impulsive Noelle decides she’s going to just say ‘fuck it’ when it comes to staying away from booze and glug right from the bottle.
I should’ve known better than to think that Patrick would let me.
After telling me to take my seat and dig in, he plucks the bottle of wine from my fingers before I can even take a measly sip.
I glare at him.
He gives me a patronizing look that only revs me up even more. “You want to continue running through your debt? That’s fine with me, Noelle. But you’ll do it sober.”
I hate that he has a point. Though I had every reason to blame the alcohol for what happened to me,the truth is that five men used it against me to take advantage of me. The alcohol didn’thelp, but just because I was drinking, that didn’t give them the right to rape me.
I know what he’s thinking. He killed those guys. He refuses to be like them. Sure, he’s manipulating me, all but forcing me to do what I wouldn’t in entirely different circumstances, but he’s acting as though giving me some semblance of a choice makes him thebetterone.
Sure, Saint. Whatever helps you sleep at night.
On the plus side, even he sees that I’ve decided the best way to survive this Christmas is to just play his fucking game. Five debts to be repaid, right? If you ask me, we’ve made it through three, even if he’s been pushing that fourth one since the first time he ordered me to my knees this morning.
My stomach is uneasy, but damn it, the food smells so delicious that I join him at the table and eat it. I don’t stuff myself, but you never know if I’ll need the energy. Starving myself out of spite because my stalker cooked the food would only be a mistake. Besides, I ate dinner last night and survived. I ate breakfast this morning and was fine. If he wanted to drug me, he could’ve… and I get the feeling that he’s insistent on providing meals for me so that I can, once again, compare him to his murder victims and see that hehasn’t.
Only after we’re done and I stubbornly clear the plates, plopping them unwashed into the sink after a quick rinse, do I decide that getting this all over with might be the only way I’ll get any sleep tonight.
“Okay,” I tell him, letting him see the resignation written on my face. “Let’s get to it. Number four. What the hell do you mean by ‘obedience’?”
