“Is it me? Have I done something?” she asks, sounding like she might cry.
“No, it’s me,” I reply, my words short and clipped.
Her fingers slip from me, and she nods, her concern turning to sadness. “I see.”
I scowl. “Do you?”
She smiles now and starts to walk away. “It’s not you, it’s me. I’ve heard that speech before, Samuel. Just do us both a favor and get out. I don’t need an explanation, I—”
“No, it’s not like that,” I say, feeling annoyed when she rolls her eyes at me.
“Yeah? Then what is it like?” She shakes her head. “In fact, like I said, it doesn’t matter, I don’t care. Just get out.”
She’s taken what little I’ve said and ran with it, coming to her own conclusion in her mind. If I was half the man she thought I was, I’d let it go. I’d lethergo before I broke her again, because surely asking her to do this for me was going to make her hate me. Be disgusted with me at the very least.
But I’m not that man.
I’m not good. I’m bad.
I storm toward her, grabbing her by the hips and slamming her body to mine. “I said, it’s not like that and I mean it. I have shit going on in my life that I can’t explain right now.”
“Why?” she snaps, clearing not buying my bullshit.
I take a breath. “Just trust me on this, you don’t wanna know.”
“I do. We’re in this together, whatever it is.” And fuck me, she sounds so sincere, like she believes her own words. I wish I could believe them too.
I shake my head. “Just go back to studying, Patience.”
“Samuel Gunner, don’t you do that!” she yells suddenly, slapping my hands away from her. Her eyes spark with a fire that goes straight to my dick. “Don’t come here soaking wet and looking like you’ve just had to sell your soul then make out like it’s nothing. Now, tell me what the hell is going on, right now, or so help me!” Her hands go to her hips, and I can’t even think straight. I can’t think about the task or The Elite. All I can think about is taking that mouth with mine.
So I do.
I take her face in my hands and slam my mouth to hers. She doesn’t resist me, not even a little. She melts to my touch as I walk us both back toward the bookshelf and push her up against it. She jumps up, wrapping her legs around my waist, her hands on my body and in my hair, kissing me, fucking devouring every doubt I’ve had about her and us.
She clings to me as I reach for my jeans and unbutton them, shoving them down my thighs. I pull her dress up before pushing her panties to one side and press my forehead to hers as I grip the shaft of my dick and guide it into her. My hands are back on her, holding her up as I slam into her.
She grips the shelf behind her, her thighs clinging to me as I rock back and forth, my dick swelling with each slam of my hips, until she’s crying out.
It’s quick and brutal, yet still deeply loving on some carnal level.
We’re both giving and taking. I’ve never had sex like this, where it’s both of us working, where I’m not solely in charge. She cries out against my mouth, sucking my lip into her mouth as she comes, her cunt clinging to me, milking me until I come with a loud grunt. Books are falling from the shelves around us as her body clings to my dick.
I kiss her again, stealing her air as she breathes new life into me. I feel grief-stricken and lost as much as I am happy. None of this makes sense. It’s confusing how much she means to me already. How much I need her and want her. How much she owns me with every kiss. With every stroke of her tone and touch of her fingers. I’m scared by the intensity I feel for her, but know that there’s no way I can ever be without her again.
But then, I guess, love is confusing. Blinding and breaking as much as it is all-consuming. Painful and beautiful in equal measures. It breaks us apart before putting us back together.
And that’s how I feel about Patience. She’s my band-aid. My medicine. My bandage. She’s pieced me back together after feeling broken for so long. Just like a wound, I’ll never be the same again after Patience. And that’s fine by me.
“I’m surprised that little maid of yours didn’t come barging in here.” I smirk and Patience slaps at my arm with a shake of her head.
“Are you going to tell me what all of this was about?” she asks softly.
We’re sitting on one of the small sofas, her head on my chest. I swallow, the sound comically loud in our silence. She lit the fire to help warm me up, and it crackles in the hearth.
“I can’t,” I say, honestly. “You’ll hate me, and I don’t think I could live with myself if you hated me.”
She’s silent for a minute before replying. “I don’t think I could ever hate you.”
