Page 22 of If Cain Were Able

Liam looks at me with uncertainty in his eyes. Smart man.

“You’re sure? We don’t mind sticking around for a while, do we, D?”

“Whatever you want, baby,” Damon replies, clearly head over heels for Liam.

“Li, I’m fine. Cain and I will pour some bourbon, relive our glory days, and I’ll be in bed by ten,” Patrick says, not mentioning that I’ll be in it with him. “No need to worry.”

I wonder if his son hears the anticipation in his voice the way I do.

“I do worry. You work too hard, and you still probably drink too much.”

That statement makes me cough to cover my laughter. Patrick could down a fifth of vodka in college and still make it to an eight a.m. lecture. The man doesn’t know the definition of too much.

“I’ll make sure he keeps the alcohol to a minimum,” I offer with a smile, knowing I plan to pump him full of something else.

Patrick shoots me a warning glare, and I fight my smile from breaking out across my face wider than it already is.

Everyone says their goodbyes, and as soon as I’m satisfied that Damon and Liam won’t be back, I set my sights on Patrick.

“The audience is gone,” Patrick says. “Say what you came to say and leave me in peace.”

“Peace?” I scoff, knowing he, like me, hasn’t known a moment’s peace since we came into each other’s lives.

“What I can preserve of it at least,” he clarifies.

“Admit it; the only peace you’ve known in the last twenty-five years is when my cock is seated so deeply inside your ass that you feel me in your stomach.”

“Admit that and boost your already inflated ego? I’ll pass.”

I wonder if he knows he’s inching toward me.

“Why don’t we test that theory?” I suggest.

“You said you wanted to say goodbye. So, say it and get out.”

I’d believe that’s how he felt, except he’s gone back to staring at my lips while he talks. It was always his tell. He has a thing for full lips.

“The only thing I plan to say goodbye to tonight is your sanity.”

Gripping Patrick by the back of his neck, I pull him to me. Not only does he not fight me, but his hands fly to my chest, pawing at my shirt, before tearing impatiently at the buttons, sending them flying.

His need does more for my ‘inflated ego’ than any words possibly could.

Last time I was here, I mentally mapped the layout of his house, and I lead him to his bedroom as if I were the owner.

Once we cross the threshold, it’s like we’re twenty-years-old again. He’s far enough out from his heart surgery that I no longer have to treat him with kid gloves, and my body craves his submission like it always has.

I rip Patrick’s shirt over his head before he drops to his knees, ripping my belt open and shoving my suit pants and boxers to my knees.

He dives onto my cock in one fluid motion, like a man starved, causing my hands to fly to the back of his head. His hair is still thick and feels good between my fingers as he bobs on my shaft.

I test the waters, assuming his dry spell outside of our brief encounter the last time I was here is still in full force. I’m a little surprised when he swallows me easily, his gag reflex non-existent even as I press his nose against my pubic bone.

Only when his eyes water and he taps my thigh for breath do I release my hold. I move my hand underneath his chin, forcing his face up to mine.

“So fucking sexy when you’re stuffed full of me,” I tell him honestly.

Patrick beams at the praise and leans back in, dipping his head, pulling one of my balls into his mouth while his hand takes over the motion on my dick.