Page 41

He catches me in the hallway outside my bedroom and we go down hard, Patrick’s wet, muscular body covering me, his hips wedged between my legs. I can feel the stiff length of him against the back of my thigh, his breathing hot and ragged against the side of my face, his wet, muscular chest plastered against my back. “I thought I made it clear last night,” he says, dropping his shoulder and bending his elbow a bit to bring his mouth closer to my ear while he grinds his ridged cock against the thin cotton barrier between us. “You shouldn’t push me, Cari.”
I suddenly realize that even though we’ve been friends for years, I don’t know Patrick Gilroy at all. I know the boy scout. The nice guy. The Patrick who’s nursed me through a dozen break-ups. The friend who always lets me have the last slice of pizza when we order in. The roommate who tolerates my obsession with reality television. This is not that Patrick.
This is someone else entirely.
“The only thing I learned last night,” I say, pushing myself against the hard length of him, practically begging him to fuck me. “Is that I like what happens when I push you.”
I’ve lost my mind completely and he confirms it when he rears up, cursing—the sound of it low and harsh against the back of his throat—as he grabs onto the waistband of my boxers and jerks them down.
Before I can take my next breath, his fingers are thrusting into me so fast and deep it steals my breath, scatters stars across my field of vision.
He covers me again, breathing harsh and uneven against my neck. “I don’t think you understand,” he says, seemingly calm despite the ragged breath that skates down my spine, his erection bobbing between my legs with each deep, lazy stoke. “You’re not calling the shots anymore.” The tip of his blunt, callused fingers graze the sensitive spot deep in the center of me, again and again and I whimper in response, pushing back against his hand. I want more. Need more. “I am.” He keeps fucking me with his fingers. His hand. The maddeningly reasonable tone of his voice. “Got it?”
No, this isn’t the Patrick I know at all.
Cheek pressed against the floor, eyes squeezed shut, I nod. My legs start to shake again, the warm heaviness in my belly pressing lower with every stroke he gives me. I’m close to coming for the second time in less than ten minutes and I’m not sure I can take it.
“Say the words, Cari,” he whispers in my ear, his fingers buried deep inside me, their callused tips crooked slightly while I move my hips, stroking myself along the blunt length of them. “Say, I understand, Patrick.”
Not caring anymore, so desperate to get off I’m on the verge of crying, I push my hips off the floor, making room for my hand between them and the floor. “I understand, Patrick.” I moan it out, pressing my fingers against my clit.
He chuckles softly in my ear and the sound of it would make me angry if I wasn’t dangling off a cliff. “Good girl.”
He pulls his fingers out, the wet suction sound of it heats my chest even as I let out a frustrated groan, the orgasm spinning away from me. I press and circle my fingers against my clit, harder and faster, trying to catch it.
“No, you don’t.” He flips me over, grabbing my wrist to pull my fingers from between my legs, holding it high above my head. “That’s against the rules.”
Rules? I lift my head off the floor, my gaze pulled downward to land on his rigid cock. It’s only inches from where I want it, the rock-hard heat of it scorching the inside of my thigh. I force myself to lay flat, meeting his gaze.
I let out a strangled scream, tears prickling the back of my eyelids. “I hate you,” I say it through clenched teeth and I mean it. I hate him.
He grins down at me. Hand still clamped around my wrist, he lifts my hand between us, its fingers still wet and glistening with my own juices. “If you say so,” he says, slipping my fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean.
I can feel the head of his cock, twitching against the junction of my thighs. I close my eyes, my concentration centered on the feeling of his tongue on my skin, even if it’s just my fingers. Lifting my hips off the floor, I run the slick seam of my pussy against the head of his cock. “Please…”
“If you still want to move out, then move out.” He drops my hand and reaches back, fingers digging into my upper thigh, stopping me cold. I can see it. How angry his is. The hard set of his jaw. The hurt I caused him, still fresh in his eyes when he looks at me. “Go ahead—I’m not going to stop you. I’ll even help you pack,” he tells me, leaning hard on the arm planted on the floor so he can lean closer. “But if you stay, I’m gonna fuck you.” The movement pushed the head of his cock against my entrance, stealing my breath. “Whenever I want. As much as I want. However I want. Understand?”
Again, like a complete idiot, I nod.
“New roommate rule:” he says, dipping his head to my chest. “You don’t come without my say so.”
His tongue touches my nipple, circling sensitive flesh before drawing it into his mouth, sucking and nipping at it with his teeth until I’m panting again, each draw his mouth makes on my breast bumping the head of his cock against my slick, wet center.
I moan.
Patrick lifts his head and gives me a crooked grin before he levers himself off the ground and away from me. “Now, if you don’t mind,” He turns his back on me, heading toward the bathroom. “I’m going to finish my shower.
Twenty-four
Patrick
I leave Cari inthe hall and head back to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. The shower is still running and its curtain is laying on the floor. The spring rod it hangs on is floating in the tub. I fish it out and hang the curtain back up before stepping back under the spray to finish showering. I want to jerk off so bad it’s making my dizzy. Scratch that—I want out of this shower. I want to bury myself balls deep in Cari’s quivering pussy. I want to pound myself into the center of her so hard and fast she won’t walk right for a week. I want her screaming my name so loud the whole damn neighborhood will know who’s fucking her.
Instead, I stay where I am. The shower is ice cold but I force myself to stay put until my hard-on is gone and my dick is practically shriveled in on itself.
If this is what it takes to be an asshole, I’m not sure I can manage it.
Out of the shower, I sling a towel around my hips and duck across the hall into my own room as quickly as possible—but not so quick that I don’t notice her bedroom door is closed.