Page 63

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell him, reaching out to steady myself on the back of a dining room chair to take off my shoes.
“The heels stay on.”
It’s not a request. It’s an order. Hearing it, delivered from the dark, in that calm, rational voice of his makes my pulse race. I should finish taking the shoe off and throw it at his spot on the couch, where I know he’s sitting. I should but I don’t. When I straighten myself, my heels are still on my feet.
“Turn around.” Another order from the dark. I do it and come face to face with my refection in the mirror, illuminated by the slice of light from the hallway. The mirror I hung to give Patrick a perfect view of my room from where he sits on the couch. “Take off your dress.”
I don’t even bother wondering why I keep doing what he says. It doesn’t really matter. Why is a question I can’t answer. All I know is that I’m going to do it.
Whatever Patrick tells me to do, I’ll do it. I want to do it.
Reaching for my side, I tug the hidden zipper down until it stops at the top of my hip. Shrugging out of the bodice, I let it pool at my waist. I look at myself. The soft white lace of my bra plunging between my breasts, my nipples tight and swollen against it. The dark stain of my birthmark on my chest, almost black I’m so aroused. I can feel it. Damp heat tingling between my legs. Soaking through the lace of my panties. Looking past my refection, I find the shape of him. The dark shadow of Patrick sitting on the couch behind me. “What did I do?” I say softly. “What should I’ve asked you?”
“Take of your bra.”
Reaching between my breasts, I find the front closure of my bra and open it. My bra slides off my shoulders and drops to the floor. My breasts sway slightly, my nipples throb in time with the clench and release of my pussy. “Patrick…”
“Are you wet?”
My fingers grab onto the skirt of my dress and twist. The only thing I want more than to touch myself it for Patrick to do it for me. What the hell is he doing to me? “Yes.”
My answer pulls a growl out of the dark and I can hear him shift on the couch, sliding lower in his seat to accommodate the hard-on I know he has for me. “Show me.” He growls the words. The rumble of it going straight to my clit. “Lift your dress up over your ass.”
Leaning forward just a bit, I pop my ass out before lifting the full skirt of my dress to settle it around my hips. Cool air hits the damp stretch of lace between my legs and I have to lift a hand to brace myself against the wall in front of me to keep myself upright. “What should I have asked you?” My voice is strained. Breathless. “What did I do?”
“Jesus…” He groans the word, the sound of it harsh and guttural. “Pull your panties down.”
It’s awkward with one hand but I manage it, rolling my hips and tugging until my panties are around my knees. “No more until you answer me,” I tell him even though I know I don’t mean it. Whatever he says, I’ll do it and we both know it.
“Touch yourself, Cari,” he tells me, the calm tone of his voice cracking, want and need bleeding through.
My free hand grips my skirt again, pulling it between my thighs. “No,” I say, somehow resisting, stopping myself from doing what we both want. “Not until—”
“You had Tess ask my ex-girlfriend what I was like in bed.” He finally answers my question, his tone solid again. Calm and sure. “Now, put your fingers in your pussy.”
His matter-of-fact command, and the dirty words he uses to give it to me, surprises me. I’m not sure why—nothing about Patrick’s behavior should surprise me anymore. But it does. Almost as much as it turns me on.
I let go of my skirt to slide a hand up the inside of my thigh. “I didn’t—” The moment my fingertips make contact with the wet seam of my pussy, my brain shuts off. My fingers slip past my slick entrance to bury themselves, the heel of my hand pressed against my clit. “Patrick…” His name shutters its way up my throat, tumbling out of my mouth on a moan.
“How wet are you, Cari?” His calm is crumbling again, his voice broken and uneven. In the dark behind me, I hear him breathing, the sound of it ragged and heavy. “Tell me,” he breathes, his tone strained.
“So wet…” I moan the words, forcing myself to keep my eyes open and focused on the mirror in front of me so I can see the shape of him behind me in the dark.
He groans again, the sound of it shaped into a curse. I can feel his eyes on me, the heat of his gaze narrowed on my throbbing center. The fingers I have buried inside of it, as far as they’ll go. Waiting for him to tell me what to do. Tell me what you want.
Like he’s reading my mind, he tells me. “Fuck yourself while I watch.”
I withdraw my fingers almost to their tips before burying them again, stroking myself slow and deep. The heel of my hand grinding against my clit in lazy circles.
“Let me guess what she said…” His words come out in short bursts between ragged breaths. “I’m sweet and tender, right?” Even though I can’t see him, I know what he’s doing. He’s doing the same thing I am. He’s touching himself. Getting off on watching me as much as I’m getting off on listening to him. “She said that I’m considerate. That I always let her come first. That I never made a mess. That I’m gentle and caring. That when I fucked her it was nice. Predictable.” He laughs, breath heaving and shuttering in his chest. “Is that what she told you? That I’m predictable?”
He knows. I’m not sure how but he knows about the unflattering nickname Tess gave him. The one I’ve used like a shield to defend myself against the fact that I want him. No matter how boring and predictable Patrick seemed to be, I wanted him. I still want him.
But this isn’t sweet, predictable Patrick. This is the Patrick no one knows but me. The Patrick who orders me around and takes what he wants without asking for permission. There’s nothing gentle or considerate about him. His question echoes off the cool brick walls, hanging in the quiet between us. I don’t answer him. I’m too far gone, the only sound between us is our ragged breathing and the wet sliding of my fingers fucking my pussy. I close my eyes, opening myself to the orgasm barreling down on me.
“I think you forgot the rules.” He’s behind me now, the pulsating length of his cock pressed between my thighs. Feeling him there, so close to where I need him makes me whimper. “You don’t come until I say so, remember?.” He reaches down to pull my fingers free.
The legs begins to shake. “Patrick, please…”