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“I heard you the first time,” he tells me, calmly. He doesn’t say anything else. He knows I’m pushing him. Trying to get some sort of reaction out of him. That for all my apologies and claims to the contrary, I can’t seem to stop playing games with him. He just stands there, eating his fucking Raisin Bran. Refusing to take the bait I’m dangling. It’s pissing me off.
Despite the fact that he treating me like I’m invisible, he’s hard, the impressive length of it pressing against the unforgiving fabric of his jeans and he doesn’t do anything to hide it. Doesn’t seem embarrassed or apologize. He wants me to see it. To remember.
And it works. Seeing it reminds me of last night, the feel of his shaft against my ass, pressed between my cheeks. The frantic jerking of his hand up and down his hard length. The head of his cock bumping against my puckered hole—half promise, half threat.
Heat erupts across my chest and I catch my lower lip between my teeth to keep myself from licking my lips. When I force my gaze upward, I find him staring right at me.
Finished with his cereal, he turns and rinses his bowl before placing it in the sink. Picking up his cap, he moves again and my breath catches in my throat when he stops right in front of me. Reaching for me, I suck in a sharp breath when his knuckles graze my nipple. He pulls my coffee cup out of my hand and takes a drink, his eyes never leaving mine. When he’s finished, he doesn’t give it back, instead he leans into me. So close I can feel the hard length of him press against my belly. Close enough to bring his mouth to my ear.
“Enjoy your day,” he says softly, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. Behind me, I hear the quiet click of my cup as he sets it on the counter I’m leaning against.
And then he’s gone. Out the kitchen, across the living room and through the front door before I can find the strength to take a breath.
Patrick’s getting really good at leaving me breathless.