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I don’t stop, my hand gripping and stroking his shaft while my tongue skims along the head, gathering the salty drops of pre-cum that weep from its tip. “Fuck, Cari…” he curses again, fingers tightening in my hair to pull me back, tipping my face up so I can look at him. “You’re pushing me.”
A thrill shutters through me, remembering what happened the last time I antagonized him. I want it again. To snap his self-control. To catch a glimpse of what’s lurking behind Patrick’s calm, good guy exterior. To feel it pounding into my bones. Taste it in my mouth. Hear the growl of it vibrating in his chest. Feel its echo in my own.
Gaze locked on his, I pull against the grip he has on my hair, locking my mouth around the head of his cock, pulling him slowly into my mouth
“Goddamn it,” he groans, the fingers wrapped in my hair jerk painfully tight for a second before flattening against the base of my skull, his other hand falling off the pool table, to wrap around the base of his cock.
“Suck.” The demand sounds like a curse, punctuated with a thrust of his hips that bumps the head of his cock against the back of my throat. I do was he says, licking and sucking while he fucks my mouth with short, fast thrusts.
“I’m gonna come in your mouth,” he warns me low and guttural, loosening his grip on my head so I can pull away. Instead, I wrap my free hand around the back of his thigh, pulling him closer. His harsh, ragged breathing and the wet suction of my mouth, the only sound between us.
“Cari—shit…” The hand around his cock tightens into a fist as the first thick, salty stream hits the back of my throat. I keep swallowing, each pull of my throat triggering another release until he’s gripping my head with both hands now, eyes squeezed shut, hips jerking and shuttering against me. When he’s finished, I rock back on my knees and wipe my mouth clean. I know he’s watching me, his hooded green gaze sweeping over me before settling on my lips.
Despite having just come in my mouth, he’s still hard. Like he’s nowhere near satisfied. He stares at me for a moment, his jaw tense and ticking against the clench he has on his teeth. Finally, he seems to make up his mind about something. About me and I have to lock down the part of me that wants to apologize. Take it back.
“Stand up,” he says, leaning back against the pool table to watch while I comply. As soon as I’m on my feet he issues another order. “Take it off.”
I hesitate a fraction of a second, long enough to see another warning flash in his eyes. God help me, it makes me wet. I pull my dress over my head and drop it on the floor. The cool air hits my nipples and they stiffen instantly, my breasts growing heavy, tender beneath his hooded green glare.
Pants still around his thighs, Patrick’s reached down to wrap a hand around his cock, still wet from my mouth. He slides his hand down slowly, from head to base while I watch, transfixed. “Is this what you want?” The words are soft, his chest rising and falling slowly. Calm. Controlled.
Angry.
“Yes.” And it is, but not like this. I want what we had before—the two of us, moving together. His breath on my neck. His hands in my hair. The rain outside my window lulling me into a sense of security that won’t last. Can’t last.
This way is better. I understand it. Can control it.
Survive it once it’s gone.
Without warning, Patrick reaches for me, his fingers wrapping around my wrist to jerk me toward him, clamping a hand around my neck to bend me over the pool table while the other reaches between my legs, pushing the wet crotch of my panties to the side to press two of his fingers against their juncture. My hips jerk against the pressure of them, trying to take them in and he growls again, low in this throat. “You don’t have to make me angry, you know,” he tells me, giving me what I want, stroking his fingers so deep inside me I cry out. “If you want it rough, all you have to do is say so—I’m a nice guy, remember?” He keeps fucking me with his hand, long, fluid strokes that turn my knees to water. “I’m more than happy to accommodate.”
Without warning he pulls his hand from between my legs and wraps it around the crotch of my flimsy, lace panties. Giving his arm a quick, violent jerk, he rips them in two. “No more fucking underwear,” he growls in my ear while the hand on my neck slides down the length of my back to grip my hips, pulling them away from the pool table. I feel his fingers dig into my ass cheeks, spreading me open while he leans over me. “Say yes, Patrick,” he tells me, the head of his cock pressing against me like it has a life of its own. Like it can’t wait to get inside me.
“Yes…” I rock back, trying to take him in. Pushing him to fuck me, rough and dirty.
“Good enough.” He slams his cock into me, filling my pussy so quickly I feel it clench and I try to straighten myself off the table.
His hand clamps around the back of my neck again, holding me down, pushing me against the pool table, the soft felt of its surface brushing and abrading my swollen nipples while he pounds hips against my ass, fucking me so fast and hard I can’t catch my breath.
“Clit,” he says through clenched teeth and I reach down to press my trembling fingers against my clit. Waves of pleasure crash over me, his cock plunging and pumping into me, the head of him grazing my g-spot with every thrust.
Within seconds I’ve tittering on the edge of an orgasm. Squeezing my eyes shut, I gasp the word. “Can—”
“No.” The hand on my hip streaks up my back to wrap around my braid, using it like a leash to jerk my head up. “Watch.”
I do what he says. I watch. Me, bent over the pool table, tits bouncing with every thrust. Patrick behind me, fucking me so hard I can feel the edge of the table grinding against my hip bone. I squeeze my eyes shut, my orgasm shuttering through me, threatening to break free. “Patrick…”
“Come.” He roars the word, his fingers around the back of my neck tightening, hard enough to bruise. His cock slam into me once, twice before I’m coming, the orgasm so intense, my vision goes dark around the edges, my pussy gripping and milking him so hard it almost hurts and my lungs are seizing in my chest.
He lets go of my hair. As soon as he does, I fall forward, my cheek pressed against soft, warm felt. I close my eyes and pretend the feeling of him inside me will last forever. That I didn’t just fuck everything up, all over again.
As soon as he’s finished, he pulls out and jerks he pants up. Opening my eyes, I angle my head so I can see his refection in the window. He doesn’t look angry or disappointed anymore.
He looks resigned. Like he finally understands me.
“I’m going upstairs. I’ve got some work to do,” he tells me, his tone terse. Like he’s talking to someone he barely knows. I watch in the window as he walks away. Climbs the stairs and disappears.
Outside, it keeps raining.