Page 104

FIFTY-THREE
Cari
Ishould be saying no right now. I should be laughing my ass off and showing him the door. Because if I’ve learned anything over the past eleven months, it’s that I belong to me. I don’t need a man to decide my worth. I don’t need a man to make me feel good about myself.
I don’t.
I don’t need a man.
I need this man.
I need Patrick.
Whoever he is. Whatever he’s become. I need him.
I need him so much that when he steps away from me, I almost weep. It should scare me—how needy and desperate his absence makes me. How frantic and wild I feel without his hands on me. How far I’m willing to go to please him.
It should.
It should scare the shit out of me, needing him this much.
Right now, the only thing that scares me is the thought of him walking away.
The only light in the room streams in from the kitchen, spilling across the bed, leaving the rest of the room in shadows. Patrick’s standing in those shadows, his eyes and face unreadable. “Step out of your panties,” he says calmly, stepping into the light, his hands dug casually into the pockets of his suit pants.
I comply, lifting my foot to free myself before setting it back down, the movement opening my legs even wider and his green gaze goes dark and heavy, traveling down the length of me—The pulse pounding in my throat. My swollen breasts. My dripping wet pussy. The panties still hooked around one of my ankles—leaving a trail of heat that sets fire to my skin.
Eventually, his eyes make their way back to mine, “Are you still taking birth control?” he asks in that same calm, casual tone, and I nod, catching my lip between my teeth to keep from whimpering. The corner of his mouth lifts, flashing his dimple as he lifts his hands from his pockets. “Good,” he says, taking off his watch and dropping it on the floor. “Sit on the edge of the bed. Hands on your knees.”
I sit, stifling a sigh of relief. I’m not sure how much longer my knees would’ve held out. I start to draw them together, but he stops me.
“Keep your legs open, so I can look at my pussy.”
His words stain my cheeks with heat but, holding his gaze, I put my hands on my knees and do as he says, opening my legs wide.
He moves again, closer this time, until he’s standing in the space between my legs, his huge cock, straining against the front of his pants, inches from my mouth.
He reaches out, his fingertips trailing over my collarbone, soft and tender, his thumb brushing over my birthmark, his touch almost cool against the heat of it.
“Take out my cock, Cari.”
I can’t move fast enough. My hands find the front closure of his pants, yanking it open with the moan of a desperate animal. Jerking them down around his thighs, my fingers scramble against the waistband of his black boxer briefs, nails digging in and raking against his skin as I drag them down his hips, freeing his cock completely. I wrap my hands around his shaft, and it jerks in my grip, his answering groan coupled by a bead of pre-cum, welling from its tip, begging to be licked clean.
Before I can act on the impulse racing through me, I feel a hand fist itself in my hair, almost painfully, and pull back, forcing me to look up at him.
“Hands on your knees,” he says, need, almost as desperate as mine, bleeding through the calm.
Reluctantly, I drop my hands and settle them on my knees.
Still looking down at me, his hand goes soft in my hair, cradling the back of my head. “You want my cock in your mouth?”
The question pounds its way down my spine, straight to my pussy and I moan in response, my fingers gripping my knees. “Yes.”
“You want me to fuck that throat of yours?”
Oh god… “Yes.”
His hand still in my hair, the other cups my face, his thumb brushing along my lower lip, slipping inside my mouth and I run my tongue along the pad of it, hungry for any part of him he’ll let me taste.