Page 55 of Those Two Words

“I don’t know what you mean.” I try to sound innocent, but he sees right through it.

“I think you know exactly what I mean.” Dropping his head to the crook of my neck, he lets out a breath.

“Just for one night.” Maybe I say it to give him an out? To see if he’s only looking for one night. With every fiber in me, I hope he isn’t. I twist my upper body around, our mouths a whisper away and eyes hazy with lust. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“It’ll mean everything, though,” he whispers, the movement causing his lips to brush against mine.

I regret not doing it sooner, that’s what he said about our kiss in his study. And god, I share that same regret. My lips brush against his, testing the waters, before pulling back. I practically preen when his eyes fall heavy with want and he presses himself into me harder.

“I don’t want to fight this anymore.”

We’re toeing the line. If we do this, there’s no forgetting tonight.

“We need to talk.” His movements contradict his words, because he grips my hips harder and trails his lips across my shoulder. “I want you so fucking badly, you have no idea, but…Fuck it.”

And that’s all it takes.

Large fingers splay across my hips in a bruising manner as he grips me from behind. He presses himself into me with a light thrust, the cold metal of his belt buckle cools my overheating skin, and a gasp slips free when I feel just how badly he wants me.

Another gasp escapes me when Patrick grabs my nape with his left hand and directs my hips to where he wants them with the other. He’s using my body for his own pleasure. It’s filthy and depraved, and I can’t stop myself from thrusting my hips backward to meet his. With a firm grip on my neck, he turns my head and crashes his lips into mine. This kiss doesn’t start off slow—it’s needy and aggressive. It’s as if someone has told us we have seconds to live, and this is all the time we have left to savor each other.

He pulls his mouth from mine. “Jesus, Jo. Why does this feel so good?” he rasps.

“Don’t stop, whatever you do.” I lean forward and spread my fingers across the green tabletop. We’re grinding up against each other with no resolve, fully clothed, no care about where we are.

“I’m not stopping unless you tell me to. Please tell me you’re sober enough for this?”

“I haven’t drank in hours. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

And he doesn’t. He takes control.

The hand at my nape slips around to grip the front of my throat with the slightest of pressure, guiding us back so we’re standing upright. His other hand slinks around to my chest and yanks at the cups of my corset top, causing me to pant harder when the cool air caresses my aching nipples. He wraps the hair hanging over my shoulder around his fist, giving himself full access to my neck and bare chest. A shiver breaks out when he leaves a trail of hot kisses from my shoulder to the sensitive skin behind my ear. I reach behind me and grip his shirt, belt, anything I can to stop myself from floating away from how high he’s making me feel.

“No fucking bra, I knew it. Did you wear this outfit for me?” He drops my hair and brings his hands to my rib cage, dragging them up my sides until he’s cupping my breasts, his rough palms skimming against my nipples. He’s going to drag this out, torture me with the barest of touches, but he changes tactics as he starts to play with the hardened peaks. Pulling, twisting, pinching.

“You did wear this for me. You knew exactly what it would do to me when I saw your tight little ass molded in these jeans. It’s a good thing they’re already ruined, because I’m this close to ripping them off you.” He holds out his pointer and thumb to accentuate his point. And god, do I want him to tear the denim from my skin, because there are too many layers between us.

“I wore it for me.”

“You’re lying. That’s okay though, because I enjoyed the view anyway. You drive me insane, and I think you know it.”

The weight of Patrick’s body disappears, and I fall forward. I look over my shoulder, but he hasn’t gone far, and the sight before me steals the breath from my lungs.

He’s on his fucking knees.

“Stay facing the front,” he commands. “And bend forward for me, love. Let me take a look at this perfect ass.”

He hums in appreciation as I follow his order. His hands inch around to my front and begin to untangle the knot in the apron. Patience isn’t his virtue though, because after two seconds he grasps hold of the strings and pulls, snapping it instantly and throwing it on top of the pool table. Deft fingers flick open the button of my jeans and ease my zipper down. He’s acting like he has all the time in the world as his fingertips glide and caress across the exposed skin above my lace underwear. The featherlight touch has my stomach hollowing and goose bumps erupting across my body.

I don’t want slow caresses or careful touches. I want deliberate and desperate.

The fucker chuckles behind me as I squirm in his hold. “Patrick, stop teasing me, you shit.”

His laughter rings around the bar, like I’m not about to spontaneously combust.

“Why? What’s up, Johanna?” He places and gentle kiss to the pebbled skin revealed behind the rip, and then tugs my jeans until they fall to my knees. “Oh, I see the problem.” A kiss to my other cheek now. “You’ve soaked through your panties.” A slow lick this time. “Should I help you?”

“Please, yes. Please.” The ache between my legs and tightness in my belly is so intense now.

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