Page 84 of Those Two Words

We’re silent as Patrick leads us up the stairs.

I take in his strong back stretching his dress shirt, the way his hair curls at his nape, and how snug his pants fit over his ass. Patrick in jeans is delicious, but it’s a treat to see him in a pair of slacks.

The nervous energy building within me doesn’t make sense. It’s not like we haven’t had sex before, so why does this feel different?

When his eyes meet mine over his shoulder, they’re darker, like a forest bathed in starlight. It’s not the heat or yearning that has me following him without question. It’s the certainty. He looks at me like he’s never been so sure of anything in his life.

We enter his bedroom, and I’m glad to be here under different circumstances this time so I can take it in properly. Dark woods mixed with neutral tones; like the rest of his home, it’s masculine and intimate. Like the man himself. His dresser is decorated with framed pictures of him and his family over the years, an old watch sits on the side, and a small chair in the corner of the room.

I stand in the middle of the hardwood floor, toying with the hem of my dress as he flicks on a bedside lamp, casting the room in a warm glow. He walks up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and pulls me close. “What’s wrong? You haven’t said a word since we left the sofa.”

“Nothing,” I reply.

“C’mon Jo, I know you. I can feel something is wrong.” He places a gentle kiss at the juncture between my neck and shoulder.

I sigh and try to pull away, but he tightens his hold. “I’m nervous, okay. Don’t ask me why, it’s my brain being annoying and overthinking everything.”

“I like your brain.” He lays a kiss on my temple. “I like everything about you. But there’s nothing to be nervous about, it’s me.”

See, that’s the problem. It’s the fact that it’s him that I’m feeling all nervous.

“We don’t have to do anything, that’s not why I asked you to stay.” He loosens his hold, but I spin in his arms, stopping him.

“It’s not like that. I want to, you know…” I gesture to the bed.

He quirks a brow. “Don’t go shy on me now. What is it you want?” His hand creeps down the front of my dress until he reaches the hem but doesn’t make another move. “I’d really like to take you to bed. Show you how much I like everything about you. But I need to hear you say it.”

Something about his tone and the hungry look in his eyes has all my self-doubt vanishing. So without hesitation, I replace his hands with mine, pull my dress over my head, and throw it to the side. “Fuck me, Patrick. I want you to fuck me.”

There go my nerves, I guess.

His gaze roams my body, thumb skimming across his bottom lip as he takes in the dark green lingerie set I picked out this morning. The color reminded me of his eyes, and from the heat in them, he knows it.

“I need you to get on the bed right now.” The fervor in his tone sends goose bumps across every inch of my body. I love it when his voice gets gritty like that, not hesitating to tell me what to do. And because I love to please him, I’m already bolting to the bed, his chuckle following behind me.

A scent I only know as Patrick floats toward me as I scramble on top of the comforter. I turn and sit in the middle of the king-size bed, legs stretched out and hands propped up behind me, waiting for his next move. He prowls toward me and the butterflies deep in my belly go berserk. When he crooks a finger, beckoning me closer, they take flight and I feel like I could float away with them, but he keeps me grounded. Moving to my hands and knees, I crawl toward him, not breaking eye contact. My heart beats wildly in my chest when his hungry eyes track me until I’m kneeling in front of him.

He brings his hand down to cup my cheek. “Do you remember what you said in my truck?”

It takes me a second to remember, but when I do, heat rushes over me. “That I want to suck your cock?”

“Mm-hm,” he hums as he continues to stroke my cheek tenderly. “You wanted it so badly, didn’t you? You were desperate to wrap your lips around me. And I always want to give you what you want.”

My eyes drop to the growing bulge in his pants, my mouth watering at the thought of tasting him, pleasuring him that way.

“You’re still dressed,” I point out.

At my words, he starts unbuttoning his shirt slowly, revealing his hard chest, the v of his abs, and that dark smattering of hair on his chest and stomach. Without waiting for his next command, I lower my head, and run my tongue across the grooves between his abs. He allows me a few moments, before he’s threading his hands through the bun on my head and pulling me off him.

“Let your hair down and then take my cock out, Johanna.” His irises glow like a wildfire, but other than the steady rise and fall of his chest, he’s motionless.

Like clockwork, his hands weave their way into my hair the moment I pull it free from its elastic and it tumbles down my back.

“You have no idea what seeing you like this does to me,” he says, eyes following his hands as they glide through the long strands.

I think I do, especially when I take in the view in front of me and reach for his pants.

I try to quell the shaking in my fingers as I slowly flick the button and lower the zip. Any nerves I had have disappeared now. My body only vibrates with desirous anticipation. He watches me acutely as I drag down his pants and black briefs until they’re past his ass. It’s only when his cock springs free and bounces off his stomach that our gazes break and drop between us. Not wanting to wait, I lean forward and sweep my tongue over the blunt head of him, groaning when the taste of him bursts across my tongue. He hisses as I explore him, the grip he has on my hair tightening with every pass of my tongue.

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