Fake (West Hollywood 1)

“You have the prettiest flush working up your body,” he mumbled. “I think you’re close.”

I, however, wasn’t thinking at all. Every muscle in me drew tight, sensation racing through me. It was too good, almost too much, and I couldn’t help but want more. More of the way he looked at me, more of his touch. My breasts felt heavy and my head felt light. The ache low in my belly just grew and grew. When he started strumming my clit, my mouth opened on a gasp and it was all over. Waves of pleasure washed through me. The muscles in my thighs shook and I dug my heels into the mattress to try and ground myself. It seemed like everything in me coalesced into one perfect moment. A moment he’d given me.

Patrick’s touch eased until his fingers stilled. His nose brushed my cheek, lips planting gentle kisses along my jaw. And he didn’t say a word.

I wasn’t actually sure what to say either. So I pushed my face against his neck and very bravely hid. Something about coming in front of him had shaken me. Like I’d just exposed some core element of myself. Not that I didn’t mostly trust him, but . . .

Carefully, he slipped his fingers out of me, out of my panties. Next came sucking sounds because of course. Waste not, want not.

“You taste good,” he said. “Smell good, too.”

“Thanks.”

“Salty sweet woman. I like it.”

I laughed softly. “I’m so glad.”

“If you want to stop there, it’s okay.”

I eased back so I could see his face. While his hard-on pressed into my hip, his expression was a study in restraint and something more. Gentleness. Kindness. Friendship, even. Those sorts of things that had been missing with any and all of my previous bed partners. His skin seemed to have tightened across his face with his need and his pupils were so dilated they swallowed the blue. But he meant every word.

“It’s up to you,” he said.

“I don’t want to stop.”

Slowly, he nodded, letting out a breath. He slid his palm over the silk of my nightie, taking in the delicate embroidery along the lowered neckline. “As pretty as this is, it needs to come off.”

Together we worked the chemise off over my head and the panties down my legs. Not stopping until I lay naked against the sheets and the lingerie was gone. Tossed over his shoulder and onto the floor. Guess he’d paid for them; he could do what he liked. And it was such an act of trust, having sex with someone. Letting them see everything. I’d forgotten how intimate taking someone to bed actually was.

Patrick wasted no time dealing with his pants. His dick pointed upward with a graceful curve, thick ridges of veins wending their way up toward the wide crown. The man was hung. And it was perfect and intimidating, like every other inch of him. No wonder he had a website solely devoted to crotch shots of him named Appreciation for Patrick’s Trouser Snake. Not that I’d looked. At the site, that is. I stared at his dick to my heart’s content. By the cocky smile on his face, he had no problem with my perusal. Then I held a hand out to him and he climbed between my thighs. His big body was fever hot and blocked out the rest of the world.

The blunt head of his cock lined up with my opening and in he pushed. Inch by inch my body slowly gave to him, opening for him, taking him deep. His tortured groan against my neck was music to my ears. Every muscle in him tensed as he eased out before sliding back in nice and easy. Once, twice, he took his time.

“Alright?” he asked.

I nodded. “More.”

“Harder?”

“Yes.”

This time he slammed into me. No hesitations or holding back. And holy shit, electricity raced up my spine. I wrapped my legs around him, anchoring him to me. It took him no time at all to set up a punishing pace. Whatever this thing was between us, it didn’t do sedate. At least, not for long. The damp sheen of sweat covered both our bodies. Fingers dug into my ass cheek, angling my hips high, all the better to take him. The force of his gaze seemed absolute. Red spots marked his cheeks and he’d never been more beautiful than in this moment.

Skin slapped against skin and every single cell in me screamed for more. More of him and this friction. The feeling of too much yet not enough. I didn’t think I could come again. But I should have known better than to think at all. The way Patrick fucked me into the mattress was pure animal instinct. We were rough and raw. Me with my hands grabbing at him and him with all of the superb strength in his body.