“You’re such a dick!”
When I turned to face him and dropped to my ass on the bed, he was still kneeling there on the floor wearing a wide smile. It was one I hadn’t seen in what felt like a very long time, and I felt my anger drifting away.
“I love dat yer back to arguin’ wit’ me,” he said simply. “For a while it felt like ye were too afraid to cause any waves, so ye were just goin’ along wit’ whatever I wanted.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. I had been like that when he’d first moved back, but I’d realized after a while that I couldn’t behave that way. It just wasn’t me. Did I want Patrick to love me? Of course. Was I willing to be a doormat to secure that love? No way in hell.
“I can’t believe you hit me.”
“Ach! It was a love tap.”
“You slapped my ass hard! Three times!”
“And it felt good, didn’t it?”
My eyebrows lifted in surprise as I paused.
“I bet yer arse is red as a cherry right now, all hot and tender,” he coaxed, leaning forward to place a kiss between my breasts. “A little pain feels good, yeah? Like when I bite ye here?” he turned his head to the side and pressed his teeth against the side of my breast. His hands slid up the tops of my thighs, one veering to grip my hipbone and the other trailing down until the tips of his fingers were pressed just barely inside me. “Or when I take ye hard,” he rasped, thrusting inside forcefully.
My head tipped back and my eyes closed as his fingers curled forward inside me. He moved his mouth between my breasts, biting and sucking hard at my nipples while his fingers continued their movements, and before long I was holding back the moans that threatened to burst out of my mouth.
Right as I felt that final swell that I knew would take me to the promised land, Patrick’s fingers and mouth were gone, and he was flipping me to my belly before pulling me up to my hands and knees.
“Me handprints look good on ye,” he said breathlessly as I heard his belt clinking. He placed his hands on my burning cheeks and pressed outward, opening me up. Then with one hard thrust he was planted inside me and I was yelling sharply into the blankets beneath me.
His hips moved jerkily until he got a rhythm going, and a warm feeling grew in my chest at his obvious lack of control. I loved knowing that he was as affected as me.
“Ye were made for me,” he said into my ear, wrapping his hand in my hair as he came down over me with one arm braced above my shoulder. “I’ll never love anot’er.”
When I looked back on that night later, I sometimes wondered if I would have changed the way we came together. If I would have rather made love to him face-to-face so I could watch as his eyes grew cloudy, and his face flushed with his orgasm. If only I’d made him flip us back over so I could run my hands across his chest and map the freckles across his cheeks with my eyes. I decided eventually that I wouldn’t have changed a thing, though.
The way he took me wasn’t sweet or tender, it was fucking in its rawest form. I was pinned beneath him and unable to touch him, but I’d also been surrounded and protected and his words against the side of my face were the purest declaration of love I’d ever heard.
Chapter 30
Patrick
Christ, I was tired.
I’d been gone from home for almost a week, which meant I’d gotten very little rest. I was still having trouble sleeping without my wife, and my dependence on her presence made me angry. I was the man. I was the husband. My need for her shouldn’t surpass her need for me—but that was exactly what it felt like. She went on about her days when I was away, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, while I grew shaky and out of sorts the minute she was out of my sight.
It was frustrating as hell.
I got back to our house late that night, and everything was quiet as I made my way inside. I’d stopped by Amy’s work, but apparently she’d taken the night off because she was feeling ill. I hadn’t talked to her in a few days and I was anxious to make sure she was okay. I hated the thought of her not feeling well while I wasn’t there, even though I knew my mum would take care of her.
When I crawled into bed beside her, she was sleeping heavily and I could feel the fever on her skin. I wrapped my cool body around hers, and breathed deeply, my anxiety lessened even with proof of her illness.
“Patrick?” she whispered.
“Go back to sleep, love.” I rolled over to face the door and felt her curl up against my back with one hot hand on my stomach.
“I think I caught a cold from Vera.”
“I know. Go to sleep now. We’ll talk in de mornin.’ ”
I felt her nod against my back, and less than a minute later her body relaxed into mine.
I wished I could roll back over and let her rest against my chest, but I didn’t dare. I was too tired and I was afraid to fall asleep that way, vulnerable on my back, with her body shielding mine. We hadn’t slept that way since I’d started working for Short Michael, and I didn’t ever see there being a time where I’d feel confident enough to do so again.
Too many things happened when you weren’t prepared. I’d seen that first hand—I’d been the thing that happened.
I’d never be caught off guard, especially while my wife slept trustingly against me.
***
I woke a few hours later to quiet voices and movement around the house. Mum had work that morning, and my da had started waking up with her so they could have a few moments of privacy before she started her day.