Page 8 of Her Only Hero

“You’re so beautiful,” Patrick said.

I knew I wasn’t, but I believed Patrick meant what he said. Maybe I possessed some quality he found alluring. His attraction for me acted like a mountain of kindling, and I was about to combust.

One at a time, I slid my bra straps over my shoulders and unhooked the band. Goose bumps tightened my skin. Patrick’s lips parted, but he said nothing. I slid off my panties, withdrawing the final shred of cloth between my body and Patrick’s unwavering gaze.

I climbed onto the bed and measuredly straddled his waist.

“June,” he whispered and moved his arms, only to be stopped by the constraining cuffs.

I plunged forward to kiss him, and my nipples tingled as they swept his chest. A sound escaped my lips before his mouth devoured mine. Fierce, hard. His tongue dipped and swirled as if starved. His need competed with mine. I grabbed the top bar of the headboard, my body millimeters from Patrick’s face. He yanked his arms forward forcefully, and the loud clang of metal startled me. He remained secure, confined.

“Take these off,” he said softly, yet pleading with urgency.

I shook my head.

He leaned forward. His tongue swirled and teased. I closed my eyes and became completely engulfed by the sensations Patrick created. The overhead fan circulated air caresses over my damp skin. I shivered. Our lips met again in the most passionate fusion. I didn’t want this to end. The full contact of our bodies defined carnal heaven. Nothing could replicate human texture, not silk, velvet, or suede. Currents of intense desire intensified. Poker hot with the need to be quenched. I lowered over him. The gradual entry sparked even more pathways of sensation. Patrick arched upward. I moved steadily, rhythmically, and snapped my head back when tight coils released. My breathing became ragged. Metal rattled as Patrick leaned forward and kissed my neck. I resumed a pace, and Patrick met my rhythm. I caught another wave and shuddered with blinding sparks. Patrick’s body tensed and then eased into the comforter. He stopped struggling against his restraints.

He licked his lips. “Damn, you’re hot,” he said in a low voice.

I brushed my lips over his. “You are,” I said quietly, understating what I really felt. Simply put, Patrick was all male. The manliest male. The restrained alpha that still dominated my senses. I dropped to his side and placed a hand on his chest. His heart beat strong. I trailed my fingers along his toned midsection and then lower. I couldn’t stop myself.

This baffling evening had yet to complete its finale.

Chapter Five

Bed sheets rustled and brushed over my nakedness as I rolled onto my back. I opened my eyes after a night of minimal sleep and realized I was alone in bed. I had, after all, “mercifully” uncuffed Patrick before we crashed. I grabbed a pillow and put it over my face.

Patrick seemed agreeable last night, but in the next-morning perspective, what did he really think of the kinky bondage? It had been a first for me. How had I become so insatiable? Had my dry spell lasted too long, or had Patrick become too irresistible?

There was a thump at the front door. I tossed the pillow aside and sat up to listen. Floorboards creaked, and I scurried to the closet to grab a robe. I padded barefoot toward sounds in the kitchen.

Dressed in a white T-shirt, and black sweatpants, Patrick took two plates from the cupboard. No matter what he wore, or didn’t wear, he affected my sinus rhythm. I tightened my sash, self-conscious in the daylight because of my behavior in the night.

“Good morning,” I said and smoothed back some of my tousled hair.

“Yes, it is. I hope I didn’t wake you.” His face brightened with a smile, and he swooped in for a kiss. “How are you feeling?”

“Really well,” I said, elated his apparent happiness perhaps had something to do with me. “I’m fantastic, actually.”

“I took your apartment keys and stepped out to pick up breakfast. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.”

“Juice?” he asked and handed me a cup with a straw.

“Thanks.” I took a sip. “Mm, good. I must be dehydrated.”

His mouth turned up.

“The apartment was a sauna last night.” My voice trailed off.

The Saturday newspaper sat on the kitchen table, along with a brown paper bag and a cardboard drink tray holding two cups. “Whatcha get?”

“I didn’t know your preference, so I got a couple of breakfast sandwiches—one sausage and one bacon. Take your pick.”

“Both sound delicious,” I said and reached into the bag and placed the hot bagel sandwiches onto plates. Traces of awkwardness and modesty dissipated. Time spent with Patrick was effortless. No games. Just him and me being ourselves. We had, after all, been friends for about two years.

“And I got tea for you. Milk only, bag out.”

---