Page 74 of Taming Tesla

THIRTY-FIVE

Cari

Patrick is hard.

So hard, I’m not even hard is the right word for it. Doesn’t begin to adequately describe what I’m feeling. I forgot how big he was. How having him inside me danced along the edge of pleasure and pain. I haven’t had sex in almost a year—not even the self-serve variety. Thinking about it sends a rush of heat through me, soaking my panties almost instantly.

“Then why—” I swallow hard and lick my lips, my knees tightening reflexively around his hips. The rigid shaft of his cock jerks against my throbbing center in response. “Is it because you’re still mad at me?”

His hands tighten on my thighs for a second, looking away from me while shaking his head. “No, I’m not mad at you.”

“Then what?” I say, confused. “You almost kissed me—twice now—and twice you stopped.” I angle my head to catch his gaze. “Why? Why aren’t you kissing me?”

“Because I can’t.”

After seeing him on the cover of that magazine, I’d resigned myself to the fact that every woman in Boston was probably throwing themselves at him but I never considered the fact that he might actually be with someone. I think of Sara, his ex-girlfriend and a wave of jealousy hits me. “Are you with someone?”

“No.” He shakes his head, laughing a little like what I just suggested was ridiculous. “I’m not with anyone, Cari. I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

You can run to hell and gone—I’m still going to be here, and I’m still going to love you. You do whatever you need to do to figure out what I already know. I’ll wait.

He said he’d wait for me and he did.

“Then why?” I tip my face upward, my gaze searching his. “Why can’t you kiss me?”

“Why…” He moves his hands, skimming his fingers along the swell of my hips before planting them on either side of me, caging me between his muscular arms. “It’s real simple, Cari,” he growls softly, hooded green gaze pinned to mine. “If I kiss you, I’m going to keep kissing you.” He pushes harder into the space between my thighs, so hard the ridge of his cock presses the thin fabric of my yoga pants against the seam of my pussy, soaking them instantly. “I’m going kiss this perfect mouth of yours until it isn’t enough for either of us—” His gaze drops to my mouth, skimming over my lips and throat before settling on the throbbing spot above my collar bone. “and then I’m going to pull your shirt over your head, so I can lick and suck your nipples until you’re begging me for more…” The hands on the counter press flat, his arms flexing around me like he’s fighting the urge to put his filthy words into action. “and then I’m going to lay you out on this counter and peel these tight little pants down your legs and take your perfect little ass in my hands...” He leans in even closer, his mouth pressed against my ear. His throbbing cock pressed tight against my wet entrance. “and then I’m going fuck you with my tongue.” He says it all in that maddeningly calm tone of his. The one that drives me insane. So matter-of-fact and deliberate that I’m shaking. He’s not even touching me, and I’m a quivering mess. “After you’ve come in my mouth and on my fingers, screaming my name about half-dozen times, I’m going to fuck you with my cock, against every flat surface I can find in this goddamned place.” He pulls back and looks me in the eye. “That’s what’s going to happen if I kiss you.”

“Yes.” I breathe the word softly, nodding my head, 100% on board with everything he just said. “Okay.”

“No. Not okay,” he says, jaw tight around the words.

“What?” I feel like I’ve been slapped. “Why? Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to just fuck you, Cari. I want to keep you. I want you to be mine.” His green eyes glitter, shards of black and gold dancing around his irises. “I want forever. So, if you say okay, you better be sure. You better be ready because I’m not going to settle and I’m not going stop.”

I catch my bottom lip between my teeth, thinking about what he just said. “Because you love me,” I finally say. Looking at him, I can see it.

“Now you understand.” His mouth quirks, the corner of it inching up in a smirk. “Is that what you wanted to talk about? Why I won’t kiss you?”

It wasn’t. Not even close. What I wanted to say was infinitely more complicated. Confusing. Instead of trying to put my feelings into words, I nod and simply say, “Yes.”

“Good.” He straightens, stepping away from me completely. Turning toward the stove, he turns it on and adjusts the controls. It has six gas burners and a large, indoor grill in the center. “I’m hungry? Are you hungry?”

I stare at the back of his head, trying to catch my breath. Trying to calm the pounding between my thighs and the way my swollen nipples are screaming for attention. I clear my throat and pick up my wine, taking a long sip to cool my burning throat. “I could eat.”

He laughs at my response. “So, what have you been up to?” he says, throwing me a quick look before focusing on the stove. Heating the grill, he moves further down the counter, unwrapping a couple of thick-cut steaks. sprinkling the steaks with a generous amount of salt and pepper.

What have I been up to? He just got finished describing what he’d like to do to me, in excruciatingly hot detail, and he wants to make small talk? I open my mouth, sure nothing will come out of it. But I was wrong.

As soon as my mouth opens, I tell him about spending time with Grace—how she’d sneak into my room in the middle of night with a bottle of cheap wine, she lifted from the bar she waitresses at on weekends, so we could gossip about all the weird stuff our neighbors got in the mail—Mrs. Seever’s monthly packages from a company that makes sex toys or how Mr. Garret has several female prison pen pals. I tell him about setting up my easel in the backyard and painting while Molly played in the sprinkler I attached to the hose. About how my dad is afraid he’s going to get laid-off from his factory job. About how my mom will be devastated if Grace decides to stay in Boston with me because she loves Molly so much.

He cooks me dinner while I tell him everything. The good and the bad. He listens, and he laughs.

He’s Patrick—only different. More confident. Self-assured. It makes me wonder if this is who he’s been all along or if what happened between us changed him somehow—that some of the temporary insanity we both suffered took root. Made him into someone I know but don’t recognize. Like I’m having a familiar conversation with a total stranger.

“So,” I say, taking a sip of wine. “Have you heard from Sara?”

I expect the question to stiffen his shoulders. Make him defensive. Maybe even a little angry. It doesn’t. Instead, he laughs. “No,” he says, flipping the steaks before shooting me a look over his shoulder. “Oh... Tess didn’t tell you?”

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