Page 120 of Road Trip to Forever
“Please fuck me, Patrick. Ruin me. Destroy me. I want you to own me. I want you so bad.”
“That’s my girl,” he says, his free hand running up my thigh and fanning out across my ribcage. “You know I’ll give you whatever you want.”
I take a breath and he slams into me, my body jolting and my hands flying out to find something to grasp on to. His shoulders, his arms, anything with purchase. He brings his fingers to my clit and circles, a torturous pattern I might perish from.
It truly hasn’t ever felt this good. Sweat-soaked limbs. Loving caresses and singing praise. Patrick tells me I cantake it. He’sproudand he loves to see mespread openfor him. I answer with nails running down his back. My mouth on his chest, kissing any space of skin I can find. I whisper that he’s myone and only, thebest yet, theonly one to treat me right.
His tempo is perfect, his angle is perfect,heis perfect. And when he grabs under my legs and yanks me to him, pressing my thighs against my chest and nearly folding me in two, I think I leave my body. I feel that satisfaction building up my spine. That wave of wonder spans across my stomach and toward my neck. It’s delightful, a cocoon of pleasure and bliss I never want to live without.
Until Patrick stops, pressing a kiss to my knee as that delicious nirvana washes away.
“What?” I pant. “No. No, no,no. I was so close.”
“I know you were,” Patrick says. He kisses my other knee, his movements slowing to gentle and steady.
“Did—did you come?” I ask hesitantly.
“I almost did. That’s why I had to stop.” He looks sheepish as he says it, bashful as he dips his chin and looks away. “I’m sorry. I want to make this last for you.”
“I don’t care about lasting,” I say, my palm resting on his cheek. “I don’t care if you finish in five minutes or fifty. I like knowing I’m the one who gets you there. I want you to come, Patrick. I want to watch you while you do. Will you come for me? Show me how good I feel?”
“Fuck, Lola,” Patrick groans. “Your pussy is the best thing of my life. You’re so tight and so wet. Wet forme.”
“For you,” I answer. “Just for you.”
“Just for me,” he repeats with awe and wonder. He takes both of my hands in one of his and brings my arms above my head. He keeps his fingers clasped around my wrists, locking me in place, and his movements resume. I’m entirely at his mercy. He’susingme to get off, and it’s the hottest thing of my life.
How can a man be both sweet as sugar and sexy as hell, performing two sides so well? None of it is fake or an attempt to be something he’s not. This is Patrick Walker—the man who cooks me breakfast with a smile on his face can also rail me into oblivion.
How is hereal?
“Deeper, Patrick,” I say. “Put my legs on your shoulders.”
He follows my lead, his free hand lifting my left leg then my right before settling them around his neck. “Holyshit,” he breathes out. “You feel so good, baby. You take me so well. Look at you.”
This angle is the best one yet. We’re so connected, so wrapped around each other I can’t tell which are my limbs and which are his. Patrick kisses my calf and runs his tongue up my knee. I’m so immersed in him I don’t even realize I’m falling over the edge until it’s too late, the orgasm surprising me when he bites my nipple and tugs on my hair. Tears spring in my eyes and I whimper as my legs tighten around his neck, probably close to suffocating him.
“Come inside me, Patrick,” I say through staggered breaths, my heart racing and my vision blurry. “Please.”
Patrick lets out a groan and drops his head forward, finding his own ecstasy. His body convulses until I finally feel him relax, his thrusts ceasing. He’s panting, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly. I ease my wrists out of his grip and lower my legs. I run my hands up his sides, soothing him and calming him down.
“I think I’m dead,” he says, pulling out of me. I immediately miss the closeness we shared and I shiver at the loss of contact. “You’ve killed me, Lola Jones.”
He settles on his back and pulls me into an embrace, my head resting on his chest and my eyes fluttering closed. I hum and nod in agreement.
“You killed me too,” I say.
“That was—”
“The best sex of my life.”
“Without a doubt.”
“You told me tobeg, Patrick.”
“Did that go too far?” he asks, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “Maybe we should have talked about boundaries and preferences before we dove headfirst into the deep end.”
“It didn’t go too far,” I say quickly. “I told you I’d let you know when I liked or disliked something. I really, really,reallylikedthat.”
