Page 75 of Road Trip to Forever
I put a trembling hand on his thigh and run my nails up his leg to his gray athletic shorts. I dance my fingers across his arm and urge his palm up my shirt, just beneath the band of my sports bra.
There’s no logic, no thought, just ravenous want.
Need.
“Lola.”
I love how Patrick says my name.
It’s strangled, wobbling and cracking around the edges. Both an ask and a plea, seeking my approval. He touches me like he’s at war with his mind. Convincing himself heshouldn’tbe doing this when I think—no, Iknow—he really, really wants to.
There’s another tilt of his hips before his knee wedges between my legs and nudges them apart. I don’t knowwhatwe’re doing, only that I know we can’t stop.
Ican’t stop.
I shift back into him until our limbs are molded together. He could slide into me so easily. Two pieces of fabric is all that separates us. He blows out a long, stuttered breath, gasping for air.
“Please,” I whisper, and his grip tightens.
“Okay,” Patrick answers. His lips brush over the spot where my shoulder and neck meet. “Okay,” he says again, and this time, I believe him.
His hand moves from under my shirt to my shoulder. He turns me so we’re front to front, eyes colliding, chests rising and falling at the same tempo. His cheeks are flushed, and the pink works its way down his chest.
I touch a lock of hair that falls over his eyes and brush it away. “What are we doing?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he admits, and I like his honesty. “I just know that I want to. I’ve always wanted to. Badly.”
Want, want, want.
“I want to too,” I say.
“Is this a dream?” he asks. “Or for real?”
There’s so much hope behind the question, it makes it easy to whisper, “Real. Totally for real.”
“Fuck,” Patrick exhales. “Yes.”
My reassurance ignites him.
I might regret this in an hour or maybe even in the next ten minutes, but right now, I want to make him feel as good as he’s making me feel. Searching for the edge, so ready to topple willingly over. It would be easy with him. A free fall of lust into a hazy burst of pleasure.
I hitch my leg over his hip and bring my lips to the line of his jaw. I kiss the stubble on his cheeks, below his chin, the hollow of his throat. His shoulder, warm under my mouth. My teeth sink into his skin, the gentlest of bites, and he lets out a low hiss. His hips buck forward once, twice.
He runs his thumb along the underside of my breast and settles his hand on my stomach. I arch my back, asking formore.
I can see how badly he wants me, the outline of his length long and thick through his gym shorts. It spurs me on to know that I’m desired. The object of someone’s affection. I lift my chin and my eyes settle on his lips, showing my intent.
“What else do you want?” he asks.
The hand on my stomach shifts lower, stretching the waistband of my sleep shorts and dipping below the elastic.
“A million things,” I say.
“Tell me. List them all.”
“I want—”
A sharp sound blares through the tent, and the spell breaks.
