Page 96 of Road Trip to Forever
“Because I just realized we’ve been at a theme park in the Florida sun for hours. We need to shower.”
“Okay.” I push the strap of my tank top up my shoulder and Patrick’s eyes follow the piece of clothing with excruciating intensity and interest. “Do you want to shower together?”
“In the grand scheme of things? Yes, Lola, I want to shower with you. But not tonight. Not like this. I want…” He rolls his lips together and moves toward me. He spins us so I’m pressed against the living room wall, his hands bracketing my head. The plaster is rough behind my shoulder blades, and I arch my back.
“Want what?” I ask, prompting him to keep talking.
“I want to go slow,” he says with a kiss to my throat. “Take my time.” A kiss to my collarbone. His teeth bite the strap I just pushed up my arm and bring it back down slowly, methodically, with so much precision you’d think he did it every day. “Savor this. Savor you, honey.”
I’ve never heard something so sexy, soearnestbefore. The desire to be kind and gentle snaps. I want him unrestrained, and I want to be the one to bring him to his knees. I crush my mouth against his. It’s rough and it’s wild, with more want and need behind the press of our lips. He runs his fingers across my shirt and over my chest, and I roll my hips into his.
Patrick breaks our contact to bend his neck and lower his chin, mouth working its way down my body before closing around my breast. His tongue sneaks out and circles my nipple. Over the cotton, wetting the material until it’s practically translucent with saliva as he gently bites. I see stars and fragmented self-control crumbling away behind my eyes.
“Patrick.”
I say his name desperately, close to begging and shamelessly needy. I’ve never felt like this before, like I might die without someone’s touch, twisting and bending and finding any way to ask for more.
He hums against me, and the vibrations pulse to my toes. Unrelenting, he moves his mouth to my other breast, tormenting me with renewed vigor and mind-numbing pleasure.
“You like that,” he says with breathless wonder. It’s not a question but a fact because he can tell. Heknows, able to read me better than anyone else. “I like it too. You’d beg for my fingers, wouldn’t you?”
Yes, I want to scream.
I’d do anything he asked.
The same man who once bought me three boxes of tampons because he didn’t know the difference between brands is the same one plucking me apart, string by string, with just his words and his sinful mouth.
I fumble with the hem of his T-shirt, trying to pull it over his head without forcing him away.
“Please,” I say.
I don’t know what I’m asking for. Him? Everything? The stars and the moon? I can’t tell, can barely remember my own name, but I know that whatever itis,I want it.
“Okay,” Patrick says.
He folds his hands over mine and lifts his shirt over his head, throwing it into a crumpled heap on the floor. I rest my palms against his bare chest and run my fingers over his muscles. My nails drag down his stomach, a faint pink line blooming in their wake.
“Okay,” I repeat.
“Let’s”—he drops his forehead to mine and squeezes his eyes shut—“shower. You shower. First.”
“You want to stop?”
“Stopping is the absolute last thing I want to do. I just—I need a minute.”
“A minute?”
“Yeah. I haven’t gotten to touch you the way that I want.” His eyes open and he presses his thumb into the space just above my collarbone. “Fuck.Fuck. I want to make you feel good and I don’t want to—you’re the priority, Lola. If you keep looking at me likethatand touching me likethis,I can’t make you the priority. Let me put you first. Please.”
His honesty pulls at my heart, warms my insides, and makes me press my thighs together because it’s so sincere. It’s sohim, and it’s the most attractive I’ve ever found another person. We’re slowing down instead of speeding up, enjoying every second, not just wanting to reach the finish line. My legs quake and I drop my head against the wall. “Fine. Shower first.”
“Come here.”
Patrick pulls me to him, both large hands cupping my cheeks. I feel small but important in his hold, not just a person buthisperson, relishing in calculated touches as he threads his fingers through my hair and works out a knotted strand then pushes the pad of his thumb into my neck.
I melt, body bowing and heart racing. Everything in me pulls tight, liquid heat pouring over my body, bucket after bucket.
“I’m going to walk away,” I say against his lips, reluctant to put even a millimeter of space between us. “If I don’t, nothing about this will be slow, and I’ll ruin your plan.”
