Page 101 of Road Trip to Forever
“Good?” he asks. It’s like he’s drunk, slurred words and reluctant movements, wanting to drag out the moment to last forever.
“God, yes,” I answer.
It’s loud and it’s needy and it’s depraved, but I don’t care. I do need him.
This is different from any other intimate experience I’ve ever had. Those encounters were hurried. Quick and fleeting. A rub here, a jerk there. No one has ever paid this much attention to me, realizing I prefer slow circles instead of fast. Discovering I like my hair pulled, wrapped around a wrist and yanked with a gentle tug. And when Patrick presses a kiss between my legs, his tongue following the same path he created with his finger, I almost obliterate into smithereens.
I’d be happy to go.
“You like that too,” he says with pride.
He’s close to gleeful at being able to discover parts of me no one else has ever found. When I don’t give him a response, he pinches my clit and my back bows forward.
“Yes,” I say around a panting breath. “I like it all.”
I’m close to being embarrassed by my enthusiasm, but Patrick doesn’t give me time to dwell on my eagerness, adding a second finger and making me see stars. He stretches me, whispering all the things he wants to try, telling me I’m doinggoodand heloves to watch.
Two minutes pass, then three, then four. It’s fantastic. Exceptional. Out of this world. I like hearing how it sounds when Patricks slides his fingers out of me then back in. Slick with moisture dripping down to coat the inside of my thighs. It’s a tease, a game to see how long it takes me to ask for more.
Is he enjoying himself?I wonder.
He seems to be, with his quiet words and the smile he’s giving me. Should I be touching him?Yes, yes I should. I thread my fingers through his hair and massage his scalp. Patrick lets out a soft groan, and I’m going to assume he likes that a lot.
Should I offer to switch positions so he’s on the bed and I’m over him? Maybe I’m taking too long and he’s losing interest. Maybe I should’ve skipped my medication this morning. That might have made my reaction time better. We could be moving on to the next thing by now, the main act, but I’m slowing us down. Maybe I shouldn’t have skipped my medicine, because then I’d be thinking about the clothes hanging in the closest and the last minute changes I want to do before the show. No one can possibly like foreplay this much, can they?
Shit.
The pleasure dissipates. The warmth cools. I fall from the cliff and back to the ground, so far from the high I was close to reaching.
My legs tense and I close them tight around his head as shame works its way up my body. I cover my face with my hands, my cheeks burning with mortification.
“What’s wrong?” Patrick asks, and I hear the concern in his question.
“I’m not going to finish,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
Here I am with the most wonderful man in the world, the most patient person who sees me exactly for who I am, and Istillcan’t shut off my brain. I’m ninety-eight percent there. Maybe even ninety-nine percent there. But wherever I am, it’s not one hundred percent, and disappointment claws at my elation, turning it to shredded defeat.
“That’s okay. That’s all right,” he says.
The mattress shifts and sinks. Patrick pulls me into his lap and kisses my cheek. My forehead and my neck. He kisses anywhere his mouth can reach, marking my body in every way he can.
“I liked it so much. I just—” I start.
“Remember what I said? You never have to explain yourself, Lola. We’ll take a break and try again later.”
“You want to try again?” I ask, moving my hands away and glancing up at him.
“Of course I do.” He leans forward and kisses my lips. I can taste myself on his tongue, sinfully delicious. “See how good you taste? You’d want to keep trying too.”
I feel sowantedby Patrick. Wanted and adored. I try to convey that I feel the same way about him without using words. By sliding my hands under his shirt, my palms splaying out over the taut muscles I’ve been dreaming of touching. His body lurches forward and his shaky exhale is a phantom caress against my ear.
“I want to make you feel good,” I whisper. “I want to touch you for a while. Can I do that?” My hand moves to the front of his shorts and I stroke up his length. “That would help me, I think.”
“Lola, you can do anything you want,” he says, a raspy gasp.
He eases me out of his lap and stands on shaky legs. He pulls his shirt over his head and I see the firm lines of his chest. The result of the hours he spends running before school, honing his body to peak physical shape. The dark hair that trails down his stomach and the tattoo on his arm.
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of his shorts and tugs them down, stepping out of them and kicking them aside. I blink, nearly overwhelmed at seeing him naked for the first time. His jutted hip bones and his cock, thick and heavy between his legs.
