Wrong Pt. 01

Quickly he amped up his passion, however, and we were engaged in the most erotic but simple kiss of my life. His lips against mine, the gentle but experienced nudging of his tongue and his breath against my face worked me up so fast I thought I was going to have an orgasm right there. His hands barely moved on me; one was on my waist as the other ran its way through my hair.

My kissing grew more fervent, but he shocked me again with his continued restraint. He didn't rush things. He took his time with our kiss, drawing out the passion and letting it simmer delicately like he was a grand chef conducting a masterpiece of a meal.

I was ready to rip off my clothes and lifted my hands to do just that. He stopped me.

"Let's go to my room."

He stood and took my hand, coaxing me to his bedroom. A small smile toyed with his lips but he didn't look at me; he merely lead us into the pitch black room.

I expected him to turn the lights on immediately like he had before when he stepped away, but this time he left me standing with only the faint and distant light of his hallway dancing across his large bed and some furniture. Most of the room was shrouded in darkness, and he had disappeared into it.

"Patrick. Not funny." I fumbled around for a light switch but there wasn't one where there should've been.

I stomped over to where I presumed the lamp was, but then arms wrapped around me and pulled me into a firm—and naked—chest.

"Not being funny. Just getting ready." His voice was smooth and low, and so strangely tender.

"Patrick," I whispered. I didn't know what else to say.

"Do you know that I have been able to think of nothing else but your body since I had you? That sometimes at work I literally have to go jack off in the bathroom because just remembering how you looked when you came was enough to give me a permanent hard-on?"

I pressed back against him, hating that he still wore his pants. Not realizing he actually wanted an answer, I cried out when suddenly a hand grabbed a breast and two fingers twisted a nipple through my clothing.

"Do you?!"

"No."

"You had me half out of my mind before and now that I know what it's like to fuck you, I can't stop wanting. I'm going to bury myself inside you all night."

He didn't say this roughly, or wantonly, or crudely. It sounded nearly like a confession, an almost guilty admission.

Something about his words and the tone of them stirred my curiosity, but then he worked on my clothing and started kissing my neck and all I could think of was having sex again. I just needed and wanted; never before had I been so disconnected from the rest of my surroundings. All that existed was Patrick and me standing in his shadowed room.

Suddenly I was naked, and I turned to eagerly strip him of his pants. He didn't stop me, but he didn't help, either. He watched me as I ripped them off, tugging them with frustration. I gave up when they lingered on the lower part of his calves, and then stared hungrily at what had already been inside me. I knew what it felt like and I craved more.

Crouching down, I slipped his boxers off and let them gather below with his pants, keeping my eyes on his cock the entire time. I watched as it leapt out, hard and twitching enthusiastically in front of my face. It truly was beautiful; up until really examining Patrick's, I hadn't thought penises were that attractive. His, however, made my belly heavy and my head dizzy.

Just staring at his dick made me wet and ready, and honestly I could have just sat hunched over it for hours. He moved, however, stepping out of his pants and boxers and flipping on the light. Then he took a step closer to me. I looked up and our eyes immediately connected. The want that plagued me was also painted all over his own glossy eyes.

He put out a hand and let it play and wind itself through my hair. I knew what he needed, and I needed it even more.

Moving closer to him on my knees, I let his cock just rub against the softness of my cheek. He actually gasped at the sensation. Apparently he was paying more attention to my hair than to my actions. Now those green eyes were on mine again, listening to what I was telling him with my fixed and promised gaze. Those gorgeous lips spread open. I guess I shocked him for the second time that night. First, I stayed and encouraged the encounter, and now I was going to give him a blowjob.

My pink tongue slipped slowly out of my mouth and I licked my lower lip with it. He moaned at the image and softly put his hand on my other cheek, the one that wasn't covered by his cock and pre-cum. His thumb stroked the satiny skin beneath my eye.

Finally I let my tongue tickle his head, swiping it back and forth slowly and lightly. A delicious sound came out of him and he pushed forward. I pulled my head and mouth back just a bit and smirked, shaking my head. The message was: this is my show; your cock is my prop and I'll do with it as I please.

He got my meaning and moved his hips back, attempting to smirk in return. I could tell from the taut muscles in his face and by the tense way he stood how much effort it took him not to take charge. I would let him later, of course, but something in me, something carnal and dirty and needy, wanted to have the power right now. I had to have the upper-hand, to dish out or restrain any pleasure I deigned to give him.

After a few moments, I tasted him again, slowly running across the ridges and bumps and veins that ran across his length. He panted and the hand on my face gripped harder. The other clenched in a fist at his side.

I did this for a bit—merely examining him, tasting him and driving him wild. He shut his eyes, unable to bear both the torture and the sight. Taking advantage, I speedily sunk my mouth onto him and let his cock make its way fully into my throat. He grunted at the sudden shock of my mouth surrounding him.

I sucked and licked as it made its way deeper inside. Salty and smooth, Patrick made the best meal ever. I think I even moaned around his dick, increasing the pace of my tongue and moving my head back and forth in a desperate rhythm. We went on like this for a while before he started grasping at my hair.

"Not yet, fuck," he said in a rush, trying to get me to stop. I didn't want to, but I wanted him inside me more, so I pulled off of him and let him hoist me up.

He practically threw me onto the bed. I was mesmerized by his cock illuminated by the faint lamplight, sticking out into the air and glistening from my saliva. Patrick stumbled a little on his journey over to me and I laughed, thrilled I'd driven him so crazy. He rolled his eyes at my juvenile giggles as he knelt onto the bed.

His long body stretched against mine until nearly every surface of our flesh was in contact in some way. The laughter stopped; his eyes boring into mine chased away any amusement.

Lips lingered on lips, feather-soft and hardly kissing. His hands ran down my arms and a knee pressed into my pussy as he shifted his position a little. I don't know how long we spent just watching the other, and I can't pretend to guess what he was thinking about.

I thought about the years I'd known him, the different expressions I got to see for the first time, how the Patrick I knew now compared to the one I thought I knew then. I wondered if this would be as intense as our first encounter. Would I still feel ashamed, or finally sated? I was terrified I'd want more of him.

I was even more afraid I would end up like Chloe, devastated and broken.

I wondered that a lot when it came to him, obviously, and as much as I wanted this, it was a question that wouldn't disappear.

Another question slithered its way into my brain, one I didn't want to ask but I really would've loved to know. Or hated to know. I couldn't quite decide. Patrick saw the curiosity on my face, I suppose, and the intensity in his eyes lessened as a small smile lifted his lips.

"What?"

I wanted to ask "How long, Patrick? How long have you wanted me like this? Was this why you were always a prick? Why you humiliated all my boyfriends? Why you made me uncomfortable on purpose so perhaps I'd stay away? Or because you couldn't deal with what you felt? And why are we doing this now? Where can this possibly go? Won't this be a huge mistake? What will I do the next time I see Chloe and face the devastation in her eyes and think about how I've felt you inside me? But most importantly, Patrick, how long?"

Instead I forced my face to spread into a grin and said, "Just wondering when you were going to stick it in."

He analyzed me like he always did. He knew I was lying; he wasn't a fabulous attorney for nothing. I suppose like me, however, he decided whatever it was he didn't want to know. So he pretended, too, and smiled as he bent his head down to finally give me a fragile but impassioned kiss.

Pulling his full, wet lips away, his eyes focused on my own swollen lips. "You want me to just 'stick it in'? How romantic."

My pussy and the rest of my body told me I was ready, but my heart kept saying Wait. Nina, wait. You've done this before, but now... There's no going back. Are you prepared? Are you really ready?

Then Patrick positioned our bodies, pulling my legs up so that my feet rested on his shoulders and his arms wrapped around my back. Now there was no more waiting, no more thinking. I couldn't go back, and I couldn't stop from going forward.

We watched one another as his cock thrusted its way inside me, my incredible wetness still resisting him slightly. I guess my body was giving a little fight of its own, but of course Patrick won. He was finally completely and deeply inside, and his beautiful face smiled contentedly as his forehead rested on mine.

At first it was slow and incredibly arousing. He'd push forward and rest inside for a few moments, quietly taking me in with his eyes and body, before leisurely pulling out. Then he'd give me a fast and harsh thrust for good measure, just to remind me who I was dealing with.

It wasn't long before the lust overflowed and took us over, and his fucking grew purposeful and quick. His eyes clenched shut as he moved against me. My own body helplessly rose up to meet his heavy waves.

We made dreadful sounds, but everything that came out of Patrick's throat was delectable to my ears. For an instant coherent—and frightening—thoughts came to me, like how I wanted to do this all the time, that I wanted to feel this way all the time, that I wanted to make him nuts every day, that I wanted to listen to his sounds forever. I drove them out of my head. I told myself that I would focus on nothing else but the moment for now.

Patrick opened his eyes, and the burning forest that lingered beyond those lids held me so captivated I could contemplate nothing else but the driving force of him fucking me, of his arms holding me, of his kisses on the damp and sensitive skin of my throat.

He took a hand away from my back and clasped it around my breast, letting the thumb rest gently on the tight nipple. I gasped while he kneaded the breast and murmured things I couldn't make out into my neck. I just held on while his pace grew faster, sliding down to his sweaty ass cheeks to touch him, too, and to anchor him inside me.

His fingers now toyed with my nipple, tearing forceful and animalistic sounds from my throat I'd never known I could make before. The fucking grew even more desperate and intense and I knew I was going to lose myself in an unbelievable orgasm soon.

"Patrick," was all I could moan, but he understood.

His hand moved down to where he was possessing me and he found my damp clit, moving his fingers against it with ferocity and intention. I screamed and dug my short nails into his ass, needing it faster, harder. Just needing it.

"Please, please, please." I was begging Patrick to make me come, but it felt like more than that. It was almost as though he was fucking me into somewhere else and I was terrified I'd never make it back. I needed him to keep fucking me, to keep pleasing me, to keep me there. With him.

"I'm close," he responded through pants, "and we'll come together."

At first I didn't know if I could wait, but I saw in Patrick's eyes how near he was to it, too, and I knew it would happen. I wanted him to reach it more than I wanted to reach it, and I also accepted I probably wouldn't be able to until he did, anyway.

"Please come," I whimpered. No one had ever made me whimper before.

Before Patrick.

"Shit." He moved his other arm from my back so that he could support himself against the mattress as he dug in deeper and further.

We moved so fast together my hair was practically in my face and I was growing dizzy, but I didn't care.

"Fuck," he cursed again, our slippery bodies tired while they moved together but intent on reaching their mutual goal: complete ecstasy.

Then it happened. All of Patrick's muscles seized up, his eyes focused in on mine, and he somehow managed to pound harder.

"I'm there," he choked out, flicking my clit even harder. "Come on and fucking come with me, all over my cock." He punched the mattress and smashed his lips down to mine. "Coming inside you," he whispered against them.

And he did. He continued to thrust, albeit slower, and the sloppy, slippery noise and outrageous sensations drew me over my own edge. I strangled his dick with my muscles and he grunted at the feeling.

"Yes!" he encouraged, giving me another forceful thrust with his still pulsing cock. "Come on, Nina! Let it all go. Feel me."

I felt him from my head to my toes, in all of my muscles and tendons and organs and tissues. I felt him everywhere. I was right about him fucking me somewhere else, but I realized he fucked himself there too. We were lost together in a storm of clandestine paradise.

I wondered if we'd ever find our way back.

We fell asleep shortly after he slipped out of me, exhausted by the fierce fucking. I slept fitfully, however, and woke just as the sun rose.

Golden shadows crept across Patrick's room. I couldn't rest anymore; those troublesome concerns and questions were coming back now in the literal light of day, and as much as I loved being nestled near Patrick's warm body, I needed to get up.

Plus I wasn't exactly sure what to do with myself. Was I supposed to leave? He'd driven us there so I had no way to get home, but I could call myself a cab. Deciding to wait a bit, I pulled my shirt on and slipped out into the kitchen.

I was thirsty and a little hungry so I peeked in the fridge. Pretty empty, except for some cheese. I saw milk, double-checked the date (though Patrick didn't strike me as the kind to keep spoiled milk in the fridge), and poured myself a glass of it.

It wasn't until I replaced the milk and shut the fridge that I noticed it. Patrick had a dozen or so photos and papers up on the refrigerator door, but now I saw one partially covered that made my heart stop. I recognized it. Carefully I pulled it off and looked closer at it. It was a picture Chloe had in their living room because it was the only one of the three of us where I was actually smiling, and she and Patrick looked so loving and happy. It was taken not too long before they were married.

But now I noticed something I never took the time or care of paying attention to it before, and apparently neither had Chloe. She had her arm around him and was lovingly laughing happily at something as she looked at him with big, content eyes. I was standing next to her, more of a good-humored smirk than a smile on my face.

Patrick looked a man in love. Chloe still kept the photo because of that expression, even if she had put it away in a box and only took it out when she was feeling particularly nostalgic or weepy. She liked to remind herself that at one time, at least, he was in love. Yes, he looked desperately infatuated as he stood next to her, arms at his side.

But he wasn't really looking at Chloe.

He was looking at me.

"Nina."

I jumped and spun around, the old photo still in my hand. His eyes spotted it and narrowed.

"What are you doing?"

Wordlessly I pointed at the milk. He didn't look over at it. Instead he walked towards me, his eyes slowly sweeping to mine. He took the photo from my hand and released me from his gaze to look down at it. He stared at it for a long time while I fidgeted, feeling naked and cold and frightened and totally freaked out. Then he carefully placed it back up where it had been.

When he finished, he sighed and looked at me. His eyes roamed over my body slowly, but not in a sensual way. He was assessing me, or I guess assessing my reaction. He knew I had seen it, his look in that picture. He knew things were making sense to me now. He must have been waiting for me to freak out, or throw the milk at him, or run far away.

When I just stood there, shivering a little and staring back, he turned and walked back to the bedroom.

"Bring your milk with you," he said without turning. "It's cold out here."

He disappeared and I still hadn't moved. My eyes jumped back to the photo, now prominently displayed and practically blazing with light.

I reached for the milk and followed.