Chapter 9
“What the hellare you doing here?” she demanded, ignoring the twinge in her back from carrying a tray all day. “How did you even get inside?”
Patriot didn’t say anything, he just continued to stare, his gaze moving from her face to where she was absently rubbing at her neck. The look of frustration morphed to one of concern, and he slowly rose to his feet, his body shifting like a lithe predator moving with a single purpose. How did someone as large as him move so quietly, so smoothly? He was like walking sensuality, breathing masculinity, the very heartbeat and soul of sexual fantasy. He was what God meant for man to be when He’d formed Adam from the hard rock and the gritty sand.
“You look exhausted,” he finally remarked, his voice whiskey and silk, as he stalked toward her. He reached out, grabbing her purse from her shoulder, and tossing it on the couch. “Sit down. Let me take care of you,” he demanded, grabbing her before she could even blink her eyes or close her mouth from the shock of his command.
Before she could think, she was on the couch, her legs on the coffee table, and her shoes thrown somewhere near the front door.
“What the hell?” she murmured to herself, still reeling from all that had happened in the last ninety seconds. She tried to rise from the couch, but he was suddenly there beside her, his massive hand on her thigh. She gasped, her eyes wide as she stared at him.
His forest green eyes were filled with anger, sparking with frustration.
“Why can’t you just sit and let me take care of you? I have pizza staying warm in the oven, and I can run you a bath so you can soak to help with those muscle aches. Then, we’ll eat and watch whatever girly shit you want to watch.”
She blinked at him, her gaze dropping to the wicked smirk on his lips.
Was he for real?
He’s supposed to be a Jaime’s….
Before she could think better of it, she snapped, “Don’t you have other plans tonight?”
He narrowed his eyes at her, tilting his head as if to humor her. But there was no humor in his expression.
“I texted you. I told you I’d be here tonight, so no, I have no plans to be anywhere else,“ he admitted, his tone clipped. “Why?”
She pressed her lips shut, suddenly unsure. She had heard Jaime say that Patriot was going to her place tonight…to give her a property kutte. But…he was right, he had texted her hours before Jaime and her posse had come into the diner.
Did that mean…Jaime was lying? Or was Patriot playing her….
Again, she shook off that idea. Yes, the man took being a wingman for Horde and Stephie a little too seriously, focusing on Cilla a little more than necessary for longer than necessary, but he’d done it because he as loyal. Loyalty and honor went hand in hand, especially to men who served their country.
Sighing, she met Patriot’s gaze.
“Jaime came into Millie’s today. She said that you would be at her place tonight….” She didn’t add the bit about the property kutte because she didn’t want to think about him and his upcoming claim on the bitchy blonde.
Patriot’s expression hardened, and immediately Cilla’s heart fell.
“You were supposed to do to her place?—”
He shook his head with one decisive movement, pinning her with sharp, hard eyes.
“No, baby. I am right where I want to be. Jaime…she’s a…well….”
Well what?she wanted to scream, but she kept her inner banshee at bay.
Patriot, tense, took one look at the expression on her face and sighed, rubbing at his face. The sound of his palm scratching against his beard made her lady parts hum. That sound…would that be what it sounded like when he rubbed his beard against the flesh of her inner thighs…right before his mouth?—
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from groaning at that thought.
No! He is Jaime’s.
Even though he was obviously in her house…with her…looking upset about what Jaime said….
“Seriously, Patriot, what the hell is going on? Why are you here if you’re supposed to be there? Why are you still coming around now that Horde no longer needs a wingman?” God, now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop the flood. Months of emotions, fears, confusion, frustration, and finally anger rolled from her like a deluge—and Patriot didn’t have an ark.
She shot to her feet, startling Patriot who stared at her, wide-eyed, his nostrils flaring.
“Wingman?” he growled. “Cilla?—”
“No!” she snapped, holding up her hand to stop him. His eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing, obviously not pleased with her.
Well, too freaking bad! She was tired of holding her tongue, of being the woman overlooked, ignored, played with, pushed aside, left alone and anguished—she was done!
Humiliation poured from her along with the burning tears she’d kept leashed for so long.
Looking stricken, Patriot lunged to his feet and took a step toward her, his hands clasping her shoulders, the warmth of him pouring into her.
It only made things worse—that desperate need for more of his warmth, more of his touch.
“What do you want from me? Why are you doing this to me? Why have you been coming around, hanging out with me, talking with me, spending time with me? Are you bored? Do you have nothing better to do than hang around the hangaround, just biding your time until you can claim Jaime?”
There, she’d said it, the words like acid dripping from her lips.
Suddenly, the hands on her arms slid up to her face, his palms encompassing her cheeks, chin, holding her in place.
“What the fuck did you just say?” he growled, his nose inches from hers. The anger in his voice rumbled through his chest, which vibrated against her breasts. Her nipples hardened, tingling at the sensation. Aw hell.
“Wingman? Biding my time?” he repeated, his voice a low, deadly timbre. “You honestly think I’ve been spending time with you because I have to?” He shook his head slowly, deliberately.
From that and the tone of his voice, the answer was “no”, but what else was she supposed to think? He was Patriot, she was Cilla—they were so different, it wasn’t even funny.
Unable to move her face to shake her head, she simply spoke, not daring to look him in the eye. “Horde needed you to keep me busy so he and Stephie could get together,” she admitted, hating how the words sounded. Like she was a loser. “I just don’t understand why you’re still…you know…talking to me. And breaking into my house.” She said that last bit with a bite to her voice.
One second she was glaring up at him, and the next the breath exploded from her chest because she was hanging over Patriot’s shoulder as she stalked down her hallway, through her bedroom door, and came to a stop at her bed.
Delirious from the blood rushing to her head, she didn’t fight him when he slowly laid her down on the bed. He laid his great bulk down on top of her, pinning her to the bed, his weight on her both exhilarating and frightening. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew where he wanted this to go, where, honestly, she wanted this to go, but she’d only ever been with one person, one time, and it was not something she ever wanted to repeat.
She met Patriot’s dark, ravenous gaze and opened her mouth to ask him something—she couldn’t remember what, but he cut her off.
“I didn’t come around you for any other reason than I want you, so fucking bad,” he growled, then nipped at her chin with his teeth. He pulled back, and she stared up into his suddenly glittering eyes. Stunned by the level of need she saw there, in a daze, she helped him remove her clothes. First her shirt and bra, then her jeans and panties, until she lay beneath him, naked. His gaze, hungry, predatory, devoured her.
In the back of her head, she could hear the screaming of high school Cilla, the one who’d endured years of fat-shaming, body-shaming, and humiliation. She knew what Patriot saw when he looked at her: big boobs that sagged to the sides, large nipples, a belly with a slight pooch, thighs that jiggled and were covered in cottage cheese divots, and a pussy that hadn’t seen a razor in weeks.
Her face flamed and she raised her arms to cover her face with her hands, but his words stopped her.
“You’re perfection,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. So fucking lush and sweet, like the moistest, most delectable sponge cake…. I need to taste you.”
Her skin went from flaming in embarrassment to scorching in need in a single breath.
He leaned down, his loose hair spilling from his shoulders to tickle her chest and collarbone. He pressed a kiss to her neck, then dragged his mouth down to her chest where he sucked a nipple into his mouth. She cried out, arching her back, silently begging him to take more. She fisted her hands in the blanket beneath her, straining against the need to reach out and touch him.
He licked her, sucked again, then nipped the bud. She groaned at the pleasure-pain sparking through her body. He moved to her other breast, sipping, licking, nipping with his mouth, as his hand cupped, kneaded, and squeezed her other breast, his thumb and forefinger pinching her needy nipple.
God, what has happening to her? She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—all she could do was feel.
“Patriot,” she moaned, and he chuckled wickedly, before moving down from her chest to press a kiss to her belly. She jumped from her skin when his tongue lathed her belly button, and she nearly came out of her body when he sucked her clit into his mouth.
Pushed to the edge of reason, she loosed her hold on the blanket, and grabbed hold of his head, pressing his face deeper into the core of her. His hair was like silk ribbons shifting through her fingers.
“Fuck, you taste like sweets, baby,” he groaned, then set about eating her like she was the best thing he’d ever put in his mouth.
Cilla screamed, trying to pull away from the overwhelming sensations erupting from her core, but Patriot’s thick arms held her down. With one hand, he slid a finger into her slick, pulsing hole, which sucked at his digit like it was life.
“Oh, baby, your pussy is greedy for me, I like that,” he purred, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through her pussy lips and clit.
“Oh, Patriot, please….” She had no idea what she was asking for, only that he was the only one who could give it to her.
“I’ll give you what you need, baby.” He thrust a second finger into her, curving the digits to scrape along her inner wall, hitting her just right. She cried out at the feeling of being full—but she wasn’t full enough.
“Shh, Cilla, love, I know what you need,” he rumbled, licked her slit, then pulled his fingers from her pussy. Rising to his knees, he sucked the fingers into his mouth, closed his eyes as if in ecstasy, and groaned. “So fucking delicious. I could eat you all fucking day…but my cock is weeping for you.”
Dropping his hands to his shirt, he pulled it over his head and tossed it onto the floor. Immediately, Cilla’s gaze was caught on the glinting metal in Patriot’s nipple. She moaned, why the hell was that so hot? With his shirt gone, he focused on unbuckling his belt, unbutton and unzipping his jeans, then divesting himself of his pants and his boxer briefs all at once. It was tricky because he’d forgotten to take off his boots, but once he was standing before her, in all his naked glory, she found she was short of breath.
“Look your fill, because it’s all yours…just like all of you belongs to me,” he growled, kneeling on the bed, then crawling until he hovered over her.
She looked up at him, her body hot and shaking with need, and nearly came at the look on his face. His cheeks flushed and wet with her juices, his eyes wild, his long, dark hair loose around his head, framing a face straight out of her darkest fantasies. She didn’t have time nor energy to be embarrassed about her body now, about how she was all squishy soft to his hard edges.
Notching his body between her spread thighs, he planted a fist beside her head, then placed one hand on her cheek and peered down into her eyes.
“I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for you, for this moment with you. And I promise, this means everything to me, Cilla. You mean everything to me, so I’m taking what’s mine. You’re mine, Cilla,” he moaned as the head of his cock pressed against her entrance.
…this means everything to me….
Overcome, she could only reply, “Yours.”
In one hard thrust, he filled her. She cried out at the intrusion, the immediate, breathtaking fullness.
“Aw, fuck, you feel so fucking good. Your pussy is swallowing my cock so good, baby,” he murmured against her mouth, then took her lips with his. He stole her breath, devouring her moans and mewls as he began to move. Slowly, as if trying to be gentle with her, he pulled out to almost the tip, then drove in hard and deep. He grunted at the force of bottoming out inside her. He began thrusting, his balls slapping against her ass, the sounds of sex filled the air as she stared up into his eyes, unable to tear her gaze away. Never in her life had she felt such agonizing bliss, like she couldn’t fit inside her own skin. As he pounded into her, a look of pleasure came over his face, and he drove into her faster, harder, shoving his fat cock deeper into her as she dug her nails into his back. He dropped his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth, and she screamed once again—too much, too good, too everything.
She thrust her own hips up to meet his downstroke, up and down, faster and faster until they were panting together.
“Patriot, please—I’m so close!” she cried, squeezing her eyes shut as tears of desperate need filled her eyes.
“Cilla!” His thrusting sped up, fucking into her like he needed to bury himself deep. Lights and fire exploded in her as pleasure enveloped her. She wailed, her body convulsing as Patriot lost control as her pussy tightened around him. “Oh, fuck, fuck—Cilla!” He thrust three more times, before he thrust deep and held himself there, groaning from the depths of his chest as the threw his head back. His throat was corded with his exertion—a man, in the throes of passion, feeling every ounce of pleasure she gave him. It was heady, the knowledge that she’d brought a man such pleasure. She could feel his seed splashing against the walls of her pussy, which made her pussy pulse with aftershocks.
Patriot grunted, thrust once more, then collapsed on top of her, his weight welcome and pleasing.
For the first time in her life, Cilla felt truly beautiful.