Chapter 14
fourteen
patton
You Planning to Brand Me Next?
Ithrust into the beautiful enigma that is my ex-wife.
Half my life knowing her, and I still can’t anticipate her next move.
She’s as unpredictable in life as she is in a dojang, pushing me away with a snarky retort and pulling me closer with a searing kiss.
Claiming to be unsure about everything between us one moment, and begging to be fucked the next.
To say I was shocked when she stomped her sweet ass over to me, dressed in black leather like my fantasy come to life, and pulled me into a kiss in front of everyone in the barn would be the understatement of the century. But fuck if I was going to let her second-guess it once she had.
After all, wasn’t that the whole reason I was here—in her town, her neighborhood, and her circle? In every aspect of her life? To get her back and keep her this time?
She drives me insane.
And yet, she’s the only thing that drives me at all. No woman has ever made me feel the way she does—like a glutton and a simp. Like I’m both the strongest and weakest version of myself where she’s concerned.
I might have kept my distance physically for the past seven years, but there wasn’t a day she wasn’t the force behind everything I did. Not a day I wasn’t working through the damn crumpled list I found.
And when I sensed the crack in her facade during that kiss last year, I knew. Her “never again” had started to shift and “forever again” wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities.
I won’t pretend there haven’t been others. A handful of models and actresses who scratched an itch the year after Nisha completely cut me off—fucking changed her number and explicitly asked for space. We’d finalized our divorce by then, and I was heartbroken and angry.
At her. At myself.
With the way she just gave up on us.
And the way I couldn’t save us.
But like with anything real in this life, I quickly realized that once you’ve had a taste of it, it’s hard to accept a substitute. Be it a Big Mac when you’re accustomed to Wagyu beef, or boxed wine when the taste of a fifty-year-old Bordeaux still lingers on your tongue.
Not one of them made me laugh like she did, challenged me like she did. Not one made my pulse race or my skin heat with a mere upward tick of her lips.
Because not one was my ex-wife.
After that year, I gave up trying to satisfy the itch altogether. There was no use trying to quench my thirst with drops of water.
Sure, I’d take a date to an event here or there, and sometimes that would stir up tabloid buzz. But over the past five years, I haven’t touched a woman besides her.
And since that evening on the cliff, with a kiss that scared her enough to run once again, I’ve been singularly focused on one thing and one thing only: getting my ex-wife back.
Because the truth is, no one else had ever made me forget. And, as I’d learned that day, she hadn’t forgotten, either. Not with the way we came alive in each other’s arms. Or the way we could die right then and there without regret.
Which is why I devised this crazy plan—to give her request to stay away the middle finger and win her back, or live the rest of my life trying.
Yes, I’d fucked up before. By not being there, coincidentally on the two times she needed me most. Like the universe had set out to sabotage my fucking life, I wasn’t there when her heart—our hearts—was shattering to pieces. Because I was stuck on set with no way of getting back to her in time.
She’d forgiven me the first time, but the second had been her breaking point.
The damage was done, and maybe the repair has been a long time coming. But there’s no denying it’s coming.
Because I will repair us.
I will fix the heart I broke, even if I have to pick it up and glue it back together, piece by piece.
I look into Nisha’s eyes before dropping my gaze to her lips. They’re parted and swollen with my kisses, and I realize she’s been rendered frozen, holding her breath ever since I thrust my cock inside her.
“Breathe, baby,” I murmur, pressing my forehead to hers. “I’ve got you.”
She exhales shakily, her body trembling beneath mine. “I forgot how big you are.”
I pull out and pump back into her tight heat, feeling it strangle my cock like she’s planning to choke it to death. Goddamn, she feels good, her wet arousal tightening around me like a vise.
I give her a moment to adjust to my size before pulling out once more and driving back in. “But look how you take every inch of me, welcoming me home like a good fucking girl. Your pussy remembers exactly who owns her, doesn’t she?”
“Y-yes.” Her throaty moan fills the car as she clenches around me.
Thank God I’d had the wherewithal to tell my security detail to scatter around my SUV, far enough away to not see it rocking like I’m sure it is.
Nisha’s nails bite into my back as my cock pumps inside her. The fucker wants to dive so far deep, she’ll feel him in her throat.
“Tell me, baby,” I say, breathing harshly against her. “Did you miss this cock? Did you miss how hard I always fucked you, making your pussy weep for me?”
Nisha mumbles an incoherent response that sounds like a mix of “Yes” and “Mmmf,” her eyes going from squeezing shut to opening wide.
Shifting my weight to one forearm, I use the other hand to pull down her strapless dress, revealing one perky nipple. Inside her, my dick hardens impossibly more as I lave her pebbled nipple with a flat tongue, making her hips lift in response.
Circling it with the tip of my tongue, I flick and suck it before I bite down on it hard, the way she’s always loved.
Nisha moans, her fingers fisting my hair and her neck arching back to shove her chest further into me.
She’s always loved having her nipples played with—not just teased or licked, but tugged and bitten, almost to the point of pain. It’s something I learned early on that relaxed her and heightened her arousal.
She’s never been easy to get off—needing my fingers, my mouth, and my cock to get her there after focused teasing and ministration—but if there’s one thing I found that helped get her there faster, it was playing with her nipples.
I continue to roll her nipple in my mouth as I fuck her raw, pulling out to the tip before diving back to the hilt, pummeling her and making her gasp with each thrust.
I feel undone, like I’m a threadbare fabric coming apart at the seams. Like I’ve been timeworn or maybe I was never stitched right to begin with, and now I’m splitting open, one manic breath at a time.
“You look so fucking beautiful when you take my cock. When every drop of delicious juice from this pussy is for me.” Popping off her nipple, I take a harsh breath. My heart hammers against my chest like it’s digging a way out. “That’s it, beautiful, suck me in deeper.”
“Oh, God, Patton.” She widens her legs, inviting me further. And like a toxin ready to flood her bloodstream, I drive in deeper, harder. “It feels so good.”
Her body slides under me on the seat, our groins colliding in rhythmic slaps, creating obscene sounds that I’ll probably use to get off to later when I’m alone.
But, fuck, I never want to be alone. Not after this.
“No, baby,” I say roughly. “It doesn’t feel good. We feel good.”
“So good,” she agrees when I hit a particular spot that makes her core flutter around me.
I chuckle, kissing her jaw. “So agreeable. Where does all that snark go when you’re underneath me?”
As if I’ve willed said snark to resurface, she answers, “It makes an exception for a decent dick.”
“Decent?” I nip her earlobe, making her jump under me. The movement makes my balls tighten, but I don’t let myself come, pounding into her harder instead. “You’re going to choke on this decent dick when it’s ramming down the back of your throat.”
She groans, and I swear her pussy gets slicker. “Promises, promises . . .”
I take her mouth with mine in a hungry, messy kiss, if only to shut her up. Our teeth clank as our tongues war. And just like the way I’m fucking her, there’s nothing gentle about this kiss.
It’s demanding and primal.
Unforgiving and chaotic.
Our mouths are merged, just like our bodies. Our breaths and our fucking souls, aligned in a way that feels both destined and inevitable. Like we were always meant to find our way back here.
And interestingly, reminiscent of the first time we had sex.
In the beat-up old truck I’d worked two jobs over two summers to pay for—my first car, held together by little more than duct tape and prayers.
We were just seventeen then, na?ve and clueless. We might have been clumsy as hell, but even then we somehow seemed to move in-sync, like our instincts knew what our bodies had yet to experience.
We were each other’s firsts.
And while she may not physically be my only anymore, she is in all the ways it matters.
But am I still hers?
The thought forms before I can stop it, buzzing between us like a goddamn mosquito. And it fucking kills me that I still wonder, that I still hope. Though, I know how hypocritical and unfair the thought is.
She had every right to have whoever she wanted in her bed. We were fucking divorced. And yet . . . I know I’ll want to find and murder any guy who had the audacity to touch what was mine if I ever find out the motherfuckers’ names.
One of them better not have been that beady-looking asshole, Michael. Or was it Micah? His name doesn’t matter because I’ll pummel him until he thinks he’s Michael.
My jaw hardens as I break our kiss and fuck her even more ferociously before moving my lips down to her neck. I kiss and lick it, pulling a moan from her lips, before sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
I have no idea when she’ll see fucking Michael again, but at least until I can get my ring back on her finger, he’ll know she belongs to someone else.
Nisha’s knowing eyes meet mine, her skin glistening in the dark. “You planning to brand me next?”
“It’s crossed my mind a time or two . . . along with chaining you permanently to me and tattooing my name over your chest.”
“Always threatening me with a good time, Hollywood.”
This fucking girl and her mouth. It’s like she always has a comeback at the ready. Maybe next time I’ll stuff her mouth full of my dick so she really can’t speak.
Lowering my mouth again, I take her other nipple between my lips, sucking and biting, rolling and teasing, before moving my hand down to her clit.
Nisha hisses at the contact and the change in angle as my dick moves inside her.
Using my middle two fingers, I start making steady, tight circles over her clit as I drag my cock through her walls.
“You’ve always been so responsive to my touch, haven’t you, Little Borealis? Tell me,” I ask, not able to stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth, “has anyone else ever made your body sing like this?”
She lets out a strangled moan, her back arching into my touch, fingernails scraping down my back. Her eyes meet mine, dark and unblinking. And just when I think she’s going to hit me with another snarky response, those same eyes soften.
Her throat bobs with a swallow, and she shakes her head. “You ruined me for anyone else.”
And that’s when I turn into a madman, fucking her, fingering her, kissing her until she trembles around me. Until our brows bead with sweat and our breaths become one. Until her walls pulse around me and she comes with the sexiest moan I’ve ever heard.
Her thighs shake as she continues to milk my cock. My balls slap at her pussy, growing heavy as my body tightens and my spine tingles.
And then, almost as if I’ve been caught off-guard, I spill inside her sweet, slick heat in waves of euphoria.
Like I haven’t in years.
Like I plan to for years to come.
When she’s mine for good.