Chapter 13 Nisha
thirteen
nisha
My Magic Bullet
My hands tremble as I unbuckle his belt.
Let’s not even talk about the way my heart thrashes inside my chest or how my stomach flips like a fish out of water.
I feel possessed, crazed and frenetic. Like I’ve been body-snatched by an unhinged version of myself.
It’s not the first time I’ve felt this deranged and out of control, either. No, my ex-husband has seen this side of me plenty of times, knowing exactly how to flip that switch inside me with his body, his words, and the kind of kiss that erases all common sense.
Forget Brain Eraser shots, this man is all I need to short-circuit.
And he knows it.
I’m not sure how we went from the party—still in full-force inside the barn—to the backseat of his private car, but we’re here now, with the partition up and tinted windows cocooning us from the rest of the world.
With my legs straddled around his lap, my dress bunched up around my hips, and his warm hands on my ass, it’s like everything and nothing I remember.
Familiar but new.
Safe but so fucking dangerous.
Patton makes a low, hungry sound against my neck as I roll my hips against his, feeling his erection at my core, separated only by the thin fabric of my panties and his jeans.
Sometime between the barn and now, he’d discarded his blazer and I’d managed to unbutton his shirt, revealing the chest I’ve traced with my tongue more times than I can count.
Rocking my hips back, I unzip his pants and slide my hand over his straining hard-on, feeling the warmth of him through his boxers. The way he pulses against my palm makes me feel faint.
I swear just that feeling alone, with his length throbbing against my touch, his breath hot against my skin, and his fingers digging into my ass, has another rush of desire pooling between my thighs.
If it wasn’t for that tiny scrap of fabric there, his jeans would already be covered by the evidence of my want for him.
But he doesn’t need that evidence to know how much my body craves him.
“Neesh,” he rasps, breathing hard as his forehead drops to mine. “I’m going to hate myself for asking, but . . . are you sure about this?”
I still, even though my body feels like it’s on fire. “Are you not sure? Do you not want it?”
His hands brush up my back, curling around my neck. His eyes bore into mine, intense and raw, stripped of the humor that’s usually dancing on the surface.
“It’s all I’ve wanted, every single day, for the last seven years. And while I’d imagined us in my bed instead of the back of my car, I know I won’t regret a single fucking moment tomorrow.” His thumbs trace along my jawline. “I just want to be sure you won’t, either.”
The fog of lust parts slightly as reality sinks back in—me and him, alone and about to cross a line we won’t come back from.
Our marriage. The trials and tribulations.
Our divorce. The aftermath.
All the carefully constructed walls I’d built over the years to safeguard my battered heart and protect myself from this man will likely crumble with this one decision.
One moment of weakness.
But the truth is, maybe this isn’t a moment of weakness when I’m wholly weak where he’s concerned. I’m a mess with him, but am I any better without him?
Looking into his eyes, sifting through the desire to find the truth and vulnerability there, I realize that I crossed that line the moment I kissed him in the barn.
That I might have crossed the line well before that.
Or hell, maybe I made up the line only to make myself feel better.
Because maybe the line doesn’t exist when it comes to him.
Because my ex-husband is my Achilles heel. The crack in my armor.
He’s not just my war, but he’s my white flag of surrender, too.
And if there’s one thing I am sure of right now, it’s that I can’t fight this anymore. I can’t guard my heart, my soul, or whatever the hell else the man wants, because he’s determined to snatch them from me, no matter how much I resist. Hell, they might never have been mine to begin with.
“I can’t be sure.” My voice is a whisper as my hands fist the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Not when it comes to you. And maybe we can talk about it tomorrow, but right now, I’m sure of one thing .
. .” I trail off, kissing and sucking the column of his neck, rolling and grinding my hips over his need.
“And what’s that?” he croaks.
“That I want you inside me. That I want you to fuck me like I’m still yours.”
A low, primal sound rumbles in his chest. It’s all the warning I get before my world spins, and in one quick movement, he’s flipped us so I’m beneath him, lying across the leather seat.
His body cages me in, hovering over me, as his lips crash down on mine with renewed hunger. Gone is the man who was asking for permission, and in his place is the man I’m familiar with, the man who’s always known what he wants and how he plans to take it.
“You really think you ever stopped being mine?” he growls against my lips, hand sliding up my thigh to push up my dress and claim what was once his—still is. “You think some ink on paper could end us?”
I pant against him without a response, hearing him chuckle darkly. “No, baby. It would never be that easy.”
His fingers find my center, shoving aside the fabric to glide up my heated slit. I gasp at the contact, my back bowing off the seat with just that first touch.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, low and gritty. “Missed this body, this skin.” His finger circles my entrance, making my empty core clench with need. “This pretty pussy.”
“Yeah?” I ask, dragging my tongue over his bottom lip, catching it between my teeth. God, I’m so embarrassingly wet for him, I might combust if he doesn’t go faster. “What else have you missed?”
The question gives away more than I mean to, revealing the cracks I rarely show. Why would he miss this—my skin and my body—when he’s undoubtedly been with so many after me? Does he even remember us together? The way we fit from our very first time to the many breathless nights after?
I do. But that’s because I’ve only been with two people after him—a forgettable one-night stand and Micah. And there’s no need to rehash how disappointing both of those encounters were.
But I can’t really blame those other men, either.
The truth is, no one has been able to get me out of my head. Not because they weren’t trying, but because it takes a miracle and a thousand wishes to get me relaxed enough, wet enough, and lost enough to make me reach that peak, to actually make me come.
That, or the skilled hands and mouth of the man currently staring down at me like he wants to devour me whole. Patton’s not just my Achilles heel, but he’s my magic bullet, too.
“Your sounds,” he answers, as the tip of his finger enters me, testing and prodding, deliberately slow. He’s hovering over me on his forearm, staring down at me the way a lion would his prey. “From your loud moans to your delicate whimpers when I’m working this clit.”
He flicks said clit to prove his point, his touch sending ripples and currents over my flesh, before pressing his finger fully inside me. The intrusion makes me buck against him, my body arching, my nipples grazing against the inside of my dress, begging to be touched and tweaked.
“Feel the way your pussy swallows my fingers, baby? It’s like it’s been waiting for me.” He adds another finger, stretching me so deliciously, I mewl. “Feel the way you’re clenching around me, pulling me deeper? Like you want me buried so deep inside you, I’ll never find my way out.”
He has no idea how deep he’s already buried inside me.
The dim light coming through the windows casts shadows across his handsome face and the set of his jaw. It doesn’t take much light to see how I’m affecting him, too, how enraptured he is with giving me pleasure.
My mouth goes slack when his fingers curl inside me, hitting that spot only he has ever been able to find, making my vision blur. I clutch his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as my hips rise and pleasure shoots through me like bolts of lightning.
“Patton,” I gasp, slamming my eyes shut. “Oh, god!”
He makes little circles with the tips of his fingers inside me, his thumb finding my clit with practiced ease. I throw my head back, feeling my body tighten and a familiar flush rise over my skin.
“Look at me, Nisha,” Patton commands, continuing to ease his fingers in and out of me, making my body do his bidding. “Let me see your eyes when I make you come.”
I force my eyes open, meeting his intense gaze, so hungry and dark. The need between us crackles as he continues his assault, stroking me with expertise.
My breath hitches as my walls flutter around his fingers. “Patton!”
The corner of his lip curls, a smug smile blooming on his face, before he leans down to kiss me roughly. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers against my mouth. “Say my name. It’s the only one you’ll say from now on.”
And with a final curl of his finger and a perfect circle of his thumb on my clit, I detonate like a collapsing star, pulling everything inward before shattering impossibly.
My head swims with lust and the remnants of the several drinks I consumed today. I’m not drunk though, I never was, though I can’t deny that the alcohol gave me the courage to change the outcome of how this night might have ended—with me alone in my bed.
I’m still catching my breath, feeling my heart pound against my ribs, when Patton pulls his hand out from between my thighs and brings it to his mouth. Watching me, he sinfully licks each finger clean, like every drop of my arousal is quenching his thirst.
“And most of all, I missed this,” he says, dragging his tongue over his lips.
My cheeks catch fire. “The taste of me?”
“Yes—fuck, yes—but not just that. I missed seeing you in the aftermath. The way you radiate in your freshly-fucked glow.”
I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, suppressing my smile and blush. “Technically, I haven’t been fucked yet.”
His mouth hovers over the shell of my ear. “Then, technically, we should change that.”
My brow rises as I use my feet to maneuver his jeans down his body, taking his boxers with them. “Well, what are you waiting for, Pierce? A written invitation?”
How the fuck can I be wet again already?
But again, why am I even surprised, when I still have explicit memories of him giving me at least ten orgasms one night.
Chuckling, he nips my jaw before lining his erection at my entrance.
But then his eyes come back to mine, and a flash of pain makes his smile falter.
The pain we’d both stored away, hoping the hands of time would have softened its edges.
And while that pain isn’t as sharp as it once was, it’s here now, raw and real, dancing between us.
His thumb brushes my temple, his throat bobbing before I see the question form on his lips. “Do you want me to use a condom?”
I shake my head. “Maybe not this time. Plus, you know the chances of . . .” The sentence doesn’t need finishing, not with him. “I’m clean. Are you?”
The question makes me want to vomit. No, not the question, but his impending answer.
“I am.”
“Good,” I whisper, a mix of relief and something acidic warring inside my chest. I hate that we even had to have that exchange.
Patton searches my face for another moment. “Still sure about—”
I kiss him before he can finish, before we overthink. Before the baggage of our past can ruin this moment.
Maybe we’ll unpack it tomorrow. But tonight? I just want to feel whole again after seven years of walking around with only half of me.
Our bodies writhe like muscle memory that never faded as the haze of desire drags us under again. My tongue tangles with his, desperate and persuasive, pulling a low groan from deep in his chest.
I pull back, breathless against his lips. “Finish what you started, Patton Pierce.”