Chapter 15
fifteen
nisha
I Don’t Love the Idea of Darth Vader Going Down on You
Sparks detonate on my skin as soft breath escapes my lips.
No, not a breath. A pant. A request for more. A praise for the desire fluttering inside my core.
In my half-asleep, fully-turned-on haze, it takes me a second to recognize the sound as my own. But he does. Because he answers it with a groan, dragging the tip of his cock back and forth, from my entrance to my clit, coating himself with my juices.
Lying on our sides, he’s positioned behind me with one arm under my neck. His other hand alternates between working his erection between my folds and tweaking my nipple. Instinctively, I wiggle my ass against him, hissing as I fist his sheets.
The morning sunlight trickles in through the gaps in his curtains, illuminating the evidence of our tryst last night—my dress falling off the arm of a chair in the corner, his blazer and jeans in a heap on the plush carpet . . . and is that my thong hanging from the dresser knob?
Wait . . . Why are they torn like that?
Oh, right.
Because as soon as we got to his house—ravenous and ready for round two—he yanked them off me like a man possessed. I remember gasping as the sound of the lace tearing filled the room, along with his muttered promise to buy me a hundred more.
Now it’s hanging there like a tiny flag, a reminder of all the lines we crossed and all the restraints we broke.
And while the careful, risk-averse, and still heartbroken part of me continues to ring warning bells inside my head, telling me this could be a big mistake, that I shouldn’t walk back down this same path with a man who shattered me before, I tell the bitch we’ll address her concerns later.
Because right now, enveloped in his arms and his touch, I can’t think of the rights and wrongs, the shoulds and shouldn’ts, the past and the future.
I can only live in the present.
The present, where his lips and tongue are on my neck, his fingers are pressing inside me, making me buck, and I’m too far gone to care about the promises I made to myself over the past seven years.
My eyes squeeze shut as waves of electricity course down my spine, making me whimper and squirm under his touch. A touch that has woken me up just like this countless times in the past, knowing how much I love starting a new day with him buried between my legs.
“Patton . . . Oh, God! Yes . . .”
His erection slides in between my ass cheeks as his fingers work me. “Fuck, baby. Always so messy, so soaked and swollen for me.”
My hand finds the back of his head, my fingers tightening in his hair as I whimper in response. I swear, my body feels like it’s on fire.
“Tell me, Little Borealis, are you ready for my cock again?”
God. Every word out of his mouth is my undoing. The unraveling of my carefully reconstructed life and plans.
I’m sore in the best and worst of ways, but fuck if I’ll admit that right now.
“Y-yes.” My breathy whisper shamelessly confirms my need for him, not that he needs any more confirmation, given the way his fingers are dripping with my arousal.
And that’s when I feel him slap my pussy, hard.
The sting and shock makes my body jolt, and I release a sound I’ve never heard before from my lips. And right when the tailspin he’d just sent my mind and body on starts to settle, he slaps it again, making me yelp.
The wetness that drips from between my thighs should have me mortified in embarrassment. And yet, I’m too far gone to care.
Patton’s warm tongue drags up my neck before he nips at my earlobe. “You like that, sweetheart? You like having your pussy slapped? Me being rough with you?”
All I can do is nod because words seem to be escaping me at the moment.
And while this position—hell, almost every position between us—is familiar, this feels new. The rough edge in his voice and touch. The unabashed desire in his words. And the way my body craves more of it.
How is it possible that a man I thought couldn’t be outdone, at least in the bedroom, has outdone himself?
He’s changed. Not just in the way his body is more filled out and defined, but in the way he conducts himself, too. He now exudes a confidence that was always there beneath the surface but is out in plain sight now.
And perhaps it’s because he’s had years to find that on his own. Or perhaps someone else helped him find it.
As soon as that thought forms, and the unjustified rage threatens to course through my veins, I shove it away. Because whether this lasts a day, a month, or the year he claims he’ll be here, I am where I want to be right this second.
And then what? It’ll all be over?
Maybe, maybe not. But this time I’ll be ready. Because I know I can’t rely on a man who’s always put his career first. But I also know I don’t need him, that I can make it on my own.
I guess I’ve changed, too.
This? This physical connection drawn on by years of emotional longing? I haven’t changed my mind about what it is. It’s not a second chance or a new path to happily-ever-after.
It’s a “fuck around and find out”.
It’s two people with a complicated past and too much heat between them to keep their hands off each other.
We may have changed, but that doesn’t mean our broken history has. I’m no longer na?ve enough to believe I can be a man’s first priority, and he hasn’t changed enough to make me believe otherwise.
Because despite his declaration that it was to chase me, I know he didn’t move here for me. Otherwise, why would he admit he doesn’t know how long he’ll stay—a few months or a year?
No, Patton Pierce moved here for his first and true love—his job. Plain and simple. And I’d be a fool to believe anything different.
Patton shifts, reaching for the box of condoms behind him, bringing my thoughts back to the present.
We never discussed using them explicitly because that conversation was too heavy for the kind of night we both wanted to have. But despite what I said to him last night—that the chances are slim to nonexistent—it didn’t need to be explicitly stated to know that the consequence would be too big.
I turn my head to watch him rip the wrapper with his teeth.
I don’t know why that small act always seems to turn me on.
Perhaps it’s the way the veins in his forearm tighten, or the flash of his perfect white teeth that nipped and bit me in the best of ways last night, but I’m practically shaking for him to get inside me.
God, the man is so beautiful. With his dark hair mussed from my fingers spearing it all night, his eyes the color of rain-soaked earth, and that perfectly-trimmed stubble, my ex-husband is temptation incarnate.
If sin and seduction had a face, it would look like Patton Pierce—complete with that devastating smirk that says he knows I’m powerless when it comes to him.
He slides the head of his sheathed cock to the top of my slit, gathering my wetness and eliciting a gasp that feels like it comes from my soul.
“I’m not going to go easy, baby. It’ll be hard and fast until the only thing you remember is who owns you, body and soul.” His hot breath ghosts over the shell of my ear. “Me.”
And then he’s sliding inside me.
My breath hitches as my body tenses momentarily before relaxing enough to invite him in. He’s long and thick, and his one movement seats him so far inside me, my brain temporarily glitches.
His body still curved behind me, Patton drags his hand up my stomach and over my breasts before he wraps it around my throat. He squeezes gently, heightening all my senses, before grabbing my jaw and turning my face.
His lips devour mine in a kiss that seems to slow time, the heat between us melting the polar icecaps.
Somewhere, a penguin just lost his home, but I can’t seem to care, not when he’s kissing me like he’s trying to convince me that gravity doesn’t exist and the only thing keeping me tethered to earth is him.
I slide my hand down to my aching center while his cock drags in and out of me and his balls slap against my folds. It feels so fucking good, yet still not enough.
I need more. So much more.
God, why don’t we have more hands?
Because I need his hands tweaking my nipples, gripping my neck, and playing with my clit. Oh, and fisting my hair and yanking it just the way I like. Is that too much to ask?
He bites my bottom lip, and I cry out when the crown of his cock hits that sensitive spot deep inside me. “Patton!”
“Fuck.” His hand tightens around my throat as he plunges inside me again and again, panting like a savage beast. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. So tight and hot. So mine.”
I whimper, circling my clit with my fingers, my mouth falling open as my body revs up.
Patton’s tongue drags over my swollen lip and whether it’s the fact that he knows I’ve always needed a lot to get me off or he’s just reading my mind, he says, “Want to take that vibrator for a spin?”
My brows furrow. “What?”
“I saw it in your gift bag last night,” he pants, nodding to the little bag on the nightstand—the one full of the various gag gifts my girlfriends and I all got during Sarina’s party.
I follow his gaze, then glance back at him, my lips twitching. “Okay.”
He reaches over me, arm brushing my nipples, before grabbing the bag. Fumbling through the crinkling tissue paper, he takes out a sleek, black vibrator wand with Darth Vader’s helmeted head on one end and several silver buttons marching down the body.
Patton stares at Darth Vibrator like it might start doing the heavy breathing thing from the movies. “I saw this in the box that day when your mail was delivered to me. Not going to lie, it terrified me.”
I roll my eyes. “Piper’s strange sense of humor. I was in charge of gift bags, and she suggested I order a bunch from this website that sells Star Wars-themed sex toys.”
“Why Star Wars-themed?”