Chapter 31 #2
“Oh, my gosh. She’s so pretty,” the real Sarina says beside me, dipping a french fry into mustard before bringing it to her mouth. “I loved her in Bridgerton, but she’s even prettier here.”
She being Simone Ashley.
All long legs and beautiful curls, she struts to the baseball field with a little boy who’s supposed to be Rome, and banters with my husband with all the haughtiness of British royalty. The chemistry between them is so palpable that, for a decently long moment, I forget that I’m watching a film.
“Damn, Nisha,” Dean whisper-yells from the end. “I think you might have competition.”
“Not even close,” Patton clips beside me, brushing his hand over mine, but I’m already too far inside my head.
Heat burns the tips of my ears and a haze of green clouds my vision as I shift in my seat, pulling away from Patton.
Is it completely irrational that I feel a burning need to jump into that screen and gouge out the eyes of the woman daring to touch my husband?
Yes. But try telling that to the pregnancy-hormone-fueled territorial beast that’s taken over my brain.
And yes, I know I said husband. For all intents and purposes, she doesn’t need to know he’s my ex. All she needs to know is that he’s mine.
Logically, I know it’s part of his job and that natural chemistry sells romance flicks. But it’s the hypotheticals that have me in a chokehold.
What if they aren’t faking it? What if he finds her prettier, easier to be with, or worse, less of a hormonal mess than me?
I mean, I literally bawled when I saw Vajayjay, Beaver, and Snatch yesterday, snuggled up with each other in their cat bed at the salon.
If that doesn’t scream mental patient, I don’t know what does.
But before I have more time to spiral, Patton rises to his feet, tugging me up with him.
“Wh–where are we going?” I whisper.
But he doesn’t answer, speaking to no one in particular as he starts to make his way down the aisle with me in tow. “Excuse us. We’ll be right back.”
“But there’s still an hour left,” I protest, following after him.
A minute later, I’m being ushered into another theater. This one is silent, empty, and pitch-dark.
“Patton—” I start, half-question, half-demand, when he turns me around so I face the wall.
Without preamble, he threads our fingers together, places both my hands above my head, and tugs on my hip so my ass meets his groin. A second later, the heat of his body closes in around my back, enveloping me, pinning me against the wall without any force.
His breath ghosts over the shell of my ear, low and panty-melting. “Do you need reassurance of who I belong to, beautiful?”
My pulse skitters, my breathing unsteady. I try to look over my shoulder to catch his eyes, but the theater is too dark. “What are you doing? Someone could come in here.”
He may have booked the entire theater, but there are still ushers and staff around. All it would take is for one overachieving teenager to open the door and, bam, we’d be headlining tabloids for weeks.
Patton presses closer, dragging his tongue in a wicked line along my neck. “Then let’s give them something to see.”
And just like that, all thoughts of Simone Ashley go flying through the nearest exit.
My nerve endings come alive, my nipples pucker, and molten heat pools low in my belly, seeping into my panties. The depravity and risk of it all courses through my veins like jet fuel.
“Oh, God,” I whisper shakily, any further protests scattering when I feel the ridge of his cock nuzzle in between my ass cheeks.
Sinking to his haunches, Patton wastes no time dragging my panties down in one urgent motion, before rising again like a large cat reclaiming its prey.
He hikes up my cream-colored, thigh-length sweater-dress to expose my ass before sliding his fingers through my folds. His groan is low and guttural.
His other hand grabs a fistful of my hair before he yanks my head back just enough for his lips to graze my ear. “All that fear and worry, yet your pussy is dripping for me. Now widen your legs. I need to remind this pussy to never doubt her worth.”
Oh, God. This man’s filthy mouth.
A strangled sound leaves me when he slips two fingers inside, meeting no resistance, as if my body was waiting for him to fill me all this time.
My eyes droop and my knees wobble as I try to stay upright against the wall, but he’s right there behind me, holding me up with his hard body pressed against mine.
“Patton,” I gasp, even as my body contradicts my protest, my hips jerking against his hand, needy and desperate. “We can’t—”
“We can,” he growls, his voice vibrating against my skin. “And we will. I’m just getting started, beautiful.”
And before I can even begin to form any more thoughts, his fingers are thrusting inside me, wreaking havoc in my core, my chest, and all my senses. His other hand comes around me to circle my clit while his mouth continues to suck and bite my neck.
The man knows my body like no one ever has, anticipating my needs before even I can, giving me way more than he’s ever asked for in return.
My hands tighten into fists against the wall as my body undulates over his fingers. Patton brushes that sweet spot deep inside me with focus and precision, like making me unravel isn’t just a desire, it’s his calling.
A few more perfect strokes and I’m shaking around him, because of course I am. The man is a god amongst men, capable of making my body do his bidding with nothing more than his touch.
I’m just catching my breath when I hear the unmistakable sound of his zipper dropping before the head of his cock nudges against my entrance.
His hand comes around, splaying over my belly. “Bend over for me, beautiful. I don’t want your stomach hitting the wall while I fuck you.”
I do as he says, but have to widen my legs even more to give him access. I nearly sob with relief when he plunges inside me in one long stroke, filling and stretching me to mold around him. Then, grabbing my chin with the same hand that was inside me, he presses his fingers between my lips.
“Suck. Taste how much your pussy loves me.”
I do as he says, moaning around his fingers and licking up my juices as our bodies collide, making the most obscene sounds in the empty theater.
Every snap of his hips ricochets through me, getting me impossibly wetter and flooding me with illicit heat. My legs shake as my walls contract as a hum of electricity builds around us, ready to strike.
His grip in my hair is unrelenting, every stroke inside me both claiming and possessive, but also careful and aware. Like he’s purposely holding himself back from going as hard and fast as we both want because I’m carrying our most prized possession.
“Say it, baby,” he pants in my ear, his breaths as ragged as mine as he pulls his fingers out of my mouth. “Whose pussy does this cock belong to?”
“M-mine,” I stutter, my eyes rolling back from the pleasure sparking inside me from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair where his fingers are still tangled.
“That’s right, sweetheart. And who do I belong to?”
“Me.”
“Just like you belong to me.”
I nod, swallowing the groan that would echo down the hall for anyone to hear. “I know.”
“You think any other woman could make me this hard? Could any other woman turn me fucking celibate for years?”
The heat inside my chest intensifies, threatening to leak out as warm tears. I swallow, even as I struggle to breathe. God, I love this man with every fiber of my existence. I think I have since the moment I laid eyes on him, since the moment he called me Little Borealis.
“My cock has only ever wanted you,” he continues, rocking into me with that perfect balance of strong and gentle. “It will only ever want you for as long as I live. Tell me you understand that, baby?”
A lone tear rolls down the bridge of my nose. “I do.”
“Good.”
“Patton?”
“Yes, baby?”
“I love you.”
I feel him smile against my neck as I shatter once more around his hard length. “I know.”
I can’t think, can’t form words beyond ragged gasps as pleasure courses through my body, igniting a wildfire that spreads from my core to every inch of my skin. It’s a blaze so intense and deep, no ocean would be able to quench it.
And whether it’s my throaty moan or my complete surrender to him, my orgasm triggers his. He jerks inside me, his hips pistoning erratically until he’s caught in the throes of his own release, until his body goes rigid behind me and his guttural roar echoes off the dark theater walls.
His chest heaves, and his heartbeats knock against my back as if trying to fuse with mine. Except they don’t need to try . . . our heartbeats feel one and the same.
Before I can collapse, Patton wraps an arm around me, holding me tight. His lips brush my ear, making me shudder. “Worth the risk.”
Five minutes later, we’ve managed to get our clothes back on and in order. I’ve patted my hair down as best as I can in the dark, hoping I haven’t smudged my eyeliner.
Clutching my hand, Patton opens the door to exit the theater when we both come to an abrupt stop. Standing in front of us is our entire group of friends, looking at us with a range of expressions. Garrett’s jaw is on the floor, Kavi’s fingers cover her mouth in shock, and Dean mutters, “Called it”.
No one speaks for a moment, and then Piper shakes her head, lips pursed to hide her grin. “You guys missed the best part of the movie. Hope it was worth it.”
Heat rises to my cheeks, but Patton smirks, waggling his brows. “You mean the climax? Nah, we got to that on our own.”
Sarina makes a strangled noise, shaking her head as she walks away. “Thanks for that. I’m going to go bleach my brain now.”