5. Chapter 5 #2
I let go of myself immediately, now gripping my bare thighs, my nails digging into the skin. I look up at him, my heart pounding, my body thrumming with a desperate, needy energy.
He releases my hair, his hand moving to stroke my cheek, a gesture that's at odds with the command he gave. "You're such a good boy," he praises, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "Waiting for what I give you."
He steps closer, the head of his dick brushing against my lips. I part my them automatically, eager to take him, but he holds back, out of reach.
"Beg for it," he says, rough with lust.
My cheeks burn hotter, but the shame is quickly swallowed by the raw need coursing through me. "Please," I whisper.
"Please what?"
"Please, sir," I correct myself, the word feeling natural now, necessary. "Please let me taste you."
He rewards me with a slow smile, a hand still cradling the back of my head. "Good boy."
He finally guides himself forward, and I open my mouth eagerly, taking him in.
The taste of him floods my senses, and I let out a soft moan around his length.
He sets the pace, one hand in my hair, the other on my shoulder, his hips moving in a slow, controlled rhythm.
I am completely at his mercy, and the feeling is liberating.
He watches me the entire time, his gaze dark and possessive, whispering praises that make me melt. "That's it, just like that. So fucking perfect."
His words push me closer to the edge, even without a hand on my own aching length. I’m lost in the sensation, in the sound his moans, in the knowledge that I am giving him this, that I am trusting him with this part of myself.
Suddenly, his hand tightens in my hair, pulling back with enough force to make my mouth slide off him with a wet pop. I look up, my lips parted and swollen, my eyes searching his. I'm waiting. Learning. I think I'm getting better at this.
"On the couch," he directs, a sharp nod of his head indicating the leather cushions behind me. I hesitate for a fraction of a second, my mind racing.
How does he want me? On my back? My stomach?
The overwhelming desire to do it right, to be exactly what he wants, paralyzes me. I open my mouth to ask, a question forming on my tongue, but the words die there. Before I can speak, he’s gripping my waist with an urgency that steals my breath.
In one fluid, powerful motion, he lifts and tosses me onto the couch.
My back hits the cool leather with a soft thud, the air rushing from my lungs. I try to push up on my elbows, to orient myself, but he's already moving, stepping out of his jeans and underwear.
Then he's on me, his weight pinning me into the soft cushions.
One hand presses firmly on my shoulder, holding me down, while the other spreads wide across the center of my chest, right over my hammering heart.
He lowers his bare hips, grinding into me.
The friction is electric, his dick sliding against my own, and I can't stop the moan that tears from my throat.
He leans down, his mouth hot against my neck.
"You don't get to think right now," he growls, his breath warm on my skin. "You only get to feel. To be mine."
His words shatter me. I let go of my thoughts completely, gripping his shoulders to hold on. To anchor myself in this overwhelming storm of sensation. He kisses me then, a deep, claiming kiss that tastes of me and him and us.
The pressure on my shoulder disappears. For a heart-stopping second, I'm untethered, until his hand moves lower, wrapping around both of us.
The heat of him, the slickness of our combined arousal, it's almost unbearable.
He strokes us together and I'm leaking so much I can feel it smearing across my stomach, a wet testament to how completely he's undone me.
Then his grip loosens. His hand, now wet and slippery with our combined fluids, moves back to my ass.
His fingers, first one, then two, work me open again, stretching me, preparing me.
I'm arching into his touch, a silent plea for more, when he finally replaces his fingers with the blunt, insistent pressure of his dick.
He pauses there, the head of him pressed against my entrance, a question without words. He's watching me, waiting.
"You want this?" he asks in a low growl that vibrates through my entire body.
"Yes, sir," I breathe, the words feeling torn from my throat.
"Tell me," he demands, his hand coming up to grip my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I want to hear you say it."
The words spill out of me, a desperate, broken string of pleas. "Yes. I want you, I need you. Please—"
He doesn't make me wait any longer. He pushes forward effortlessly, sinking into me with a slow, deliberate pressure that steals the air from my lungs. He stops when he's fully seated, buried to the hilt, and I can feel every hard inch of him inside me, a perfect, overwhelming fullness.
"Fuck," he murmurs, bending down to whisper the words against my ear, his breath hot and ragged.
He doesn't give me time to adjust before he starts to move, pulling back almost all the way before slamming back in. The pace he sets is relentless, a deep, punishing rhythm that has me gasping his name, my nails digging into the leather of the couch.
"Let go." He commands against my ear.
Suddenly, the pressure on my shoulder disappears. For a heart-stopping second I'm untethered, until his hand, still slick, moves to my neck. He's holding me, possessing me. Instinct takes over. My hand drifts down to find some sort of relief from the overwhelming sensation.
His other hand shoots out, wrapping around my wrist and pinning it to the couch beside my head.
"I said don't touch," he says, a low warning that sends a jolt straight through me. "Let go."
And then I understand.
I stop fighting it. I stop thinking. I let my body go completely limp against the couch, my full weight sinking into the leather cushions.
I surrender to the sensations. To him. To the relentless rhythm of his hips, the hand possessively wrapped around my throat, the way he fills me so completely.
There is only Patrick, only this, only the overwhelming wave of pleasure that washes over me, pulling me under. I’m his.
He shifts his angle, not speeding up, but driving deeper with each thrust. The change is subtle at first, a new pressure against a place inside me that makes my whole body jolt.
Every nerve ending feels raw, exposed, the line between pleasure and a sweet, stinging ache blurring into something indescribable.
I can feel my own release building, coiling tight in my gut, a pressure that's almost unbearable.
"I'm going to come," I manage to choke out, a warning.
"Come for me," he commands, his thrusts becoming even more forceful. "Come all over yourself. Show me how much you love this."
That's all it takes. The command shatters my control.
My body arches off the couch as my orgasm crashes over me.
I come hard, spilling over my stomach, my muscles clenching around him in rhythmic pulses.
He doesn't stop. He drives into me through my release, chasing his own climax, his movements becoming erratic, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside me and groans my name, his dick pulsing as he fills me up.
The world goes quiet and still. The only sounds are our ragged breathing, the frantic beating of our hearts. He collapses on top of me. For a long moment, we lie there, tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat.
Then, slowly, the world comes back into focus. He gently pulls out, a sensation that makes me shiver, and rolls off me, landing heavily on the couch beside me. I turn my head to look at him, my body feeling loose and boneless, my mind blissfully quiet.
He meets my gaze, his expression softening as he reaches out to brush a strand of damp hair from my forehead. The stern, dominant persona is gone, replaced by the warm, loving Patrick I know so well.
"Green?" he asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice to form words yet.
He leans in and presses a soft, tender kiss to my forehead, then to my lips. "You were incredible," he whispers against my mouth. "I love you."
"I love you too," I murmur back, the words feeling inadequate to express the depth of what I'm feeling.
He sits up, his hand reaching for the blanket draped over the back of the couch. He pulls it over us, tucking it in around my shoulders. He wraps an arm around me, pulling me against his side, and I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat.