Patrick
“STAND up.” Patrick helped her off the table, and when her feet touched the floor, he guided her toward the fridge. He lifted her hands over her head and placed them on the top of the freezer door, running his down her smooth, toned arms and then pressed her against the unit entirely.
She gasped. “Cold.” She let out a small laugh. Patrick really liked the sound of it. It was softer than expected, like so many other parts of Roz.
Patrick rounded his hands to the front of her, skimming his fingers over her lace bra, feeling her nipple hard and pebbled against his palms. He groaned, needing to be inside her again.
He grasped her underwear and paused to stare at how fucking perfect her ass looked in them before tugging the lacy red fabric down her thighs. She kicked out of them.
Patrick nudged his foot between hers and spread her legs apart. Roz gasped again and let out a laugh. “Been watching some police procedurals?”
“I do have this handcuff fantasy.”
“That explains your interest in me.” Roz chuckled and wiggled back against him.
“Not really.” He smoothed his hand over her perfect round cheek and then squeezed until he got a peek between them. This was hot. He ran his hand up the inside of her thigh, agonizingly slow until she angled her hips in invitation. “I had an interest in you long before you were a cop.”
He cupped her hot sex, toying with her lips and clit with feather-light touches of his fingertips. She said something in Spanish that was certainly a swear and then said his name again. “Patrick.”
His balls pulled tight in response. He gritted his teeth and filled her pussy with three fingers, spinning them, in an effort to tantalize all her walls.
“Fuck me,” she begged, earnestly, over her shoulder.
He pulled out his fingers and grabbed her hips. He kissed along her shoulder and neck, and then along the cartilage ridge of her ear. He lined the head of his cock up with the entrance to her pussy and pulled her back against him, impaling her sharply.
Roz panted. “I love how thick your dick is.”
Patrick beamed hearing that. He fucked her a little harder. The sounds their bodies made drove him wild with lust. “Hear how wet we are?”
“Oh, my God!” Roz granted him a breathy laugh, sounding surprised and maybe even a little embarrassed.
“It’s so hot. So sexy.” He slid his hand down her stomach and rubbed her clit. Seriously, so wet. His fingers were drenched. He moved her hair out of the way and nipped the nape of her neck.
“Harder,” she begged.
Patrick pulled out of her, and Roz verbalized her disapproval. He led her into the living room. The sound of the cymbal he bumped on the way by filled the air with tinny noise.
Patrick tugged Roz into him. He kissed her mouth hungrily, which only made him hungrier for her. Nothing seemed to quench this need—this urgency. His hands were desperate to be everywhere, her face, her hair, her breasts, her pussy…
Patrick lifted to perch her on the edge of the overstuffed armchair. He reached around, and smooth as butter, squeezed her bra and the clasps came open. He pulled out of the kiss to watch her breasts fall free. Such great tits. So hot.
He cupped the back of her head so she stayed nice and close to his mouth. He spread her thighs, running his hand up them and insinuating his fingers into her pussy again.
“Every part of you is perfect,” he told her and curled his fingers to stroke her G-spot. He wanted to kiss her some more but watching her enjoy what he was doing to her did something to him. “I want you to come again,” he whispered against her lips. He jerked his hand, his palm bumping her clit, his fingers pumping at her G-spot.
“Make me then.” Her voice was thick with lust, and it shook in time with the thrust of his fingers. He gave it all he had, his fingers getting stiff, and a sweat had broken out on his brow. She was growing tighter and tighter, making his ministrations more and more difficult. Harder, faster, harder, faster until finally…“Oh. Oh. Holy shit.” Roz clutched his shoulders. Her legs shook frantically. The muscles in his arms burned but he didn’t let up, not even when her pussy tightened like a silk vice.
He heard the change in the sound of his fingers fucking her. Wetter. Wetter. Wetter. Then his hand was soaked and his forearm, the armchair beneath her, and Holy Mother of God, Roz was coming.
Patrick was stunned at how simultaneously hot and absolutely gorgeous that was.
Her body jerked for a few moments afterward and it took several deep breaths before she opened her eyes again. She clutched the back of his head and sighed against his cheek. “Patrick,” she panted and kissed him gently. “Oh, Patrick,” she said again in a tone that felt like reverence. She cupped his face and stared into his eyes. He wished like hell he could read her thoughts.
That was so hot. His belly was blazing and tight with need. He wanted to open his mouth and tell her how turned-on he was. How sexy she was. How giving, responsive, and awesome she was. But he didn’t because the way she looked at him fried his nerves.
She urged him closer. Patrick curled his arm around her back and came to stand more fully between her thighs. She splayed her hands in his hair. She stroked his beard, her fingers delved through his chest hair, but her gaze was on him, and unlike before, completely unguarded.
He couldn’t wait another second to be inside this woman again. He grasped her hips, and gentler this time, he eased himself back inside her.
“Yes,” Roz whispered, wrapping her legs around him and locking her ankles.