Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
But I also knew Patrick, knew how hard this shit was for him. He didn’t know how to give himself to someone, how to let them in, which was how he ended up doing dumb stuff like he’d done tonight—talking shit to Rams, G, and Atwood because he was sad…and fucking lonely…and it was easier for him to actively push people away rather than to tug them closer. It was easier for him to pretend to be an asshole so no one would ever know he cared.
And he would regret it, just like I’d known he would regret his behavior at the bar tonight.
“Yeah. What are you gonna do about it?”
I tugged him closer to me, a possessive hand on his nape, fingers dancing along the tender skin there. I wanted him so fucking much. Jesus, I had never wanted anyone in my life the way I did Patrick Whitt. He’d had control over me one way or another since we were kids, and I was done with pretending otherwise.
“No more games.” I let my lips linger just a breath away from his but didn’t give him what he wanted. When Patrick tried to kiss me, I held him back, eased away so I was just out of reach. “No more games,” I said again. “If you want me close, that means you’re fucking mine for real now.”
I loosened my hold, letting the choice be his. Patrick inhaled sharply, and then words spilled from his lips. “Fuck you for making me need this,” before his mouth slammed down on mine. This time, I let him kiss me, opened up for him to push his tongue inside. He ate at my mouth like he needed it for nutrients, like kissing me was the only way he could breathe.
My arms encircled him, hands on his tight ass before one slid up his torso and tangled in his soft hair.
Patrick fed me needy sounds, all of which I devoured, swallowed them, trying to hold a part of him inside of me that way. He rutted against me, his dick hard against my thigh.
“Fuck me. I want you to fuck me,” he rasped out before lips suctioned to my neck, biting and sucking my skin into his mouth to the point that I knew he was leaving his mark behind. He was claiming me because he wanted me that goddamned much, and it made me feel like the luckiest person alive.
“That’s it, baby. Take what you need from me. You wanna make sure everyone knows I’m yours?”
They wouldn’t, of course. Not him specifically, but they would know I belonged to someone. I wished the whole fucking world could know it was him.
Patrick moved to the other side, teeth digging into the meaty part where my shoulder and neck met before licking the sting away, then marking me there, too, sucking on my neck and rutting against me like he could come that way.
I shoved a hand down the back of his pants, and he spread his legs for me. It was awkward and a tight fit while I traced his crease, then pushed my finger between his cheeks to find his tight, hungry hole. He damn near melted against me. “Look at you, dying for my cock. You’d live with it inside of you if you could.”
“Christ, Malik. Why do we still have our clothes on?” he asked, making me chuckle.
I swatted his ass. “Upstairs. I want you in your bed.”
“I hate shit like that being so hot,” he replied, then didn’t meet my gaze as he took my hand, Patrick threading his fingers between mine. It made my heart thump against my chest in triumph, my way of throwing my arms in the air in victory, like I’d just won some fucking battle or something. That was the shit he did to me.
“Who knew you were so fucking sweet.”
“I’m not sweet,” he argued.
“You are to me.”
He rolled his eyes, but I could have sworn his cheeks pinkened.
I frowned when we got upstairs and Patrick didn’t go to his room. He led me to another, one where it was clear he’d been sleeping. Well, he or someone else had.
The Christmas lights shined through the window, the first thing I had noticed when I’d arrived. He’d kept them up. Weeks later, they were still hanging from his house, twinkling through the night.
It hit me then that the view was the same as the photo he’d sent that night. He’d been sleeping in this room so he could see the lights.
“Jesus, baby.”
“It’s not a big thing. The bed is actually more comfortable in here.”
It was a big thing, and we both knew it. Had so few people done something special, just for him, that it meant this much to him? I sure as hell planned to find a way to keep making Patrick feel cared for.