Craving Resurrection
Page 59

“Give me a call this week and we’ll hang out,” Vera said, moving in for a hug. “I’m so glad we met.”
“Me, too.”
Vera and the group of men walked boisterously down the quiet street as Patrick wrapped his arm around my shoulder and led me home.
“Ye like her?” he asked in a low voice, the quiet wrapping around us like a blanket.
“Yeah, she was nice. Too bad she lives in the US.” I wrapped my arm around his waist. “Charlie seemed cool.”
“Yeah, he’s not bad. De lads he came wit’, dough… I don’t want ye seein’ dem alone, alright?”
“Okay.”
I wanted to ask questions, but I knew better. If Patrick didn’t want me to see them by myself, there was a reason for it. It wasn’t worth it to me to argue.
“I can’t wait to get home, I’m so tired,” I moaned, leaning into his side.
“Dat’s too bad,” he whispered back, leaning down so his breath brushed across my neck, “I was hopin’ we wouldn’t sleep for a while yet.”
“Is that right?”
He reached for my hand and pulled it across his body to rub it against the front of his jeans, “I’m dyin’ for ye.”
“Poor baby,” I said back huskily with a wicked smile. I could see our house in the distance and broke out into a run as his carefree laughter floated out behind me, making my heart skip a beat.
I had my key in the lock when he caught me and my breathless laugh was loud against the door when he pressed his body against my back.
“None o’dat.” His hand covered my mouth to keep me quiet as he ushered me inside. “Ye have to be quiet or ye’ll wake de house.”
We walked with his body pressed tightly against mine all the way to our bedroom, one of Patrick’s hands covering my mouth and the other cupping my breast under my coat, flicking and pinching at my nipple.
We made it to our room in only seconds, but I was already slick and ready as he closed the door behind us.
“Don’t move,” he ordered, pulling my coat down my arms. “Have I told ye today how beautiful ye are?”
“Not today.”
“I apologize for lettin’ ye go all day wit’out hearin’ it.”
“Can I move yet?”
“No.”
Patrick pulled my snug t-shirt over my head, immediately unhooking my bra and pushing the straps all the way down my arms until it dropped to the floor. He was still behind me as he wrapped his arms around my waist to unbutton my jeans. “Kick off yer shoes.”
My breath became choppy as I kicked off my shoes, and as soon as I had my balance, he was pulling off my jeans and underwear in one swift movement, leaving me in nothing but a pair of white socks I’d stolen out of his drawer that afternoon.
“Bend over de bed,” he said huskily, pulling the scrunchie out of my hair so it spread in waves over my bare back.
“Oh, so I can move now?”
“Smart mout’.”
He grabbed a handful of my hair and walked me forward until my knees hit the bed, but when I tried to lower myself he stopped me.
“Legs straight, wife.” I loved it when he called me wife that way, all growly and fierce like he was reminding me who I was to him.
“Dat’s right, now bend,” he said softly, putting one hand on my belly to situate me how he wanted.
The muscles in the backs of my legs protested the position, but I didn’t complain as I heard first his jacket and then his shirt fall to the floor behind me. I was braced on my elbows with my head hanging between my arms when I felt him move to his knees behind me, gripping my legs gently as he moved them farther apart.
“I’ve been waitin’ all day for dis,” he said, his breath hitting the back of my thighs. “Daydreamin’ when I should have been workin’.”
His hands moved up the backs of my thighs until they met between them, and I whimpered as I felt his thumbs pull me apart. The first touch of his tongue against my flesh made me jump, and he made a soothing noise in the back of his throat as he moved in again, licking me delicately at first and then harder as my hips began to undulate.
We’d done almost everything we could when it came to sex; Patrick wasn’t shy and he wouldn’t let me be, either, but every time felt new, the orgasms stronger as inhibitions fell to the wayside and we grew more comfortable with one another’s bodies.
I bent my knees, relieving the tightening pressure of my thigh muscles, and arched my back so I could push against his mouth, completely lost in the feeling of his lips and tongue against me.
“Dat’s right, me love,” he murmured against me, “take what ye want.”
His hands were gripping me tightly as I moved against him, and then suddenly, a sharp slap hit the meat of my ass, the sound echoing throughout the room.
“What the fuck, Patrick?” I hissed, my head whipping up in shock.
“I told ye I’d spank ye.” Another slap on the opposite cheek had me trying to pull away. I couldn’t believe him.
“I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“ ‘Knock it off, Patrick’,” he mimicked me, spanking me again. “Slapped me hand down on de tabletop like a child.”
“You deserved it!”
He began to laugh, and I struggled away from him. I was angry that he’d slapped me and even more livid that he’d ruined my impending orgasm.