My breasts heaved as I panted heated breaths, covering the glass with fog. The only clarity was where my splayed fingers flexed upon the slippery window. I lifted my face to the glass. Within the condensation, I was able to see the reflection of the handsome man behind me. I found my voice. “Don’t stop. Remind me what it’s like to be with my husband.”
His grip of my hips intensified as he thrust faster, creating sensations cascading from my core to my toes. It was a cyclone of feelings, building higher and higher until every nerve all the way to my scalp tingled. The room filled with noises and sounds of pleasure as my nerves grew taut. I was on a cliff, twenty stories in the air.
The cars and lights twinkled below.
This wasn’t like I remembered sex with Patrick. It was more.
He wasn’t a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old boy anymore. Patrick was a man.
Relentlessly, he took, pounding into me, with his strong fingers gripping and bruising with their possessive hold.
I couldn’t last any longer.
My toes curled, and I jumped into the air. Hell no. It wasn’t a jump but a fall. “Patrick,” I called out as the fireworks exploded and I leaned into the wind, riding the current in a free fall to the ground below.
As our connection severed, my muscles lost their battle. Yet before I hit the ground, Patrick’s strong arms lifted me, cradling me to his chest. After a kiss to my hair, he turned and laid me upon the bed.
“For the record, that wasn’t what it’s like to be with your husband. That was what it was like to be fucked, to be reclaimed.”
I lifted my shoulders and head as I put my weight on my elbows. The tips of my lips moved upward as my gaze stayed fixed on him, his suit still in place with only his trousers undone displaying his shiny large still-erect cock.
The thought regarding the lack of condom came and went. Pregnancy wasn’t an issue, and I knew I was clean. At the moment, as he stalked toward me, there were more pressing matters.
“Can you remind me?” I asked.
“No,” he said as he kicked off his shoes, shed his suit coat, shirt, trousers, and finally his boxer briefs.
The striptease had me momentarily distracted. “You can’t remind me what it was like?”
His large body caused the mattress to dip as he sat beside me in all his nude glory. “No, Madeline.” He smoothed a rogue strand of my hair away from my face. “I’m not going to make love like a married man. I don’t even know what the hell that means. I never got the chance to fall into that routine.” His finger trailed over my collarbone and down to the dip between my breasts.
I startled as his lips came down on one nipple and his fingers tweaked the other. A jolt of lightning zapped through me. Licks and nips alternated from side to side.
When he looked back up, there was a smile on his face. “I am a married man. Don’t forget it. I’m married, to you. I hadn’t planned on spending tonight fucking.”
“That makes two of us,” I said with a weary grin as his touch roamed over my skin.
“But now that I have you here, I can’t stop. Tomorrow when you walk, sit, or even fucking stand still, I want you to feel me, to know that I was where I belong. I want you to think about everything I did to you. Every way you came until you couldn’t come again. Mrs. Kelly, I want you to admit that you belong with me.”
His words enticed and saddened me. Tonight was a mistake. Forever was impossible. “Patrick, I can’t—”
Patrick’s finger came to my lips. “No, Maddie. Not tonight. I see it. I know you.”
My head shook. “See what? You don’t know me. Not anymore.”
“I know something just made you sad. I saw it in your eyes. There were clouds. Push them away.”
“But—”
“No more talking,” he interrupted. “I need answers. I want answers. You fucking owe me answers, but not tonight. Tonight I’m fucking my wife—seventeen years’ worth.”
My eyes opened wide.
Holy shit.
If he were serious, tomorrow I not only wouldn’t move without remembering him, I wouldn’t move. Period.
Patrick reached for my ankles and shifted each leg, leaving my knees bent and feet apart.
A chill settled over me as I tried to stop him. It was too much, too exposed. It went against my need to stay invisible. I shook my head. “I can’t...”
My protest disappeared and my head fell backward as the lips and tongue that had been on my breast found my core. “Oh...” As if suddenly weak, my elbows gave out and I fell back on the soft pillows.
Tongue.
Teeth.
Lick.
Nip.
Suck.
Lifting my fist to my mouth, I bit down, trying unsuccessfully to stifle the sounds I was incapable of stopping. It didn’t matter what I did or said—not that I was conscious of what that all entailed.
My hips bucked.
My fingers entwined in his blond hair.
My thighs tightened around his head.
He didn’t stop until I was again in an uncontrolled free fall.
When I didn’t think I could take any more, Patrick climbed up my body. His solid warmth hovered over me as he said, “I told you, I missed your taste. No one tastes like you. You’re a fucking juicy apple to a starved soul.”
He was such a good man.
I didn’t deserve him. I never had.
For one night, I wanted to remember.
I reached up and cupped his cheeks, bringing his lips to mine, tasting my essence as we again became one. Slower at first, we moved in sync. It was like riding a bike—the one you loved as a kid that has been lost and was now found. In Patrick’s arms with the scruff of his chin abrading my skin and his praises ringing in my ears, I was more.
More than a pussy to be fucked.
More than a woman repaying a debt with all that she had to give.
I was more.
It was an unusual sense of self-worth, one I had trouble comprehending. Not after everything.
Patrick stilled, lifting his face from my shoulder. “Push them away, Maddie. Push whatever thoughts are taking you away from me and this away from you. Look at me. Here. Now. This. That’s all you’re allowed to think about.”
“How do you know?” I was a professional gambler, in poker and life. Not showing my emotions was key to my success. “How can you tell?”
“Because you’re my wife. I know you. The way your body moves. It’s carved in my memory.” His thumb came to my cheek and wiped away a tear. “I don’t want to make you cry.”
My head shook. “You’re not.”
Reaching for my hips, Patrick rolled us until I was the one on top. “Fuck me, Maddie. After all, that’s why you came to Chicago. Do it.”
Leaning forward, my hands rested upon his broad shoulders as my long hair cascaded around us. I stared into his blue gaze. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Those clouds? They can’t get you if you’re moving.” He bucked his hips, moving his cock within me.
If only it was that easy to escape.
“You want me on top?” I asked.
“I want to watch my wife come as she rides me. Do it.”
I took a deep breath. I’d done this before, but honestly, it had been a long time ago. For as long as I could remember, my place had been to take and accept, to willingly concede. There wasn’t the opportunity for even the appearance of control. Yet that was what Patrick was offering.
Positioning my knees, I lifted myself, feeling the incredible sensation as his hard shaft teased my core. Slowly, I lowered myself. My lips parted as my painted nails clung tightly to his shoulders. I could do this. I could.
Lower, his fullness stretched me. Moving upward, I stretched my legs. Flexing them, I moved back down. Each change in position added to my confidence. Up and down. The sensations intensified and lessened depending upon my posture. It was pleasurable, empowering, and tiring.
My breathing grew shallower as my speed incre
ased. Patrick’s hands again came to my hips, helping and coordinating as the muscles in my thighs cried out in exhaustion.
“Come here.”
His deep voice penetrated the sex-induced fog that had taken residence in my mind. I was so close to the edge. With pleasure dominating my thoughts, the clouds had passed. I stilled, trying to understand what he’d said. “Here? Where?” I asked.
His strong hands lifted me, pulling me off and forward.
“What?”
“You’re almost there. I’m going to take over.”
Oh my God.
My stomach twisted. He didn’t want me to ride his cock but his face. “Patrick...I-I...”
He pulled each knee to beside his face as I reached for the top of the headboard.
I couldn’t describe what happened next. There weren’t words.
My teeth came down on the wooden headboard as I came, over and over, my insides clenching to a painful pitch as my knees squeezed his head and my essence flowed over his tongue. By the time it ended, I had nothing left.
Like a wilting flower, I collapsed onto the bed.
“Tomorrow, we talk.”
It was the last thing I heard before I drifted away.
Madeline
Pounding infiltrated my dreams.
Rapid.
Repeating.
Ripping away the veil of slumber.
Revealing reality.
“What?” I asked too softly to be heard.
“Madeline, open the damn door.”
Fuck.
Mitchell’s angry voice caused my eyes to open as I tried to make sense of my surroundings. I pushed to sit, my naked body moving on the soft sheets. As I readjusted myself in the darkened room, I groaned.
Damn, every muscle ached as my legs straightened. Even my breasts were tender under the weight of the covers. A grin came to my lips recalling Patrick’s proclamation. ‘Tomorrow when you walk, sit, or even fucking stand still, I want you to feel me, to know that I was where I belong. I want you to think about everything I did to you. Every way you came until you couldn’t come again. Mrs. Kelly, I want you to admit that you belong with me.’
I didn’t admit it, not verbally. I never would. I could admit, at least to myself, that as I moved, I was remembering him and what he’d done.
My head turned from side to side.
When we’d finally fallen asleep the night before, the drapes were open and the lights were still on. Now as I looked around, the room appeared, other than the tangled sheets around me, as if it had been prepared for sleep, drapes drawn and lights out.
There was another stark difference between when I fell asleep and now.
I ran my palm over the sheets. The bed beside me was cool and empty.
“Goddamn it, open the fucking door or I’m getting a key and someone from the hotel.”
I didn’t have time to think about Patrick’s departure as Mitchell’s warning reverberated through the room.
“No, wait,” I called toward him as I forced my sore legs to move and free me from the sheets. “Mitchell, I’m here. Give me a damn minute.”
After freeing myself from the tangle of sheets, I flung the covers over the bed. Next, I made my way to the window and threw back the curtain. The action brought light to the room, causing me to squint at the blue sky beyond the ice-encrusted window.
My foot touched something soft. Looking down, I smiled, finding my robe where it had been dropped near the window. As I bent to pick it up, something caught my eye.
Shit.
Opening the drapes did more than bring illumination. Set in a crystallized impression upon the glass were multiple handprints and possibly forehead prints confirming my memories of their creation. Shaking my head, I closed the curtain and reached for a lamp, twisting its switch. It definitely wasn’t as revealing.
The window needed to be cleaned. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out how the handprints had happened on the window. Not that Mitchell was even close to a genius, but he was a man.
“Just a minute,” I called again as I hurried around, picking up my discarded clothes, my dress that had at some point fallen from the bed and my panties. Stepping into the panties, I pulled them into place, wrapped the robe from the floor tighter around me, and secured the sash. Taking a deep breath, I made my way to the door.
Before opening it, I quickly peered around the room. As last night’s reconnection had not been limited to the bed, the room was in a bit of disarray. Flipping the switch, I peered into the empty bathroom. A quick check of my reflection made me grin. My hair was a mess and most of my makeup was gone, and my lips were still pink. I lifted my fingers to them. Tender. Yes, bruised from kissing was a good way to be. After running my fingers through my hair, I returned to the entryway.
My quick search was the last mission to confirm that I was definitely alone.
While it gave me a twinge of sadness, with Mitchell outside, it was better.
Looking back at the door, I noticed the chain unhooked. That made sense since Patrick left sometime during the night.
“Madeline, now,” Mitchell’s growl came from behind the door.
Sliding the chain lock closed, I opened the door as far as possible. “What?” I asked, sounding as exasperated as I felt.
“It’s after ten in the morning. The boss is livid and you’re fucked.”
I had been, but not as he was saying.
My neck straightened. “Why? The tournament doesn’t continue until tonight.”
Mitchell’s gaze went to the chain and back to me. His words came from between gritted teeth. “Open the goddamned door. This isn’t a public conversation.”
Common sense told me not to allow an irritated man with anger issues into my room. However, when it came to Andros and therefore Mitchell, common sense didn’t apply. Mitchell was here because of the boss, because of Andros, and I knew from experience, arguing wouldn’t bode well. With a shake of my head, I closed the door and slid open the chain lock.
As soon as the knob turned on my side, Mitchell pushed the door open from his. I stepped out of the way in time for it to bounce off the interior wall.
Without a word, he stalked inside, scanning the room, walking near the windows and back, and eyeing the bed where despite my attempt, the covers were in all kinds of disarray. He pushed past me, gazing into the bathroom.
What was he thinking?
Did he know there was a man here last night?
His search only increased my already-rapid pulse. “What are you doing? Why are you in my room?”
“Where the fuck is your phone?”
“What? My phone?”
“I don’t see it plugged in.” He pointed to the charger on the nightstand. “Your GPS has gone silent and you haven’t answered any calls.”
Fuck. No wonder Andros is pissed.
Looking around, I tried to recall. I’d had my purse at the tournament. My phone was in my handbag. “Oh shit. I forgot to plug it in last night. It’s in my purse.” I hurried to the side of the bed where I’d left my handbag last night before Patrick’s arrival. I was certain I’d laid it on the nightstand. I ran my hand over the glossy surface. “I swear it was here.”
Tendons came to life in Mitchell’s thick neck as he silently stared. “Where is your purse?”
“Um...Let me think,” I muttered as my eyes hastily scanned the room.
My mind tried to recall what I’d done, but there was only one thought.
Patrick.
It wasn’t only my phone that my purse contained.
Shit, I felt faint. Inside my purse was the chips receipt worth forty grand.
Did Patrick know that?
Had he watched at the club?
My stomach twisted with my knowledge.
The Patrick I knew, the younger version, was an expert pickpocket. He could lift a man’s wallet, take out one bill or five and return it before the victim was the wiser. It was better than stealing the entire thing. Most of the ti
me, the victims never realized they’d been targeted. Tourists were too focused on the sights. The loss of a twenty-dollar bill could be chalked up to forgetfulness. That wasn’t all. We could go into a shop and I’d buy a candy bar, but when we walked out, he’d have crackers or cookies and a bottle of soda pop. With the shop owner’s attention on me, he or she would never know what happened.
I didn’t want to have the thoughts I was having, but I couldn’t come up with an alternative.
Had Patrick moved on to bigger heists?
Was anything last night real?
“Your fucking phone,” Mitchell repeated. “You didn’t answer it last night or this morning, and now the GPS is dead. Find it now.”
I stood and walked around the room, lifting the dress I’d thrown onto the sofa and hurrying into the bathroom. The counter was filled with cosmetics but no phone. I went back into the room, my hands beginning to tremble. “I-I...the ringer was off at the tournament. I guess I forgot to turn it back on.”
“You forgot? You knew the boss would call.”
I did. “I forgot.”
With his lips thinning to a menacing sneer, Mitchell came closer. “I don’t think he’ll consider that an acceptable excuse. And I don’t need to tell you that he’s fucking pissed. When you tell him the purse is gone...” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
I took a step back. “It’s not gone. I-I just need to locate it.”
Mitchell’s eyes opened wide—he’d just connected the dots. “The fucking receipt?”
I swallowed. “The receipt is with my phone in the purse. I remember seeing it when we were in the taxi.” I looked up at his dark eyes. “Remember? You said something about it.”
Shaking his head, he let out a long exhale. “Fuck, you have really screwed up.”
“No. No.” My volume rose as I began pacing. Trembling was no longer isolated to my hands. My body was ready to go into full-blown tremors. “Listen. Just stop. It has to be here.” I prayed it was. “I fell asleep. It was a late—” There were no alternatives I could conjure. Andros was already angry that I’d ignored his calls and Mitchell’s knocks. That would be nothing compared to his wrath at losing the receipt worth forty grand and not making the cut.
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 7