Page 38 of American Love Story

“No, that’ll be you in like a minute.” I balked at that and the bastard just laughed. “Hold your leg up, baby.” He grunted and I instantly obliged, his sure hands already busy opening me up. His locs brushed my thighs as he bent his head, focused on getting me ready, while my heart raced, waiting for what was coming next.

Patrice was the very embodiment of control and restraint, but whenever we were together like this, there was always a moment when something snapped and he turned into the dirtiest fucker in the entire world. It was an enormous turn-on.

“What’s got you so serious?” I could hear the mischief in his voice, and I braced for it. He was working two lubed fingers deep inside of me while we talked. “You thinking about the dicking you’re about to get? Hmmm?”

I gasped, my back arching off the mattress when he brushed right against my prostate. “As far as I can tell, the dick in question is still MIA.”

I knew I was playing with fire, but I was here to get burned to the ground.

He lifted an eyebrow and grabbed his cock, getting it right up against my entrance. “Oh. You want me to give you a better view.” He pushed in just a bit and I started shaking, desperate for it.

“No.” The word was one long moan. “I want to feel it. I want you tofuckme, Patrice.”

I brought my legs back, opening myself up to him.

He sucked in a breath and glided a shaky hand over my thighs. “Fuck. I’ve dreamt of this. This. How tight you are, how fucking good you feel.”

“Do it,” I said, thrusting to meet him as he worked himself inside.

He did.

Worked that cock in until I was so full I could only take short, sharp breaths. Once he was all the way in, he leaned over me and started moving.

“Easton.” He was panting in my ear as he moved, his hips circling in and out in a way that made me feel every inch of him.

“God, why is your dick so fucking amazing?”

He laughed and panted out, “You feel pretty damn good, too, come on, tighten around me, baby.” I clenched around him and he rolled his eyes. “Awww, that’s so good. I swear, I could spend days fucking you.”

I knew this was just the moment, the pleasure, but I wanted to say things. Tell him that no one ever felt this good, that I’d never been able to lose myself in someone like I did with him.

After a moment, his thrusts redoubled and I felt that flooding in my groin when I was about to come.

I unhooked one of my arms from around his neck and started stroking my cock. After just a few, I felt myself going over. “I’m coming,” I muttered through gritted teeth.

Patrice nodded, slamming into me. “Good, I want to feel it when you come. Come on, cheri mwen, let me feel you.” His breaths were getting shorter and shorter, sweat dripping off his skin.

I gasped as my vision whited out, and in the distance, I could hear Patrice moan as shudders coursed through him.

After a moment he let himself fall on top of me, slick with sweat.

His voice was muffled, but I heard him clearly when he said—with just enough remorse to make me cringe—shit.

If I’d had any sense of self-preservation at all when it came to Patrice Denis, I would’ve gotten up then and walked out, but instead, I lay there with my eyes closed, letting the exhaustion of the sleepless night and the afterglows of the mind-blowing sex take over.

chapter nine

easton

I woke up, unsure of how long I’d been asleep, and found Patrice sitting in bed reading from what looked like a pile of papers. I shifted onto my side, and he turned to look at me. He was wearing those reading glasses I’d seen on him a couple of times, bare chested and so handsome, it took enormous restraint to keep from sighing. The rain must’ve stopped while I was asleep, since a couple of slivers of sunshine were peeking in through his window curtains. He put down the papers and placed them at the top of the pile sitting on his bedside table and ran a hand down my naked flank.

For a moment, I lay there, blissfully imagining that he was mine and I was his. That he hadn’t told me we were over before we really started. We stayed like that for a few minutes, me pretending to be asleep and him quietly stroking my back.

I was almost drifting back to sleep when my phone, which he apparently got out of my short pockets and placed on the little table next to the bed, started buzzing. When I opened my eyes, I found his trained on me, and then he smiled. That smile that I rarely saw that was pure and unguarded. I was about to say something but reached for my phone instead, in case it was something related to the trial.

It was a message from my dad.

If you have time to spare from the temper tantrum you call a career, your grandfather would like to see you at his birthday brunch today. You’re already an hour late.