Page 47 of Patch

“I remember everything.” His thumb came down on my clit. “That’s the whole problem with me.”

I rode his hand until my forehead was against his collarbone and my nails were in his shoulders, and he talked me through the whole of it in that gate-rotation voice gone rough at the edges.

“That’s it. Ride my hand.”

“Patch…”

“You know what I did after you left last time? Nothing. Sat in the room like a damn teenager thinking about this exact noise you’re making.” His thumb never broke rhythm. “Now let me hear it again.”

It was the voice that finished me. Not the hand.

I came hard around his fingers and he held me through every second of it with his other arm locked across my back.

Then I reached down, took hold of his cock, and lined him up myself.

“Wait…”

“I’ve been on the pill for six years and your doctor tests every one of you twice a year, which I know because he told me while he was showing off about it,” I said. “You want to have this conversation or do you want to be inside me?”

He put both hands on my hips and pulled me down onto him.

I took his cock in one long slide, and we both quit breathing at the same time.

“Christ,” he said.

“Don’t move yet.”

“I’m not moving.”

“You’re moving.”

He wasn’t. It was me. I was rocking on him in tiny increments without any conscious decision to do it. He had his hands spread across my hips and his head back against the couch and his throat working, and I put my mouth on it.

Then I started to move properly and his hands went from steadying to guiding. The couch springs made their opinions known, and neither of us cared.

He got a hand between us and his thumb back on my clit. He kept it there, steady and unhurried, while I set the pace and he let me have it.

He was watching my face the whole time. Not my body. My face. That’s Patch all over. A man who watches the one thing that tells him whether he’s getting it right.

“You feel that?” he said. “That’s you doing that.”

“Shut up.”

“No. Go faster,” he said. “You’re close. Your hands are shaking.”

“My hands don’t shake.”

“They’re shaking now.”

They were.

He sat up under me and got both arms around my back and took over, driving up into me while he held me down onto him, and it went from good to something I couldn’t keep a grip on. My whole body drew up tight. His name came out of me in pieces.

“That’s it,” he said, right against my ear. “That’s it, sweetheart, let me have it.”

I came apart on him.

He was maybe four strokes behind. He buried his face in my neck and went rigid under me. I felt his cock jerk and the hot spill of his cum inside me. I held on with both arms around his shoulders and my heels locked behind his back and rode every second of it out with him.