At his laughter, River slapped his chest. “You’re an asshole, O’Faolain,” she grumbled.
“Why you love me,” Patrick teased. When she responded with ‘probably,’ Patrick froze. Did she love him? Like— Bran and Raven love? Forget that. He wasn’t going there.
Oblivious to his internal freak out, River’s hands were busy tracing Patrick’s body. She stretched herself across his chest and licked across his lips.
“You want to know how you taste on my tongue?” River asked, parroting his words. And fuck if he wasn’t hard and wanting.
“I would,” he repeated River this time.
They kissed and kissed and touched and kissed and touched. At some point, Patrick switched their positions. River was on her back, their bodies aligned. His sex rubbing between her thighs— so hot and warm and welcoming. Gently, he traced the small tattoos on the side of her breast. A triskelion and Native American river symbol. He’d never seen it before. Her swim tops, as small as they were, still covered it.
“Your tattoo is beautiful.”
“Thank you. We all have them.”
“Do you want me inside you, Riv?” Patrick was aching and pulsing. He had one thought, one goal only— to be inside River Byrne.
Scratching her nails across his ass and pressing her hips against his, she answered, “Past, present, and in the future, Pat. Fuck me already.”
Patrick took her mouth in a desperate kiss, positioning his sex against her own, sliding in with every intention of seating himself fully.
He felt resistance.
A barrier.
She stiffened.
He stopped.
He started to back out, coming off her body like he was avoiding gunfire.
“Don’t you dare stop, Patrick. Don’t you dare,” River growled. “I’m a virgin, not a leper.”
With that announcement, she bent her legs, taking him deeper.
Patrick moaned at how good River felt.
So hot.
So wet.
So tight.
“Christ, River,” he gritted out. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Pat,” she answered seriously, looking up at him like... she wantedonlyhim.
Bracing his weight on his knees, Patrick looked at where they were partially joined. “Jesus, I love seeing myself inside you.” He traced his hands up River’s sides, squeezing her breasts and pinching her nipples. When she started to writhe beneath him, he pushed past the thin barrier, seating himself fully.
River gasped as he moaned. “So tight. Christ, River.” Leaning over, he kissed her softly. “Tell me I didn’t hurt you, Riv.”
“Not from lack of trying, Pat,” River chuckled, making her channel squeeze even tighter. “Your weapon should have come with a warning,” she teased, leaning into him before kissing him gently back. “I feel good. Promise,” she whispered against his lips.
Patrick felt tingles from his scalp to his toes at the intimacy of— all of it. Before he started spouting poetry, he teased, “Only good, huh?” He slid back, practically leaving her body before thrusting back in. “And now?”
“Practice makes perfect,” she gasped as Patrick’s body started moving faster and faster.
River’s hips met his in a beautiful dance. He chanted her name, and she chanted his. His balls were slapping her ass, her fingernails were gouging his.
