I have never been one to tease myself or embellish my orgasm when I’m alone. It has always just been something I do without all of the flourishing, but that’s not what I want to do now. I’m desperate to have him lust for me the same way I do for him. As I watch him finally give in and stroke himself through his pants, I feel like I’m going crazy.
Cupping my breast with one hand, the other slides down my stomach and starts to explore the warmth and the wetness between my legs. I can’t help myself, letting out a gasp as I slip two fingers in. It doesn't numb the ache I have for his cock, but it still feels good. I hear him mutter something under his breath, but it's so quiet that I almost can’t make it out.
Fuck, baby. Just like that.
His voice sends a spark through my body to keep going, and the need to make Patrick suffer is strong. So, I play with myself for a few more minutes, upping the theatrics and moaning out his name every time I get close, but I’m too stubborn for this kind of presentation. If I don’t come right now, I’m going to lose it.
Bringing my other hand down to play with my clit, I curl the fingers inside of me trying to hit that sweet spot. I’m desperatefor an orgasm, and all of this teasing has built me up further than I’ve ever pushed myself.
It takes up all of my focus trying to rub my clit and thrust my fingers inside of me. Forgetting that I’m on display, I throw my head back, feeling close, not caring about what I look or sound like. I’m so caught up in my orgasm that I miss the sound of tearing plastic while my body shakes, and I give into the feeling completely. My mind going blank, and my body going slack.
My orgasm fades away, and I feel stuck in the comfort of Patrick’s bed. I should get up and get myself together, but I can’t. My eyes are closed when the mattress shifts, and Patrick’s hands are on my legs. I’m pliable to his touch, and when he spreads my legs easily, his breath hitches.
“Fuck, baby. I love watching you come.” Kneeling in front of me, it only takes him one strong pull to shift my hips forward so that he is pressed up against my opening. His thumb swipes against my clit, and I squirm under him, still extremely sensitive. “God, you look so pretty when you shake like that.”
My face heats up, and all I can think about is how good I want to make him feel.
“Please—” I grind my hips forward, pushing against him and groaning as his tip starts to fill me. “I want you to fill me up so bad. My fingers don’t feel as good as you. Please, please, please, please, ple—”
There’s an expectation for him to tease me like he’s done the last few times, but there is no hesitation when he thrusts into me—his hips meeting my body in one quick movement. I gaspout at the slight sting of the sudden intrusion, but it quickly subsides into pleasure as I get used to the stretch of his cock.
“It makes me crazy when you beg like that.” His movements are painstakingly slow, and I know he is trying to torment me. He slides his hand up my stomach and cups my breasts. “I could watch you forever. You’re so fucking beautiful, El.”
I yelp when he pinches my nipple between his fingers, and the combination of feelings almost makes me come undone. Leaning my head back, I close my eyes, trying to focus on the sensation. His hand moves up and wraps around my throat. “Keep your eyes open, baby. I want you to watch me while I fuck you.”
His hand stays around my neck, and I open my eyes to see him smirking at me. There’s a darkness that only comes out when he is being rough with me, and it makes all of my logic go out the window. His pace picks up, and his fingers grip tighter. I can still breathe, but every time he has his hands on me like this, I feel myself tighten around him.
“F-fu-ck,” I manage to stutter out.
“You’re such a good girl. I can feel how much you like it when I choke you, baby. ”
There is no way I can last much longer with the way he talks to me. He pulls his cock almost all the way out of me, leaving me so empty. I whine, desperate to be filled, “P-patrick, please.”
He moves his other hand down and strokes over my clit with his thumb while he slams his length back inside of me. I feel him stretching me with every thrust, and little specks mark my vision. He keeps his movements steady until I am fallingapart around him. “Yeah, baby. Just like that. Squeeze my cock. I know my greedy girl wants another one. Come for me, El.”
It only takes three more strokes for me to come, and his movements slow down, letting me ride out the orgasm until I stop twitching. Finally removing his focus from my hypersensitive clit, he pushes my legs up around his forearms, picking up his pace again. I bite my lip hard as he angles my hips, causing him to go deeper. In an attempt to drive him crazy, I purposefully squeeze myself around him, and he lets out a low groan.
I know that he is close and get caught up for a second in the thought of him fucking me without the condom. It would feel so much better without that barrier between us, and the idea of him filling me up acts like spark igniting in my lower stomach.
Shaking the thought out of my mind, I hear his breathing get shallow, and his hips buck against me. Squeezing myself around him one more time, he cries out my name as he comes.
As much as I want to stay curled up next to him for the rest of the night, there is no way I can do that since I have to work in the morning.
Prying myself out of his arm, I do my best to ignore his objections, and on the drive home, Patrick takes over my thoughts. Not just his hand around my throat, but also how I feel after we have sex. There is nothing more right than when our bodies are pressed together like that. It's something about his presence that makes me feel safe and seen, and I do my best to shut those feelings down.
There is no doubt that Patrick is using me in the same ways that I am using him, and I know he would tell me if he wanted anything more.
At least, I think that he would.
Chapter 36
Ellie
Myclassisfinallyover, and I can breathe again.
All I have to do now is wait for the grades to come out. Even though it was difficult, I’ve done the best I can, and—thanks to a grade calculator I found online—there is no way I didn’t pass the class. The only way I could fail is if I get a negative 15% on my final paper, and I’m pretty sure my professor doesn’t hate me that much.
It is a grad school tradition to go out for a drink after the last class of the semester, so we’re packed in like sardines at Marley’s since it’s the only bar around with decent food options. The reward of mozzarella sticks and a crisp cider feels like a sufficient exchange for working my ass off for the last eight weeks.
