Page 40 of Patrick

“The only thing I’d ever beg for, if you really want to know…” he pauses as he plays with my lips, and I manage a nod because he has me under some kind of spell.

“What would you beg for?” I finally prompt in a breathy voice after he takes his time, stamping kisses all over my face.

“What I’d beg you for—and only you—is another drink from your sweet swollen pussy.”

His words make me dizzy, make my pussy tingle all over again until it weeps for him, for his tongue.

But his grin begs for more than pussy. He’s asking for a challenge. Or maybe it’s me reflexively needing to challenge him.

“Don’t you think it’s late and you should be getting home?”

He laughs, lifting off me and kneeling up over me. “Not a fucking chance—pardon my French. Not when I have the upper hand.”

“Upper hand?” My indignance is real, even as my eyes are glued to his magnificent body, the ripples of muscle, the smooth skin, the massive size of his chest and his thighs, but mostly, the impressive majesty of his erect cock.

He gives me a naughty nod, smirking as he slides his hands down my body, lowering the blankets and then bends to kiss my belly button with his hot velvety mouth.

“Shit. Maybe you do have…” I stop talking, stop breathing, waiting for his mouth to come down on my pulsing—no throbbing—pussy.

He doesn’t disappoint me. He also doesn’t leave. He does make me scream again, into a pillow this time. And that’s the last thing I remember until I open my eyes to sunlight streaming in the window.

Now, that scream, and everything that preceded it, is the first thing I remember as I blink at the sunny morning and smile.

“What are you smiling at?” Trick’s voice has a sexy roughness to it, and turning to him, I wonder if this is his morning voice, if I woke up with him every morning, this is what he’d sound like?

I answer his question. “Life. You. Sunshine.”

“You sure it’s not that last orgasm before you fell asleep that’s making you smile?”

I chuckle and my face heats up, but it’s not a blush of embarrassment. No, I’m done with those blushes after last night’s naughty abandon. The warmth I feel is the deeper kind.

“Oh that. Maybe… I’ll think about it. Or maybe you could refresh my memory—” My phone rings. I ignore it as I snuggle against him.

He wraps his arms around me. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe later. What time is it anyway?”

He reaches over and grabs my phone, handing it to me. The ringing has stopped, but I read the time in disbelief.

“It can’t be eight o'clock.”

Trick shoots bolt upright. “Fuck. Are you shitting me?” He grabs the phone from my hand and looks at it to see for himself.

“You have practice?” I’m guessing because he always has practice in the morning, and I’m hoping it doesn’t start until nine, but I have a funny feeling, as he throws the covers off and jumps from the bed, that practice starts earlier than 9 a.m.

“What time do you have to be at the rink?”

As he stumbles into his sweats, he looks up at me. “A half an hour ago.”

There’s a mix of regret and heat in his eyes, and I’m not sure if his regret is about having to leave or about having stayed too long.

“I’m sorry⁠—”

“Don’t be.” He slips into his sneakers on his way to the bed and leans over me for a quick kiss. “Gotta go, sugar lips.”

“Sugar—”

He grabs his hoodie off the floor and flies out of the room before I can ask him which lips he was referring to.