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Truthfully, I don’t want to deal with anything right now…except the man trying not to thrust his hard cock against my ass.
Patroclus really is too polite.
That stops me for a moment. “Patroclus?”
“Yeah?”
I don’t want to speak the words that might stop this, but I’ve already done this man wrong when he didn’t deserve it. I can’t do it again. I won’t. I close my eyes. “I, uh, get reckless when I’m hurting or scared.”
He goes still behind me. “Are you feeling reckless right now?”
“Yes.” I can’t help expanding the answer, giving him the truth he seems to ask for without saying a word. It’s easier with my eyes closed. This hardly feels real. Can something that’s mostly fantasy actually hurt me? Don’t answer that. “But I meant what I said last night. I want you. That’s not me being impulsive or reckless. That’s the truth.”
“Helen…” He curses against the back of my neck. “I should care that you might be using me to escape. It should bother me.”
My chest goes tight, but I can’t blame him if he pulls away. I’ve never really talked about this before outside therapy, and never with a person I’m aiming to seduce. It’s so much easier to let my partners see what they want to see so I can get what I want—a few hours of pleasure where I don’t have to think about anything but the next touch, the next kiss. This isn’t a carefully orchestrated hookup, though. This is Patroclus. With him, in this moment, I can stop being selfish for once. “Do my reasons bother you?”
“Maybe they should.” His arm goes tight around me, and he curses again. “I don’t give a fuck what I should be doing or feeling. I want you too much. Let me touch you, Helen.”
The relief his words bring makes me almost giddy. I sink back into him, letting his strength buoy me. Patroclus might be a brainiac, but his body is all soldier. I want to explore it at length. I inhale deeply, relishing the way the move drags the underside of my breasts against his forearm. “Touch me, Patroclus. Please. I need you to.”
I expect him to do it all at once. I really should know better, even after spending so little time with him. Patroclus is a man with a plan, and that’s never more evident than it is right now as he shifts his hand to press to my stomach. His thumb brushes the curve of one breast, a slow drag that has me shifting restlessly against him.
He moves to tug the thin strap of my pajama top over my shoulder, easing it down to free my breast. It’s an almost teasing move, and it only feels more so as he traces the line of fabric, brushing my exposed breast to tug down the other strap, too. It takes a little more work since I’m lying on my side, but once again, he doesn’t rush. It’s a fucking torment. “Patroclus.”
“I like the way you say my name.” He cups one breast and then the other, trailing his fingers over my nipples. Not enough. Nowhere near enough.
I worry my bottom lip, but I can’t keep silent. “More. Please.”
“I like the way you say ‘please,’ too.” His voice sounds rougher than normal, but he doesn’t move faster as he trails his hand down the center of my stomach and teases the strings of my shorts. His touch isn’t tentative, but he’s sure as fuck not rushing. Not like I want him to. Each small tug against the strings creates an answering tug deep inside me. I press my lips together, determined not to beg. Not yet.
Finally, what feels like an eternity later, he dips beneath the band of my shorts. I expect him to move slowly in this the same way he has in everything else, but it’s as if all his patience has been used up. Patroclus cups my pussy, his touch rough. We both exhale harshly at the contact.
I have no desire to be owned outside the bedroom, and not even in the bedroom most of the time. The power balance in my life is too precarious, too keen to tip to weigh against me. But right now? With Patroclus guiding us? I love it. I bite my bottom lip and whimper a little. I can’t pretend it won’t have consequences, but when have I ever let consequences get in the way of doing what I want?
It feels too good to stop.
Now that Patroclus has me where he wants me, he slows down again, gentling his touch as he explores me. He traces my opening with his middle finger, still cupping me almost possessively. He doesn’t act a caveman and shout mine, but he’s holding me like he owns me, like he’s claiming me. It doesn’t matter that we shouldn’t. It’s happening.
