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I don't look back at her. I don't shrink away. I soak in the feeling of being watched.
And I surrender.
With the next flick of his tongue, I come, pulsing against his lips, groaning his name, tugging at the soft fabric of the lounge chair.
He works me through my orgasm, then he releases me, works his way up my body, brings his lips to my neck.
"Fuck me," I breathe.
"No," he copies my words. "Not yet." He brings our bodies closer, so he's almost against me—
But he's not.
He toys with my breasts as he sucks on my neck, moving closer and closer.
Until his tip brushes my sex.
One perfect, moment then he pulls back.
Again and again.
Until I'm aching and dizzy.
Then again and again.
"Please," I breathe. "Please."
He responds by teasing me again and again.
Until it's too much to take.
I shift to my side and push him to his. It's awkward, changing positions on the tiny chair, but there's something right about that.
Like I'll go into free fall if I move off the cushion. If I let go.
Or maybe I'm already in free fall.
I push Patrick onto his back, I shift on top of him, and I ride him again and again.
I come fast, pulsing around him, pulling him closer and deeper, pulling him over the edge with me.
He groans my name as he comes.
I work through his orgasm, soaking in every sweet moment. The bliss coursing through my veins, the sheer satisfaction of him pulsing inside me, the people around us, close enough to watch.
I'm out of my fucking mind.
And I love every second of it.
ChapterThirty-Eight
PATRICK
Imogen collapses on the lounger, sweaty and sticky and spent. When she comes to, I help her into her clothes, onto her feet, back into the world around us.
She looks around the backyard, shy and eager at once. "Do you think anyone watched?"
"Yes." I'm sure they did. But I barely noticed anyone else. Even now, I barely see anyone else. Only the satisfaction in her dark eyes, the smile on her wine lips.
