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God, I did. But I needed to know why he couldn’t afford me. And what the hell was happening in his life, and who he was outside our time together, and—
“Yes,” I panted. My clit was being flicked. Raw desire filled his eyes. I gripped the tree branch, Patrick fuzzing into a glow. “Tell me.”
We were outside, just like the first time we kissed by the ATM. Flowers covered the branches that once had been bare. A shadow behind Patrick flitted across my vision.
I didn’t care. All I cared about were his eyes, his voice, the faint smile on his lips, the thick fingers on and in me.
“You’re perfect,” he crooned, hypnotic. “You’re such a good little whore. You want me to put a price on the way you come? Or the blush on your skin when I tell you the truth? How cute you are when you cry, because you’re so overwhelmed by the way I fuck you? How much you love it when I hurt you a little? How much I love it when you snarl at me in bed? I can’t. You’re priceless. You were made for me.”
In the wash of his words, I was too far gone for embarrassment. Every sensation splintered me. I was about to come, outside, holding onto a tree, caught in his hands and utterly willing.
Something buzzed against my thigh, trapped between his legs. It buzzed again and again, then stopped.
My eyes snapped open. “Who’s calling?”
“Ignore it.” He squeezed my breast hard.
The buzzing started again, angry and insistent.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Stay like that. Don’t move.” His hand left my breast to yank his ringing phone from his pocket. Staring at the screen, he eased his fingers out of me.
I let go of the branch. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Christina.” Words I’d never heard from Patrick’s mouth before. Blue eyes darted from me to the screen. “I need to take this. Stay here. I promise, I’ll be right back.”
21
Brotherly Love
Patrick
Christina stared after me, lit by the moon, as I jogged out of her earshot. She had every right to be pissed, but the only emotion on her face was worry. She pulled down her shirt and started toward me.
I held up a hand, shaking my head. Stopping short, she shoved her hair out of her face and gave me a first-class glare.
Good. Anger, I could handle. It was better than concern.
I picked up the phone.
“Hello.” I sounded high as a kite and drunk on sex. “This better be good. Let me guess, you’re at the police station again. I’m not bailing you out this time.”
“Mom called,” Nick said.
I stumbled to a halt. The moon was full, striped by clouds. A cold breeze would be nice, but the night was warm and soft. Or maybe that was the drugs. The fucking drugs. I shouldn’t have touched them.
I slapped my cheeks with my free hand, trying to sober up.
“When?”
“Just now.”
“You talked to her?”
“Yes. Eddie doesn’t know. I’m not telling him yet.”
Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. Far off in the quad, people were yelling, soaring, coming down from the ride of the evening. I glanced toward the tree behind the building where I’d left Christina, looking for the dark fall of her hair. Her gorgeous face.
She was gone.
