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He slowed his thrusts, but they stayed deep. His lips claimed mine, merciless, until our mouths parted.
“I’m not interested in having someone who doesn’t belong to me,” he whispered against my mouth. He licked my tongue. I heard my own thready breath. “I’m not interested in fucking a liar. I cum that much harder, knowing you’re mine.”
“I am…” His cock jerked inside me. “I belong to you, Patrick.”
A hand worked between us, and pleasure flared through my pussy.
“Go on, babe.” His voice wrapped around my moans, his fingers savage on my clit. “Give in to me. You’re just a little girl in the dark, and all you can do is come.”
He was right. It was all I could do.
It was all he could do.
The inky black was absolute, everything else more intense, the sheets and his skin and our mouths and the throbs that blended together, until the moment released its grip and I went limp under his huge body.
“I’m not afraid of the dark anymore,” I said.
The bed shifted. The bedside lamp clicked on.
I blinked in the sudden light, letting my eyes adjust. Patrick was on top of me, his face millimeters from mine.
“Jesus,” I muttered. He twisted his fingers in my hair, and I spilled the truth. “I don’t want you to pull out.”
He smiled. “Then we’ll just stay like this.”
Our breathing mingled, slow and even, my arms twined around his back. As the lamp fuzzed to a haloed glow, he softened inside me. Finally, he pushed himself up on his elbows and slipped out.
We lay on our sides facing each other. His blue eyes were half-closed, his mouth slack. My body throbbed everywhere. He rested his hand on my head, lazily stroking my hair.
“Patrick?” My voice was raspy. I licked my lips.
“What is it, baby?” He ruffled my hair.
I rolled over, my back to him, staring at the mirror on his wall that showed the two of us. The mirror that always told the truth.
“I quit cheerleading,” I said suddenly, “because my grades were in the toilet last semester and I would have been kicked off the squad anyway. And because I’d never be as good as my sister.”
Patrick’s response was slow to come. “That must get old.” His voice was thoughtful, his hand finding my hip. “Comparing yourself to her all the time.”
“It does.”
“Why were your grades so bad?”
“I partied a lot. I stopped caring about success.”
“Really?”
“No,” I muttered. “I tried, but I never stopped caring. I tried so damn hard.”
His hand moved into my hair again. I scooted back until my body was nestled against his.
Out in the hall, a ribbon of music unspooled and slipped under the door. Late-night music, just a guitar and a voice.
“I can’t believe you don’t like music,” I murmured. “It’s like you’re not even human.”
“Who said I don’t like music?”
“You did. In your car, after the first time. You were driving me home, and when I asked what kind of music you liked, you said ‘the sound of silence.’ You also gave me a look.”
