Chapter 3: Surrender

We were silent as we took the elevator up. A few times I felt his eyes scanning my body, but mine were focused on the doors. I was resolute; my fate was sealed.

That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway.

Finally we reached his floor and he let me exit first. I could feel his eyes on my body even more acutely now, and though it made me slightly nervous, each zing of the electric energy between us became hotter.

He unlocked the door to his apartment and we walked in.

“Sorry,” he murmured, speaking for the first time since we left the restaurant. “It’s a bit messy.”

It wasn’t at all, actually, but I figured he was a neat freak. It wouldn’t surprise me.

He switched on each light while we made our way in, making me feel exposed and naked beneath the harsh bulbs.

I sat on his sofa, listening to him shuffle around the kitchen. He appeared with a glass of wine for the both of us, though we hardly needed it. Still I sipped it, hoping it would get the last few jitters out of my system. I accepted and knew this would happen, but the nerves refused to go away completely.

He was so confident, but this was so messed up and so out of character for me. Sleeping with my sister’s exes wasn’t exactly one of my hobbies. We’d never competed over a guy before. In fact, we had completely different types. Yet there I sat, fidgeting next to Patrick.

He reached for me first, his warm hand touching my thigh. I jumped and stared at the hand, tan and large against my pale skin. “Now is the time to say no.”

I looked up and examined his dark green eyes. I thought of the last time we were together, how amazing it felt, our conversation during dinner, the looks he gave me from across the table.

I thought of Chloe, too. Her tears, her confusion. I wondered if I’d ever be able to look her in the eye again, and if I could, what kind of person that made me? Would I ever be able to forget this whole experience? Would I want to?

I should have said no. I wanted to be able to say it. The word, however, was foreign to me in Patrick’s apartment. I knew when we left that restaurant ... well, truthfully I knew from the first kiss, that I couldn’t say no to him. I simply didn’t want to.

Just one more night, I told myself. I’d force myself to forget all of this afterwards.

So I stared boldly back at him as I inclined my head, my lips parting to meet his. Surprisingly he was tentative at first; in spite of his smug exterior he must have been at least partly prepared for me to waltz out of his apartment.

Quickly he amped up his passion, however, and we were engaged in the most erotic but simple kiss of my life. His lips against mine, the gentle but experienced nudging of his tongue and his breath against my face worked me up so fast I thought I was going to have an orgasm right there. His hands barely moved on me; one was on my waist as the other ran its way through my hair.

My kissing grew more fervent, but he shocked me again with his continued restraint. He didn’t rush things. He took his time with our kiss, drawing out the passion and letting it simmer delicately like he was a grand chef conducting a masterpiece of a meal.

I was ready to rip off my clothes and lifted my hands to do just that. He stopped me.

“Let’s go to my room.”

He stood and took my hand, coaxing me to his bedroom. A small smile toyed with his lips but he didn’t look at me; he merely led us into the pitch black room.

I expected him to turn the lights on immediately like he had before when he stepped away, but this time he left me standing with only the faint and distant light of his hallway dancing across his large bed and some furniture. Most of the room was shrouded in darkness, and he had disappeared into it.

“Patrick. Not funny.” I fumbled around for a light switch but there wasn’t one where there should’ve been.

I stomped over to where I presumed the lamp was, but then arms wrapped around me and pulled me into a firm—and naked—chest.

“Not being funny. Just getting ready.” His voice was smooth and low, and so strangely tender.

“Patrick,” I whispered. I didn’t know what else to say.

“Do you know that I have been able to think of nothing else but your body since I had you? That sometimes at work I literally have to go jack off in the bathroom because just remembering how you looked when you came was enough to give me a permanent hard-on?”

I pressed back against him, hating that he still wore his pants. Not realizing he actually wanted an answer, I cried out when suddenly a hand grabbed a breast and two fingers twisted a nipple through my clothing.

“Do you?!”

“No.”

“You had me half out of my mind before and now that I know what it’s like to fuck you, I can’t stop wanting. I’m going to bury myself inside you all night.”

He didn’t say this roughly, or wantonly, or crudely. It sounded nearly like a confession, an almost guilty admission.

Something about his words and the tone of them stirred my curiosity, but then he worked on my clothing and started kissing my neck and all I could think of was having sex again. I just needed and wanted; never before had I been so disconnected from the rest of my surroundings. All that existed was Patrick and me standing in his shadowed room.

Suddenly I was naked, and I turned to eagerly strip him of his pants. He didn’t stop me, but he didn’t help, either. He watched me as I ripped them off, tugging them with frustration. I gave up when they lingered on the lower part of his calves, and then stared hungrily at what had already been inside me. I knew what it felt like and I craved more.

Crouching down, I slipped his boxers off and let them gather below with his pants, keeping my eyes on his cock the entire time. I watched as it leapt out, hard and twitching enthusiastically in front of my face. It truly was beautiful; up until really examining Patrick’s, I hadn’t thought penises were that attractive. His, however, made my belly heavy and my head dizzy.

Just staring at his dick made me wet and ready, and honestly I could have just sat hunched over it for hours. He moved, however, stepping out of his pants and boxers and flipping on the light. Then he took a step closer to me. I looked up and our eyes immediately connected. The want that plagued me was also painted all over his own glossy eyes.

He put out a hand and let it play and wind itself through my hair. I knew what he needed, and I needed it even more.

Moving closer to him on my knees, I let his cock just rub against the softness of my cheek. He actually gasped at the sensation. Apparently he was paying more attention to my hair than to my actions. Now those green eyes were on mine again, listening to what I was telling him with my fixed and promised gaze. Those gorgeous lips spread open. I guess I shocked him for the second time that night. First, I stayed and encouraged the encounter, and now I was going to give him a blowjob.

My pink tongue slipped slowly out of my mouth and I licked my lower lip with it. He moaned at the image and softly put his hand on my other cheek, the one that wasn’t covered by his cock and pre-cum. His thumb stroked the satiny skin beneath my eye.

Finally I let my tongue tickle his head, swiping it back and forth slowly and lightly. A delicious sound came out of him and he pushed forward. I pulled my head and mouth back just a bit and smirked, shaking my head. The message was: this is my show; your cock is my prop and I’ll do with it as I please.

He got my meaning and moved his hips back, attempting to smirk in return. I could tell from the taut muscles in his face and by the tense way he stood how much effort it took him not to take charge. I would let him later, of course, but something in me, something carnal and dirty and needy, wanted to have the power right now. I had to have the upper hand, to dish out or restrain any pleasure I deigned to give him.

After a few moments, I tasted him again, slowly running across the ridges and bumps and veins that ran across his length. He panted and the hand on my face gripped harder. The other clenched in a fist at his side.

I did this for a bit—merely examining him, tasting him and driving him wild. He shut his eyes, unable to bear both the torture and the sight. Taking advantage, I speedily sunk my mouth onto him and let his cock make its way fully into my throat. He grunted at the sudden shock of my mouth surrounding him.

I sucked and licked as it made its way deeper inside. Salty and smooth, Patrick made the best meal ever. I think I even moaned around his dick, increasing the pace of my tongue and moving my head back and forth in a desperate rhythm. We went on like this for a while before he started grasping at my hair.

“Not yet, fuck,” he said in a rush, trying to get me to stop. I didn’t want to, but I wanted him inside me more, so I pulled off of him and let him hoist me up.

He practically threw me onto the bed. I was mesmerized by his cock illuminated by the faint lamplight, sticking out into the air and glistening from my saliva. Patrick stumbled a little on his journey over to me and I laughed, thrilled I’d driven him so crazy. He rolled his eyes at my juvenile giggles as he knelt onto the bed.

His long body stretched against mine until nearly every surface of our flesh was in contact in some way. The laughter stopped; his eyes boring into mine chased away any amusement.

Lips lingered on lips, feather-soft and hardly kissing. His hands ran down my arms and a knee pressed into my pussy as he shifted his position a little. I don’t know how long we spent just watching the other, and I can’t pretend to guess what he was thinking about.

I thought about the years I’d known him, the different expressions I got to see for the first time, how the Patrick I knew now compared to the one I thought I knew then. I wondered if this would be as intense as our first encounter. Would I still feel ashamed, or finally sated? I was terrified I’d want more of him.