If he left me then, I might have killed him.

“Shhh,” he murmured into my mouth. “I need to feel ye.”

His hand slipped up the side of my shorts, making me freeze in both anticipation and nervousness. Things were venturing into the unknown, and even though I wanted him, I was still a little… apprehensive.

When his fingers reached the gusset of my underwear at the juncture of my thighs, I held my breath.

“Not inside. Not dis time, alright? We’ll save dat,” he said tenderly, leaning down on his forearm to cup my face.

I jumped as his fingers finally slid over my skin slowly, but his eyes held mine as he explored, and soon I was relaxing into the bed. His calloused fingertips on my flesh felt a thousand times better than what I’d been getting through our clothes and I was at the edge again only a few minutes later.

“Ah, darlin’,” Patrick said, his voice breaking a little before he cleared his throat. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Yer so swollen and wet. Almost dere, yeah?”

I nodded once before sliding into oblivion, my arms wrapping around his neck without thought as I rode the waves. They seemed to go on and on, magnified as he moved his mouth back to my breast, and tugged each nipple. The feeling lasted much longer and was much stronger than when I’d attempted to do the same thing on my own, and as soon as I was finished, I was anxious to do it again.

“Whoa. Too much, Patrick,” I warned starting to pull away from his touch when the pressure intensified.

“I know,” he assured me, laying his hand completely over me in a firm grip. “After a while it hurts a bit, eh?”

“Yeah. Holy crap.” I pulled his mouth to mine, licking into his mouth, until eventually he slid his hand completely out of my shorts. I could feel him moving it around above me, but I didn’t understand what he was doing until he pulled his lips away and looked down.

I followed his gaze to see him sliding his fingers against each other, and rubbing his thumb up and down the digits that were completely lubricated from my body. It was slightly mortifying at first, but the longer he stared at his hand, the less I felt that way. He was literally rubbing me into his skin, and I had a feeling that if he hadn’t been braced above me with one arm, he would have been rubbing his hands together as if he was applying lotion.

“That’s kind of gross,” I muttered, not bothering to move away.

“It’s not gross. It’s lovely.”

“Lovely?”

“Look at dat,” he said, raising his hand until it was closer to our faces and I could barely catch the scent of myself. “Smell it.”

“Dat’s what yer body made to prepare for me. Dat’s de reason ye’ll take me easily, wit’ no pain. It’ll smooth me way, tell me when yer turned on, tell me when yer ready to take me. It not only prepares ye, but de scent of it—de feel of it—will prepare me, as well. One look, one sniff, one small touch, and I’ll be stiff as a pike.” He glanced up at me as I stared at him wide eyed. “Lovely.”

“Lovely,” I whispered back.

I knew then why he’d forced me to wait, why he’d gone to such lengths to keep our hands above our clothing and our kisses chaste. Because as he spoke, I wanted nothing more than to take him into my body.

“I love you,” I told him.

“I know.”

Chapter 18

Patrick

I left my mum’s after an hour of goodbyes with Amy. It seemed as if the moment I stood to walk out the door, I just needed one more kiss—or she did—and the cycle started all over again. After I’d had my hands all over her body the night before, it was almost impossible to keep them off her that morning.

I knew the scent of her, the way she felt on my hands, the way she went silent and still just before she came, shuddering helplessly. I’d shown incredible restraint in not taking what I’d wanted so badly, but with the end of our abstinence in sight, I refused to give in.

She’d been everything I could have imagined the night before, a touch hesitant here and there, but otherwise almost aggressive in the way she’d moved against me. There were many things I loved about her, but I knew that if we didn’t spark sexually it would be a miserable marriage for us both. I’d never doubted our chemistry from the first, but chemistry and willingness to reach for what you wanted in bed were absolutely not the same thing. Thankfully, it seemed with Amy that I’d gotten both.

By the time I got back to my flat that afternoon, any gratitude that I wouldn’t be torturing myself by living chastely with Amy was long gone. I missed her already. I missed the warmth of my mum’s house, the sound of her instructing Amy on how to prepare different dishes, the way my woman would brush innocently against me as if she needed just a small touch to ground her. I missed it all, and the flat that had once been if not comforting, at least comfortable, felt anything but.

I dropped my duffel near the door, grabbing a beer out of the fridge. I started classes again the next day, followed by my shift at the garage, but that night I had absolutely nothing to do. I made my way to my messy bed and sat my beer on the bedside table that was covered in water rings from the many beers that had gone before. I would lie in bed and read, I decided, striding to my bookshelf for a tattered copy of Robert Frost’s greatest works. It was the only thing that might be able to take my mind off Amy and allow me to relax.

But as I pulled back the sheets in one hand and fell into the bed, a vaguely familiar scent met my nostrils. I jumped back up, my stomach roiling as I knocked over my beer in an attempt to get away from the bed.