He didn't live far from me. His home was also on LSD, also old, four stories tall and all his. We were quiet because of servants and he led me into a little elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.
"I have three spare bedrooms, if you like."
"What would I do with all three?"
He smiled, but it was a patient smile, the smile of a man who recognized defense mechanisms. "This is my room. You can join me or not," he said simply and stepped inside.
I took a breath and followed him. It was all in navy with a soft cream carpet. The paintings on the walls were originals, the fabrics expensive, the view pure. He pulled off his shirt and sat to tug off his boots. I stood there in my greasy coveralls and felt massively out of place.
With a steadying breath I kicked off my boots and pulled my socks off, and then unzipped the coveralls. The zipper hit the crotch and I realized he was watching me, shirtless.
I stepped out into my bra and panties and for a moment remembered Gunnar, with a guilty flash. I don't know what Patrick was to me, but I knew I didn't want to think of Gunnar at that moment.
"You actually work like that?"
"Long story, but yeah. Keeps me cool."
"It would drive me crazy inside of five minutes. How the hell does Cal work?"
"Nice to know seeing me like this makes you think of another man, Patrick."
"Can't blame me for being curious."
"You know what I like in bed. Cal likes it too, and I don't want to wield a whip."
Understanding dawned and he reached for me. I stepped to him, between his legs, and let him look his fill. "Do you always need a whip?" he asked softly, meeting my eyes.
I smiled. "No, just wimps need not apply."
He smiled and grazed his teeth on my stomach. "Fair enough." With his arms around my waist he fell back, and I fell on top of him, only landing on my forearms kept me from slamming into his face.
I rolled off him and he followed, moving up until he laid between my legs, face to face. My breath caught and he lowered his mouth slowly, so I had plenty of time to say no, or pull away, but I did neither. I closed my eyes and leaned up, kissing him as much as he kissed me.
I relaxed into it and felt his hand cup my breast gently. Nothing of the anger, the power, and I understood. He knew I needed this, now I knew too. No one in my life had shown me any real concern except a man who'd given me a job and a parole officer who'd given me a break. Patrick wanted me to know it could be something else, something more than a soulless fuck.
I arched into that touch and let my hands seek every muscle, every line, enjoying the pure strength of him. He kissed my cheek, my jaw, and moved to my neck. My breath caught when he found a particularly sensitive spot and nipped there. He laved it with his tongue and when he nibbled again he brushed a nipple with his thumb.
I stroked my feet up and down his legs, eager to feel more but trapped in the pleasure. It was so gentle, so unassuming, I had never known it could be as good as it was.
I reached for his belt buckle as he found my clavicle and he rose up, pressing my hands between us. "I'm trying very hard to be a good boy and go slow. Take the pants off and I'm afraid that ravening beast will come out."
I kissed the top of bent his head and brought my hands to feel his arm muscles ripple as he moved. When he kissed the tops of my breasts I reached up, reached behind me, and he brushed my hands away to undo my bra for me. We slipped it off and I tossed it, letting the conditioned air kiss my breasts.
His mouth was hot and wet on one nipple, his hand hard and firm on the other. I writhed there, twisting one hand in the sheets and letting the other clutch at him. His abs were hard and delicious against me as I rubbed my hips up and down and teased my clit through my panties, pressing tight against him.
He suckled until my nipple was sore and I was mad with desire, then he moved to the other. I was wetter than I had ever been, and still he made me wetter, hotter. I was begging him, mindlessly, without shame, and then he kissed my navel. Never had such an innocent kiss been so indecent, but at least his hands were shaking when he reached for my panties.
He peeled them down my legs and I kicked them off, and then he rolled back between my legs. I was panting, my nipples hard, my body tight, my pussy creaming under his hot breath.
He kissed me there as if he were kissing my mouth, the lightest touch, slipping his tongue against my clit and I came like a rocket. Mindless to everything else but his mouth I called out his name and bucked wildly as he suckled and drew it out.
I came down panting but he didn't stop. No, he moved lower and thrust his tongue inside me, in and out quickly, and then moved back to my clit and flicked it. I gasped and pushed at him instinctually as if to escape but those strong muscles held me prisoner.
Then he suckled again and I came like a noisy freight train. I screamed out something, I had no idea what, and when I came down he was standing, stripping, and in the moonlight he was a god.
I scooted back and kicked the covers down and then he knelt and crawled towards me. Another kiss and before I knew it I was on my back and he was huge and hard and poised to conquer. Patrick held himself outside of me. "Look at me, Aileen. Please."
