Solace

This is part of a much larger project, so the intro to some of the characters is lacking here. I have written more which I should be posting later.

It was late when we got back to my house. Emma and Eric waved goodbye as they climbed into their car, but Patrick stood on the porch, watching me carefully. There was something unreadable in his eyes, something my suddenly aching heart wanted to believe was mine for the asking.

It was a silly notion, yet I didn't want to let it go. It was late, I was exhausted and suddenly all I wanted was to lead him upstairs, strip him naked and run my hands across his bare skin. He'd be warm and hard and so very alive. And I could forget, for a little while at least, the weight that was pressing down on me.

The wrenching ache for the solace of his body threatened to wring a sob from me and I shuddered, turning my face so he couldn't read me. If he'd been a normal man, that would have worked. But when you're standing less than two feet from an empath with all your emotional defenses down, turning your head does not provide much cover. Not much at all.

"I can come in," his beautiful English voice was just over my shoulder, close enough to touch.

"It's not fair that you can do that, you know."

"It's not fair I can come inside?"

"No…" I glanced back at him, praying my face was reasonably neutral. "It's not fair you can read me like that."

"Ah." He smiled, reaching out to take the keys from my hand. "Well, a man has to have some advantage in this world, doesn't he?" He slipped the key in the lock, turning it slowly and pushing open the door. He held it open for me, waiting for me to enter before him.

"Some advantage, yes. That particular one? I don't know." I walked into my living room, suddenly calm. He followed me in, slipping my keys onto the nail by the door before shutting and locking the door behind him. Apparently, he was staying for the night.

Patrick reached for my sweater, helping me out of it easily. "I happen to like that particular advantage. It's possibly the only part of my life that doesn't at least occassionally feel like a curse."

I watched him move to the coat rack, hanging first my sweater, then his jacket. Solace. Yes, and comfort. Those he could give me, seemed quite ready and willing to provide. But I didn't want him to misunderstand. I didn't want him to think this meant more than it did.

"Patrick, I . . ."

"Shhh." He took the step to close the distance between us, laying one finger gently across my lips. "Empath, remember? You don't have to explain."

I looked up at him, illuminated by the dim light of a single table lamp, and nodded. "I know, but I want to. I…I need to, even if you don't need to hear it."

He simply stood there in front of me and took one hand in his. Slowly, he lifted it to his lips and kissed my palm lightly. "I'll listen to anything you need to tell me."

In that moment, when his lips touched my skin, I knew he would. I knew he would listen to everything I had to say or yell or rant or whisper. He'd listen to it all and keep it secret for me. Standing in front of me was a true refuge, a place I could be vulnerable without fear.

And suddenly I was very afraid.

I'd wanted to tell him I only needed comfort, just a way to rise above the pain that was threatening to drown me. I'd never find a way to solve this riddle, I'd never have the strength or the focus to do what I needed to – whatever that turned out to be – to pull my people out of harm's way if I didn't find a way to channel this sorrow. I'd wanted to ask a friend to help me out, to help me get through this and still be my friend when it was over.

But it could be so much more with Patrick. It could go so much deeper than friendship or comfort or hell, even the occassional good fuck. No, this…this could definitely be more.

Hence, the fear. I'd had more once or at least I thought I'd had. I'd thought Collin would be my safe place, but he'd turned my vulnerablities against me. He'd called me a slut when my sex drive overpowered his. He'd called me a heathen – which was true, but he hadn't meant it in a good way. He'd meant to hurt me with it, hurt me like my mother had all those years ago when she'd said I was just like my father. He'd wanted me to be a good girl, settle down and have 2.5 kids and the picket fence and that just wasn't me.

Seeing the possibilities in Patrick's sea-green eyes made my heart speed up. Speed up until I thought it was going to burst through my chest and I would die, but at least if I were dead I wouldn't feel this trapped, this scared.

He frowned, looking down at me. Empath. Dammit. He'd caught it all, caught the fear and panic, even if he didn't know why. Or maybe he did. I wasn't certain how powerful he was, maybe he could read memories too.

"Zera…" He started, then stopped, choosing instead to lean down and kiss me. He was quick about it, or I'd have pulled away. As soon as his lips touched mine, the panic subsided. The choking tightness in my chest began to relax. He was just Patrick. He wasn't Collin reborn. Just Patrick.

I sighed against his lips, reaching a hand up to grapple with his shirt. The fabric was rough under my hand, but I didn't mind. Just Patrick. Yes, that's all. And what was so wrong with that? Suddenly, I couldn't remember why I was so afraid. He was just Patrick, after all.

Patrick pulled back, looking down at me carefully. His lips were soft and just the tiniest bit puffy. The kiss had been almost chaste, just lips pressed to lips, warm and sweet. Reassuring, not pressuring. Just Patrick, not my nightmares.

"Zera, I won't hurt you. I need you to believe me."

I looked up to him and whatever he saw in my eyes must have reassured him. The wrinkle in his brow relaxed and he loosened his grip on me, although he kept me close enough to draw the warmth from his body.

"I don't know why you were so afraid," he said, letting one hand start moving in slow circles on my back. Part of me didn't believe that. Part of me was certain he knew exactly why I was afraid. "But I promise you, I won't ever ask you for more than you can give me. I won't ever ask you to be someone you're not. I just want to help you, I swear."

Something teased at the back of my brain. I had the sneaking suspicion that help was his second-choice word. It was true enough, but it wasn't the entire truth.

Did I want to press him for it tonight? No, I decided, I did not. Patrick had his secrets and I had mine. It was an equal playing field, so how could I complain?

"I…Patrick, I don't want you to think I'm using you."

He quirked a brow. "And how do you know I'm not using you?"

I smirked at that. "You're not." I was certain he wasn't. Sure, he was a guy. And I knew very few guys to turn down sex when it's offered to them. But he wasn't lying to me, he wasn't pretending to be in love with me. He was just being Patrick.

That faint corner of my mind noticed I'd thought the words Just Patrick a few hundred times in the last three minutes. Can empaths project thoughts? I made a note to ask him later.

I smiled at him, running a hand across his jaw. "Come upstairs with me?"

He smiled back, leaning over to nip at the tip of my nose. "Yes, please."

I laughed at that, taking him by the hand and turning to walk through the darkened house to the stairwell which lead to my bedroom.

We stood by the side of my bed, enfolded in each other's arms, for long moments. I didn't want to rush this, not when what I needed was to remind myself how to feel alive.

He seemed to understand, moving his hands slowly down my shirt as he kissed me again. This time it wasn't so chaste, but it was still undemanding. His tongue teased my lips as his fingers slide under the bottom of my shirt, skirting the flesh of my belly.

I shiver at his touch, tiny trendils of warmth shooting up and down my spine. He had soft hands. Soft and large and gentle against my skin. As his tongue worked its way into my mouth, his hands moved up my body to trace the bottom edge of my bra.

"Mmm…this feels like silk," Patrick murmured against me. I nodded, letting my hands move across his body. I tugged at his shirt, dislodging it from his waistband. The fabric bunched against his back as my hands dove underneath, flattening against the plane of his back. Goddess, but he felt so warm and solid. Just that touch, just that simple touch of hands to back and I could feel warmth starting to pool in my belly.

Patrick shivered against me, his soft, probing kiss faltering for a moment. Then he recovered, kissing me again, deeper and sweeter than before.

Time, I wanted to take my time, I told myself. I can't let this get out of control, not yet. So, I moved my hands around his waist and up his chest, marveling at the feel of him. His chest felt smooth, nearly hairless and I sighed. I was particularly fond of smooth-chested men. My own skin was so sensitive, an overly hairy man was painful against my bare flesh.

I found a nipple and paused, pulling away to look at him.

He looked down at me, lips dewy and swollen. "Yes?"

I smiled, then tweaked the little hoop that pierced his nipple. "You just didn't seem the type."

Patrick groaned, pulling me hard against him. "Oh, you've no idea, love. None at all." He kissed me, deeply and fiercely this time, then pulled away with an impish look in his eye. "Do it again, please."

I laughed and tweaked him again, then got an idea. "Hold on…" I removed my hand from his nipple, shhhing the little groan of protest from him. I had his shirt unbuttoned in about ten seconds and about three seconds after that I had my mouth attached to his nipple.

Patrick shuddered, tugging me tighter against him, one hand going down to clench around my bottom. "Oh, gods…."

I laughed against him, licking at his nipple, rolling the ring around on my tongue and then tugging at it until it was taunt.

His eyes fluttered closed and his hands clenched against me.

"Mmmm….I take it you like that?"

He merely nodded, then lifted me up off the ground and spun me toward the bed. The movement caught me off guard and I gasped, but he settled me on the edge of the bed quickly. Then he stood before me, shirt agap so I could run my eyes over his chest. Yes, it was practically hairless. Yes, only one nipple was pierced. And yes, by Goddess, I wanted to run my tongue all over him, from the crook of his neck to that little patch of hair that lead down to his groin.

It must have shown on my face, because he smiled at me. Then slowly, oh so very slowly, he peeled off his shirt and tossed it to the floor.

I licked my lips, leaning back on the bed, propped up on my elbows.

Patrick watched my face, those lovely eyes never leaving mine. He stepped out of his shoes, kicking them to the side. Then his hands floated to his waistband.

His jeans were button-fly and already they strained to keep his swollen length inside. The sight of him, straining against the jeans made my insides warm and squishy. A few kisses, a few flicks of my tongue and already he was hard? It made a girl feel good, knowing she had that kind of power.

"You are a wicked woman, Zera Washington."

I smiled up at him, doing my best to look innocent. "Thank you. Now strip. I want to see you naked."

Heat flashed in his eyes and I knew he wouldn't disappoint me. Indeed, he blew me a kiss. "Whatever my lady wishes."

And then his hands were back on his waistband, popping open those buttons one by one as I watched. One, two, three, four…five buttons and some of the tension went out of his face as his cock was free of its prison. I was pleased to see Patrick didn't wear underwear. Or at least, he wasn't wearing any tonight.

My eyes glided back up to his face to find his eyes focused on me. The heat flooded again, getting more insistant. I licked my lips and let him see me do it. And then, because I'm a wicked girl and he's an empath, I thought very, very hard about him trapped beneath me, buried to the hilt inside me, as I rode him hard.

He gasped. He actually gasped and his hands, which were pushing down his jeans, faltered. "Gods, woman. Are you trying to kill me?"

I smiled pleasantly. "No, Patrick. I'm just trying to fuck you. And you're still not naked."

He remedied that quickly enough, stepping out of the jeans and tossing them aside. I heard them land somewhere in the dark. And then he stood before me, completely naked, horribly aroused and delectably male.

I ran my eyes over his body and suddenly I wanted my hands there. I gestured to him and he came, walking over until he was before me. Then, before I could move up to touch him, he leaned down, his arms to either side of my head and pressed his naked body against my still clothed one.

It was electric. Goddess help me, I almost climaxed then and there. Through the tough denim of my jeans, through the flimsy cotton of my t-shirt, his heat sank into me. Sank into my skin and my bones and, for the faintest of moments, seemed to nestle against my soul.

I wanted to clutch at that heat, keep it nestled against that hidden part of me. I wanted it so badly I forgot to be afraid of what that closeness could mean, of the pain it could bring. Goddess help me, but I wanted him in every part of me.

And then, it was gone. From my soul, at least. My lust befuddled mind was certain he'd pulled back a bit and started to pout.

Then, he kissed me again and this time there was nothing remotely chaste or gentle about it. Patrick kissed me like I was the only woman in the universe, like he was trying to crawl inside me and set up house. I forgot about wanting his soul to touch mine and focused on his body, his tongue, the wonderfully stinging trail his hands were leaving as they worked my shirt off my body.

The shirt was gone seconds after I realized he was tugging at it. Gone sailing over our heads to join his clothing somewhere in the dark. And then his face was nuzzling between my breasts, licking at the curve spilling out of my silk bra, sucking at the top of my tattoo where it curled around my left breast.

I groaned, trying to push myself up off the bed, to help his eager fingers find the hooks across my back that would release my breasts. And then he found it and freed them. Freed them so they could be taken prisoner by his hot, hungry mouth. My breath caught in my throat as his lips fastened on one nipple. His tongue…gods help me, but his tongue swirled and teased me, until I thought I was going to come. My reaction pleased him, because he growled low in his throat, then moved his mouth to my other nipple, giving it the same treatment.

I clawed at his back, trying to remember to breathe. He was so hot in my arms, like fire made flesh. So very hot and hard and wonderfully, deliciously, incredibly male. I wanted to impale myself on him, wanted to feel him inside me as far as he could go, wanted to be full and possessed and to possess him in return. Why, Goddess why wasn't he inside me already?

Oh. Right. Jeans. I wasn't naked yet. I pushed at him, pushed that beautiful mouth away from my breasts and started to push at my jeans. "I…these…off…."

I'm not at my most articulate when I'm that turned on, but Patrick understood me. He moved far enough from me to help me tug at the offending jeans, dragging them, and then my pair of silk undies off my body and into the dark room somewhere. And then he was touching me again, hotter and harder and more electric this time because there was nothing between us.

He started to pin me to the bed, but I meet him halfway, pushing him back until he was sitting propped against the headboard. I grabbed his arms before they could resume their wandering, making him groan in protest.

"Shhh," I leaned forward and licked his lips. "I want to see you first."

That earned me a look from those kelp colored eyes. I leaned in again, licking at his nipple. "Don't worry, I want you too bad to linger very long. But I have to see."

The moonlight streaming through the window cast its shadow over him, throwing the angles of his body into relief. Patrick wasn't a big man, but he wasn't small. His shoulders were broad, which I liked. His chest was hairless, which I liked. And the rigid member jutting up from his groin? Oh, I decided I liked that very much too.

Not huge, no. Certainly not small either. A little on the plus side, but not enough to be painful. I held Patrick's hands prisoner as I leaned down and licked at his cock. Just a small lick, a bit of a tease more than anything, but it brought a groan from somewhere deep inside him.

"Zera, I swear…"

I smiled up at him, then licked him again. He gasped and groaned, beautiful eyes fluttering closed.

She's trying to kill me,

he thought, and I swear, I swear I heard it.

I laughed, moving my body up to straddle his. "No, silly," I said as I leaned in to lick at his neck. I let his hands go then, moving my hands down his body to position him against my sex. "I told you, I'm just trying to fuck you."

Patrick's eyes shot open and his hands tightened on my waist, holding me very still. His voice was hoarse and breathy, he had to lick his lips twice to speak.

"Whatever my lady wishes." And then he was inside me, pushing up with one hard stroke that made me whimper with the sheer joy of it. My body stretched and filled, and I shivered against the hard, hot length of him moving inside me.

Yes, I thought, please Goddess, yes.

Open your eyes, love. Open your eyes and let me see you.

There was pleading in the voice, pleading and lust, desire and need and…something else I didn't think I was supposed to notice, so I let it be. I opened my eyes, to see Patrick watching me. His face was so close, I had to kiss him.

He groaned against my mouth, his tongue hungry and caressing. One hand came up from my waist to clinch in my hair. He kissed me again like he wanted to crawl inside and set up shop and I didn't mind. I wanted him to do it, I wanted him to come inside me anyway he could. I wanted his body inside mine, I wanted his tongue in my mouth, I wanted his mind touching mine. I wanted to feel his heat down to my soul again.

Patrick pulled his lips away from mine and stared at me. And I knew then he'd heard me, or at the least felt what I wanted. This is the point where other men pulled away, this is the point where other men decided I was too much trouble, too demanding.

But Patrick only smiled, a surprised, happy smile. And he kissed me again, harder this time, more possessive.

I squirmed against him, my hips beating down on him harder, faster. Mine, I thought.

Mine, mine, mine.

As if in agreement, Patrick thrust harder inside me, that hand on my waist becoming tighter, forcing me to be almost still. I wanted to fight against it, wanted to ride him harder until he screamed for me, until he begged me to stop, until he pleaded with me to make him mine. Mine, mine, mine.

Yours, yes.

The thought came to me clearly, even though Patrick didn't stop kissing me.

Yours, however you want me.

If this had been a rational moment, I'd have been frightened. Not only because Patrick had spoken in my head. Telepaths were rare, but not unheard of. But his words had the ring of a vow, a pledge. They didn't sound like words simply spoken in the heat of passion.

But this wasn't a rational moment and it was just what I wanted to hear from him. My body hummed with power and I locked my arms around his neck, using it for leverage to ride him harder.

Patrick groaned, letting his hand slip from my hair. "Love….love, wait…I…" He was sweating and I kissed the sweat from his brow, then bent to nip at his earlobe.

Love, please. I can't take much more.

Don't care. Want you to come inside me.

I will….gods know I will, but you first…