ChapterEighteen
IMOGEN
Patrick nurses his drink until the last ice cube melts. Finally, he stands, helps me out of the booth, leads me to the street.
The short walk to his apartment feels like a million miles.
I don't wait.
The second he closes the door, I push him against the wall.
He responds quickly, pulling a condom from his pocket, pushing my dress off my shoulders, peeling my skirt up my waist.
I undo the button of his jeans and rub him over his boxers.
"Fuck." He breathes into my air. "You're going to make me come."
"Fuck me." I can feel him through the fabric, hard and thick and ready for me.
I need that.
I really, really need that.
"Now." I push his jeans off his waist.
Then the boxers.
He nods, rips the foil packet with his teeth, rolls the condom over his cock.
Then he switches our positions, pins me to the door, lifts my hips.
He drives into me with one hard, deep thrust.
It's intense. If I wasn't so keyed up, it would be too much. But I am and it's not and I feel wild in the best possible way.
I arch into him.
He digs his nails into my hip, brings his lips to my neck. He sucks on my tender skin as he drives into me.
Again and again.
With perfect, slow, steady strokes.
Again, I wind quickly. I'm already wracked with desire. More desire than I thought was possible.
And I have more.
He drives into me again.
I slip my hand between my legs, rub myself as he drives into me.
Again.
Again.
The perfect mix of penetration and external stimulation.
The perfect mix of him and me.