Her fingers grappled with his bow tie, loosening it, unbuttoning the starched collar, exposing his reddening throat beneath. He felt so large, so substantial, so different to Jay, and yet so complementary. Patrick’s hand, a big hand whose fingers nonetheless performed the most delicate surgery on a daily basis, slipped under her skirt, stroking Elyssa’s sheeny thighs, clamping her hip
. With his other hand, he lifted the fabric so that his knee could rise up and wedge itself against her sheer lace-covered sex.
“God,” he panted, tearing his lips off hers. “I have to have you. But I think the bed will be better…this time…”
Elyssa allowed him to propel her to the bed in a savage waltz, then unzip her dress and let it fall while she performed the same frantic operation on his shirt and trousers. Half-naked, they fell in a sideways heap onto the four-poster bed, their arms and legs everywhere. She had seen Patrick in swimming trunks before, so she knew he had a magnificent body, but, oh, she’d forgotten the sheer majesty of it—the shoulders, the pectoral muscles, the tight hard abdomen and the powerful limbs. A man in peak physical condition, capable of overpowering her as easily as if she were a rag doll, and yet, she knew he would never do so, would never use that formidable force against her.
He rolled over on his back, pulling her on top, waiting for her to settle her legs on either side of his hips before bringing her down for more kissing, more touching, more exploring. His intrepid fingers had found her underwear now, and they delved inside, finding the soft hillocks of her breasts, contrasting so well with the full-blooded hardness of her nipples. His mouth sought them out, freeing them from the lace cups with his teeth and tasting them while his hands moved downward, straight to the ripe split that waited, impatiently, inside those lacy panties for him.
Elyssa was relieved he’d had the presence of mind to remove the condom packet from his jacket pocket while she was undressing him, and, after peeling her knickers down and off, he freed himself from his boxers and slipped the rubber onto his rigid cock.
Patrick held Elyssa above him at her hips, allowing her pussy to slide up and down and over the head of his cock, never quite going far enough back to swallow it inside her. Instead he worked on her clit, circling it, rubbing it until she moaned her frustrated desires into his mouth.
“What’s that, Elyssa?” He broke the kiss, making her meet his searching blue eyes. “You want me? Is that it?”
“Please. Let me. Please.”
“It’s for you,” he said, relaxing his grip so that she was able to plunge down on that shaft in one triumphal move.
Patrick purred with pleasure at the guttural sound that was forced from her lips by the wonderful fullness his cock gave her. Elyssa supposed he didn’t realise that she was still sore from Jay’s attentions, so he was merciless from the start, but when she began to whimper and bite her lip, he relinquished control of the pace to her. She could have this any way she wanted, he seemed to imply. If that was his thinking, she had to admit it was smart—that way she would be more likely to want to come back for more.
Elyssa didn’t want to think of Jay, but the inevitable burn that Patrick’s cock was engendering made this difficult. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but it was definitely there, and this gave her a feeling of wantonness that was half-exciting, half-guilt-inducing.
“Don’t think about him!” said Patrick suddenly, sharply. “You don’t owe him anything. Think of me. This. Us. I’ve got you now, and I don’t want you thinking of anybody but me.”
Elyssa tried. She tried to focus on Patrick and Patrick alone, to focus on the pure sensation of his cock, taking it all the way inside, leaning down to let the base of it touch her clit, or leaning back to let it penetrate her all the more deeply. She was almost there, almost doing it, almost forgetting everything else, letting the tension build and build until it was close, so close to flying apart then…her phone bleeped.
“Ignore it,” gasped Patrick, face contorted like that of a man in pain, grabbing her upper arm and yanking her down into what should be the climactic kiss. But as he roared and bucked her up and down on his pelvis, almost dislodging her with the force of it, all she could think was, I bet that’s Jay.
“I’m sorry,” said Patrick, lying beside her, stroking her forehead. “You didn’t come, did you? Let me…” His fingers walked down to her pubis. His eyes were anxious, caring, loving.
She hated herself. “It’s okay, Patrick. Let’s just sleep…”
“We can try for round two later,” he said hopefully, but his face was defeated, pained.
“Yeah,” she said consolingly, kissing his lips. “Later.”
She watched the ceiling, waiting for him to sleep, desperate to check her phone, but ultimately afraid to. She had blown it. By thinking she could have them both, she had ensured that she would end up with neither. Jay would be devastated, and Patrick disappointed. She would leave before he woke and go back to Coventry to prepare for the conference in San Francisco. It would break her heart, but it was the only way. She lay like that until dawn, when she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
Chapter Three
A brisk knock at the door startled her awake.
“Room service.”
Patrick was stirring, his eyes bleary, his head as scrambled as hers by the look of him. “Don’t think I ordered…” he mumbled but the door opened anyway.
“Smoked salmon, scrambled eggs, toast, orange juice, coffee.”
“Jay!”
Elyssa wanted to bunch the sheet over her head and hide forever, but her limbs were frozen and all she could do with stare, mouth hanging open, as a Jay, who was far more suave than anybody had a right to be at six thirty a.m., glided around the side of the bed, pushing a wheeled trolley laden with food.
“What the fuck?” demanded Patrick, almost looking on the verge of laughter. Almost.
“So then,” said Jay conversationally, perching himself on the side of the bed and beginning to pour coffee from a cafetière. “No need to ask how it went last night.”
“Jay…” said Elyssa tentatively, wanting to fall at his feet and beg forgiveness, but settling instead for a hand on his arm.