So Wrong. Part 7

“Not being funny. Just getting ready.” His voice was smooth and low, and so strangely tender.

“Patrick,” I whispered. I didn’t know what else to say.

“Do you know that I have been able to think of nothing else but your body since I had you? That sometimes at work I literally have to go jack off in the bathroom because just remembering how you looked when you came was enough to give me a permanent hard-on?”

I pressed back against him, hating that he still wore his pants. Not realizing he actually wanted an answer, I cried out when suddenly a hand grabbed a breast and two fingers twisted a nipple through my clothing.

“Do you?!”

“No.”

“You had me half out of my mind before and now that I know what it’s like to fuck you, I can’t stop wanting. I’m going to bury myself inside you all night.”

He didn’t say this roughly, or wantonly, or crudely. It sounded nearly like a confession, an almost guilty admission.

Something about his words and the