Craving Resurrection

Page 20


“Yer goin’ to kill me,” he said quietly, as he braced himself above me.
His lips met mine before the words were fully formed and the second he’d finished speaking, his tongue was in my mouth, rubbing against mine. He tasted like cigarettes, something I’d never imagined I’d enjoy, but I couldn’t get enough of him. There was something about the way he touched me, the way he held back even though I made it clear that I was all in—it turned me on even more. It gave me the courage I may not have had otherwise. I let go of the blankets at my waist, the need to feel his skin was so strong that I moaned into his mouth as my hands slipped under the front of his t-shirt where it was gaping between us.
“Yer beautiful,” he whispered as his lips left mine and played gently against my jaw.
I tilted my head back to give him better access as he moved to my jaw. The sensation made me both shiver and burn, and when I felt the gentle scrape of his teeth, I couldn’t stop my hips from rolling against his. The blankets were still between us, creating a barrier that I hated, but when I tried to push them out of the way his hips jutted sharply downward, immediately giving me the friction I craved and trapping the blankets more firmly between us.
“Ye’ll leave dose dere,” he ordered, giving no further explanation.
Our hips moved in tandem as he held my hands at my shoulders, bracing himself with his elbows. I hated the few inches that separated us then. I was no longer conscious of anything except the need to be closer, to rub my body against his and feel more of his skin.
“Please, Patrick,” I whispered into his ear as he bit down gently on mine. “Let’s just move the blankets. That’s all.” I brought my knees up as far as I could and laid them wide in an attempt to feel more of him, and my breath caught as I succeeded.
“Aye, move de blankets, she says,” he chided into my ear, his voice taking on a bit of Peg’s odd accent, “Dat’s all, she says.”
“Please. It’s fine. Please.” I didn’t care how I sounded. I needed him now. I wanted to break his control so badly he’d give me what I wanted. I arched my chest up—my coup de grace—and just like I knew they would, the thin straps of my tank top became trapped under my shoulders and the front stretched so far that my breasts popped from the top. Who would’ve known that having a ratty old tank top that left me half bare if I twisted just right would come in handy some day?
Patrick froze completely above me, before slowly lifting his face to meet my eyes. He was angry. So angry, that I immediately flushed in embarrassment.
He closed his eyes tightly, his nostrils flaring and his mouth pulled up into a grimace before he lost whatever battle he’d been fighting in his head. I watched him, my hands still trapped under his against the sheets as his head tipped down and his eyes opened, staring at my breasts. He didn’t move, but surprisingly, he didn’t even need to.
Knowing that he was looking at me obliterated any embarrassment I’d felt and immediately ratcheted up my desire even farther. I began to move my hips against his tentatively, waiting for his response and, after a moment, he shoved down against me again. As he did, his head moved and suddenly my left nipple was between his lips and he was sucking it against the roof of his mouth. My breath caught as I tried to be quiet, but it was almost impossible to keep the noises from pouring out of my mouth. It all felt so good.
Until suddenly, it didn’t.
Patrick dropped his hips, trapping mine against the bed and bit down on my nipple hard enough that it wasn’t quite painful, but wasn’t pleasant, either. That’s when I lost the battle against sound and let out a mournful and pained whimper.
“Ye’ll not move again, do ye hear me?” he asked harshly as soon as he’d let my nipple go. “I’ve made meself clear, yet ye keep pushin’ and pushin’.”
His tone was scathing, and I immediately felt tears hit the back of my eyes as I tried to pull my hands from his. I suddenly felt naked, the thought of his gaze on my breasts becoming something that turned me cold and made me panic.
“Let go!” I choked. “Let go! Let go! Let go!”
My words gained in speed and volume as I said it over and over again, but it only took seconds before his gaze turned from surprise to horror. He let go of my hands like they were on fire, and his mouth hung open as I pulled up my tank top and pushed at his chest.
“Leave me alone,” I sniffled as soon as I was covered again. “Just leave me alone.” I brought my arms to my chest to protect myself, curling my hands into fists at my neck.
“No,” he said quietly, bringing one hand to cup the side of my face and leaving it there even as I tried to pull away. “Ye’ve got it wrong, love.”
His voice was so gentle that my breath hitched, but I lowered my eyes. I didn’t want to face him. I just wanted him to leave, so I could curl up into a little ball and pretend that I hadn’t just made a colossal fool of myself.
“Amy, look at me,” he ordered. “I’ll not move until ye do.”
I hated him a little bit then.
When I finally forced my eyes to his, the gaze that met mine was solemn.
“Dere are two types of women in dis world,” he told me, rubbing his thumb along my cheekbone. “De ones ye fuck, and de ones ye marry.”
My body jolted, and I wanted nothing more than to slap him across the face. I knew I was glaring, and I felt the tears drying into little hard lines against my temples where they’d run off my face.