14. Patrick

Walking back into Dane's home was surreal. I was no longer shocked by the difference between the simple, almost rundown exterior and the beautifully renovated interior. Now, more than mere aesthetics, I was surprised by how the place felt as I entered and slipped off my tennis shoes.

It felt comfortable and welcoming. Those were two words I bet few people used to describe Dane Walker.

I sat on a stool at his palatial marble island and watched him press buttons to preheat the stove then pull a pizza out of the freezer. He rippled beneath his T-shirt, every movement a choreographed dance of muscles pulling and pushing, bunching and relaxing. Something about seeing them hidden behind the veil of thin fabric was more alluring than if he'd been naked. I had to imagine them beneath, his skin smooth and taut, the light smattering of hair dotting his chest and stomach.

"... drink?"

I startled and met his gaze, suddenly glad I was sitting behind the island so he couldn't see the way I was trying to burst free of my jeans.

"What? Drink? Oh, yeah, whatever."

He cocked his head and stared, his brows bunched. "I have beer, Coke, milk, or water. Oh, I think I have a couple bottles of wine. I can't promise they're good. I don't know the difference between a white and a red."

I grinned, doubting that was true. Dane played the dumb, stoic jock, but I'd already seen several more layers during our brief time together, and I was starting to think he might be one of the most complex men I'd ever dated.

"I'll try whatever wine you have. After the first glass, they're all the same anyway."

He thought a moment, like a dog processing a human's command, then grinned and nodded. "One wine coming right up."

He turned and opened the pantry. I could see one side filled with common staples found in any well-stocked kitchen. Another of Dane's layers revealed itself in the way each item was perfectly placed with its label facing outward, mimicking the most diligent grocer's shelves.

Dane was meticulous, almost to the point of obsessive.

He bent to retrieve something from the bottom shelf. His jeans stretched across his perfect ass. Everything south of my border throbbed. Then he looked at a higher shelf, arching his back without standing straight, and the first dribble of pre-cum slithered out. I glanced down to find a dark spot spreading where my head chaffed against the fabric.

"How long will the pizza take to cook?" I asked, my voice almost squeaking.

He glanced back, still bent and arched. Fuck him and his perfection. "Box says twenty. Preheat takes forever on this stove, so we probably have thirty minutes."

I wanted to race around that island and rip his clothes off, but a flutter of nerves held me frozen.

He straightened and turned, a bottle of white wine in one hand, and leaned across the marble. "This is the best I've got."

I glanced at the label and nodded. "For a guy who doesn't know wine, you sure picked a great one. That's perfect."

"What can I say? I'm a man of many talents." He grinned, then opened a drawer and retrieved an opener, pausing as he raised it to the bottle. "Shit, this isn't chilled."

And that was my opening.

"You could put it in the freezer while we wait on the pizza," I said. "But what should we do while we wait for all that preheating and chilling? It's so hot in here, and I feel like I'm wearing layers."

He choked out a laugh as he glanced at my shirt made for a hot summer's day. "Take off anything you like. I would hate for you to be all hot and bothered." He turned and shoved the wine into a space between frozen steaks and chicken breasts in his freezer. By the time he turned back, my shirt was on the counter.He blinked a few times, then his eyes brightened. He reached down and pulled his own shirt over his head and tossed it onto the counter. He crossed his arms, flexing his biceps and pecs in the most delicious way. "Your move."

I stood and walked around and into the kitchen, stopping at the far end to face him, then reached down and unfastened the top button of my jeans.

He didn't hesitate, mirroring my every move.

I unzipped my fly.

He did the same. A forest of black poured out before his thickness escaped, fully erect with throbbing veins.

"Damn." I licked my lips, letting my eyes drift up his flat stomach and across his bulging chest and arms.

One of his hands rose to trace fingers across his chest, then he gripped it and squeezed like he was kneading bread. He let his head fall backward as though someone else's nails roamed his skin.

"Not fair," I said. "It's my move."

He closed the distance between us faster than I could blink. Calloused hands grabbed my arms and pressed me back into the cold metal of the refrigerator door. I shuddered.

"Fuck turns. I want your pants off. Now." His growl was insistent, bordering on an order. Heat flushed between us as he pressed his body into mine. Another slip of pre-cum spilled across my head.

"Somebody's leaky today," he said, using his thumb to wipe the slickness and lift it into his mouth. "Mmm. You taste good."

His jaw was set, like he was about to charge into a building ablaze. If I hadn't known he was turned on, the determination etched across his face might've frightened me.

"Take off your jeans." He left no room for argument.

I reached down, palms against my hips, and shimmied out of the tight denim. Mr. Leaky popped free and smacked against my stomach. Dane dropped to his knees before I could step out of my pants. He gripped my balls, tugging them back, and shoved my skin-rigid cock all the way down his throat.

"Oh shit!" I said, banging my head against the fridge.

His fingers squeezed, and ripples of pain shot from my balls up my spine, but his lips and tongue, wet against my cock, made it impossible to feel anything but shivers of pleasure.

I reached down and stroked his hair, finally gripping it in my fingers. The wolf devouring me rumbled.

Dane ignored the preheat beeps, releasing me from his mouth, grabbing my hips, and spinning me around to face the fridge. "Brace your hands and arch your back," he instructed.

I'd barely had time to comply before he'd pressed outward with his forearms, spreading my legs wide. I sucked in a sharp breath as his hands pulled my cheeks open and his tongue speared against my hole.

"No puckering." He spanked the meat of my butt.

"Ow!"

"And no whining." He smacked again. This time, there was a thrill of something other than pain with the slap.

"Yes, sir," I said, teasing.

His fingers dug in. "Yeah, call me ‘sir.' I like that."

Who is this guy?I thought, right before his tongue went from circling to spearing inside me.

"Oh fuck. How did I not see how long your tongue is?"

Smack!"No chatter."

A squeal slipped out. That one would leave a mark.

I moaned and hugged the fridge as his tongue dove deeper. My cock slid against the fridge's surface, icy at first, but now slick and inviting. Each time he shoved forward, I humped the appliance again. It was weird, but hot as hell.

My eyes were facing away and squeezed shut, and all my attention was on not coming all over the kitchen, so I didn't hear when his pants dropped to the floor. He'd Houdinied out of them somehow while devouring my ass like some Fourth of July pie-eating contestant.

When his mouth finally left my butt and my fingers relaxed their grip on the seam of the fridge door, I felt his hands slide up my sides, then along my arms. His body leaned into me, squeezing me again into the metal. As his teeth dug into the back of my neck and teased along my collarbone, his fat cock parted my cheeks, sliding up and down, his own hot slickness greasing the way.

"Arch your back for me," he growled.

I did, and his dick changed angles, pressing against my hole, searching for entry.

I puckered, then relaxed. I wanted him so badly. "Please, get inside me."

"What?"

"Get inside me, sir."

He bit my neck again, and one hand reached around to grip my pulsing cock. "Condom?" he muttered. "I'm on PREP," I groaned.

"So am I, but still—"

"God, I want you inside me."

His head slipped in.

"Oh damn. Go slow," I breathed.

His fingers dug into my shoulders as his teeth sank deeper. I could feel his need, his hunger, his heartbeat against my back. His cock throbbed just outside my hole, begging for entry, as his head lingered just inside me.

He froze. "You feel so fucking good, but we shouldn't."

I squeezed, earning a groan from him. "Get a condom."

He slipped out and pressed a kiss to my neck, the first tender thing he'd done in an evening of hungry passion. "Don't move."

"Yes, sir." I grinned into the fridge.

He slapped my ass again, then bounded away.

My head turned when he reappeared. His body was covered in sweat, his cock still rock hard, almost as impressive as the rest of him. How had this man, this perfect man, wanted me? I'd barely had time to allow the question to form before the rip of the condom package stole my gaze.

"I didn't even know that was a size," I said, my eyes suddenly saucers.

Dane grinned as he rolled the rubber across his length. "Hope you can handle him." He squirted lube from a bottle I hadn't seen in his other hand, slicked himself, then added another dab and ran his fingers between my cheeks.

"Oh, that's cold," I said.

His finger slipped inside me. My whole body clenched.

"That warmer?"

"Uh-huh" was all I could manage. My fridge gripping doubled as his knuckle vanished.

"Tight boy, aren't you?"

"Oh crap." The rest of his finger slipped inside. "I don't … I haven't … lately. Shit."

His second fingertip slipped in, stretching me open, cutting off whatever senseless thought was trying to escape my mouth. Then the second knuckle wriggled in, and that finger joined the first.

I could barely think.

He spun his fingers slowly, separating them, splitting me wider. He pulled back, then drove forward, side to side, out and in. By the time he slipped out, his fingers were the only things that existed in my world.

Until his head found the mark again and slipped inside.

"Mother-freakin' … damn."

I was pretty sure he grunted a laugh, but my brain cells refused to smash together to comprehend anything. Then his teeth dug into my shoulder, and he slid further inside, slowly … so slowly. He gripped my arms again, fingers like claws of iron.

He couldn't touch me enough. Half of him was inside, and I thought I might pass out.

Then he shoved the rest in, and stars erupted in the fridge's shiny reflection.

Somewhere inside me, he'd breached a second entrance I barely knew existed. I'd felt it touched before but never entered. It felt as if my whole body was filled with his cock. His body smothered mine. His pubes melted against my butt. He couldn't get deeper. It wasn't possible.

He didn't move. "You feel that?" he asked.

I groaned, but deep inside, I laughed.

He rammed into me like a baseball player slamming his bat into the holder after a bad strikeout.

I muttered, groaned, and moaned all at the same time. There was no way he could know what words I'd said, because I didn't even know what they were. I wasn't sure they were even words.

For a heartbeat, the world froze.

Neither of us moved.

All sounds silenced.

Then he pulled nearly out of my ass and shoved himself even deeper past that second entrance.

"OH SHIT! Damn. Fuck, fuck, fuck!" My head lolled back, and I had to blink away stars.

But Dane was a man on a mission.

He slid out, then back in, again and again. I lost track of time and space. We could've been in a bedroom, under the stars, or drifting on a ship on the ocean. It didn't matter. All I could think about or feel was his body—his whole body—crawling up my leg, into my asshole, and jumping up and down like a horny clown on a pogo stick.

Every hair on my arms snapped to attention, and the kitchen blurred. I'd grown so used to the feel of the fridge that it startled me when he grabbed me roughly and guided me to face the other direction. He didn't pull; he just wheeled us around and bent me over the island. My arms spread across the black and blue marble, and I sucked in a breath as my cheek turned so I could see his form looming behind me.

He slid deeper, then out, then deeper. His cock was in my chest and legs and toes and hair … and dammit … all up my ass. I didn't know how long he fucked me like that. I didn't care, I would've stayed there, bent over, letting him ravage me all night if that's what he wanted.

Damn, he felt good.

"I want to see your face," he barked, wrapping his arms around me and slamming our bodies together. He frog-walked us into the den like that, sweaty and squeezed and fully joined.

Then he slipped out, spun me around, and tossed me onto the couch.

Every muscle on his ridiculous frame glistened in the lamplight. Veins and arteries bulged as though he'd just worked out, and his cock … holy cow, it looked even bigger than I'd remembered before it decided to wreck me from the inside.

There was no time to breathe or take in the view. Dane landed and wrenched my legs apart so fast I barely had a second to think.

This new angle opened me up in ways I hadn't expected, granting him even deeper access than before. When he slid inside, I nearly leaped off the couch.

"Oh god. I think you just hit my tonsils?"

He glared down, something between a hungry sneer and a smile splitting his face. "Can you take it harder?"

"Fuck yes," I said without thinking.

I really should've put more thought into it.

He released my ankles, resting them across his shoulders, then leaned forward and gripped my shoulders for leverage, planting a kiss on my lips in the process.

"Hands and feet inside the car. This is about to get rough."

The gleam in his eyes made my breath catch in my throat.

Then he rammed inside me again, grinding and shoving. Skin slapped against skin. His grip on my shoulders tightened, pressing me down and him further into me.

My vision whitened. I reached up and gripped his chest; an unmovable wall of stone. The sensation of sweaty skin and the fire in his eyes lit something in me. My hands balled into fists, and I shoved them into his pecs.

His eyes widened and flared. "Do that," he ordered. "Make me feel you."

I gripped his arms and squeezed with all my strength.

He lunged again and again.

Sweat dripped from his brow and chest. His hair hung limp across his forehead. His thrusts quickened.

Then he rocked higher onto his knees, braced against my shoulders again, and threw himself into me.

Tears leaked out when he hit that spot.

One flash of heat and pleasure followed another. The ceiling swam, and his face became my world.

His eyes.

His lips.

I'd never felt anything like it.

His back straightened, his head lifted, and I watched as his abs, already flawless, bunched into tight-packed bricks.

"Patrick!" he bellowed.

"Fill me up, dammit. Harder, Dane!"

He moved so fast, I could barely keep up.

His groans grew louder. Sweat flew with each thrust.

He cried out, "I'm coming. Patrick, I'm coming!"

I reached for myself, but his hand got there first. He jerked me nearly as fast as his thrusts, and an urgent need welled within me.

My abs clenched, and my asshole tightened.

Dane shouted into the ceiling. He shoved harder. "Fuck!" he called with the first burst into the condom.

With each thrust, I felt him come again and again.

"Oh shit," I groaned. I was so close.

His stroking quickened as his thrusts slowed.

"Stay inside me. Fuck me, dammit. Don't you dare stop!" I yelled.

He leaned over, a new light in his eyes. He pressed into me again, willing the last of his hardness to remain. With one hand, he stroked me, strong and fast, as he leaned down and devoured my mouth with his own.

The kiss, the passion, his body enveloping mine—they were all too much. My back arched and my head fell back into the cushions as wave after wave poured onto my stomach and his chest.

He kissed me long after I'd stilled, his lips now gentle and tender, his tongue teasing and sweet. His hands no longer gripped me like clamps but caressed me with the softness of a lover's touch.

My head swam. Who was this man? How could he go from raging beast to … to a swaddling blanket wrapped snug about a naked baby?

Even soft, he was long enough to stay inside me while shifting. His hand found my hair and caressed. His lips pressed against mine one last time, then he leaned back and stared into my eyes; searching or studying, I wasn't sure.

"You're pretty awesome," he said without a hint of a smile, his examination taking in every detail of my face.

"That was … Dane, that was world class. Seriously—"

His brows knitted, and he met my gaze. His voice, when he spoke, was conviction and thought bound by hope.

"No, you are awesome." He took his hand from my head and pressed his index finger lightly into my chest. "You are, Patrick Pierce."

I wanted to say something, to respond, but my voice had fled the field, leaving my mouth agape and my eyes wide. Only one thought remained in my befuddled mind.

Dane thought Iwas awesome.