Last Call (Bad Habits Book 3) (22 page)

He took a step toward me, shoulders square, eyes burning.
 

I threw my hands up. “Ugh, stop looking at me like that, Patrick.”

He took another step, his eyes smoldering deeper still. “Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

Another step. “I’ll stop when you do.” The words were a quiet promise. One more step. He was just inches from me, stealing my breath.
 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whispered, my eyes still locked on his.
 

He slipped a hand into my hair. “I think you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then tell me to leave. Look me in the eye and tell me to go.”

I searched his eyes and opened my mouth to speak as thoughts screamed through my brain like sleet. But instead of saying the word I should have said, I closed my eyes and pressed my lips to his.

It was relief I felt the moment we touched, frantic relief as I sucked in a breath through my nose, eyes closed, breathing him in, not knowing where it came from, not caring enough to stop. My arms were around his neck. His tongue passed my lips and tangled with mine. His hands slipped down my waist, hips pressing me against the counter as I pulled him as close as I could, and we bumped into the cabinets with a thump.
 

It didn’t faze us.
 

My legs wound around his waist, and he spun around, pinning me against the wall with his hips, one hand on my thigh, the other braced against the wall as he kissed me so deeply I couldn’t get enough oxygen. My back was flush against the wall, hands scrambling blindly for the hem of his shirt, not wanting to stop, not wanting to think. Just wanting his skin, wanting him so badly that my body ached.
 

Months of wanting him. Months of needing him.
 

Every reason I had for staying away dissipated and disappeared.

He was the last person to touch me like this, and he hadn’t forgotten a single thing. The way his lips moved, his tongue against mine, his fingers. Maybe it was instinctive, like our bodies were tuned to each other, because I hadn’t forgotten either. But reasons didn’t matter, not in that fevered moment as I pulled his shirt off, and not in any of the moments after.

Patrick broke away for the briefest moment as the shirt slipped over his head, mouth hung open, lids heavy, but his lips were against mine again before it hit the ground.
 

He spun me again, and I shifted to hang on, knocking him off balance and into the hall table. The lamp fell over with a crash that left us in near darkness, but I barely noticed — every thought was focused on his hand as it slipped up my waist. He pushed off the wall, our lips still connected as he carried me toward the bedroom until he ran into my closed door, pushing me against it. His skin was so hot, so soft, fingers digging into my thigh, hard length pressing against me as he flexed his hips. I moaned into his mouth just as his free hand found the doorknob and turned.

I tightened my arms around his neck, bringing us as close as we could get, our lips a hard seam. He kicked the door closed, and in three steps, he was lowering me onto my bed. My hands found the hem of his jeans, heart hammering so hard it hurt as I felt him shift to kick off his boots. I did the same when he pulled off my shirt and threw it, and our eyes were down, drinking each other in. I looked down his chest at the tattoos running across his skin, my fingers trailing down to his waist and to the buttons, and I looked up and into his eyes just as I slipped my hand inside and wrapped my fingers around him.
 

His eyelids fluttered, a heavy sigh passing his lips as he flexed, pressing himself into my palm. He took a breath, then took my mouth, hot and wet, lips swollen.
 

I’d missed him so much. Too much.

He made quick work of the rest of my clothes, first slipping a hand under my back to unclasp my bra faster than I could have, then did the same with the button of my jeans as my free hand pulled his pants over the curve of his ass.

I watched him back away, his eyes dark and deep, locked on mine as he dropped his pants. And just like that, he was naked, right there in front of me like I’d imagined a hundred times. He pulled off my pants in a split second, and then I reached for him, begging him to hurry, before reason found me and I could say no.

There was nothing I wanted in that moment more than him. Only him.

My hands found his length again, my thumb skimming across his crown, down his shaft and the barbell there, remembering what it would feel like to have him inside of me. My body clenched at the thought. His fingers trailed up my thigh, hooked my panties and pulled them out of the way as he licked his lips and dragged the pad of his warm finger up the wet line.
 

I gasped.

“Yes,” I whispered up at him, and he kissed my bottom lip, biting gently as he slipped that finger inside of me.

My hips flexed against him. Another finger slipped in, curling as he palmed me.
 

I couldn’t keep my eyes open, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, not with him stroking my body like it was his.

My body squeezed his fingers, hips rolling hard. I was close — so close. And then they were gone.
 

“Not yet,” he whispered, reaching for my nightstand while I panted, pinned underneath him. I could feel the tip of him just against me, and I moaned, rolling my hips to force him in. He kissed my parted lips as he tore open the condom. “Not yet.”

My eyes wouldn’t open, but I wanted to see him, so I pried my lids apart to catch a glimpse of the top of his head, the lines of his shoulders and biceps, his hand gripping his shaft as he rolled the condom on and angled himself to press against me. And then, he looked at me, looked through me as his hand cupped my neck, and mine found his jaw, and our lips came together once more at the exact moment that he flexed until he filled me completely.

Forget all of the moments before or after. In that moment, we were perfect and whole.
 

His hand squeezed my hip, holding me still as he pulled out slow and slammed in. Then again. And again and again. His hands were on my breasts, in my hair, pinning my arms over my head. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to.
 

“Harder.”

His hand clamped around my wrists tightened, his fingers on my hip squeezing as he gave me what I wanted, rolling his body, knowing exactly what I needed. And when I opened my eyes and saw him above me — his dark eyes, the swell of his lips, the cut of his jaw — I lost the hold I had on my body, neck snapping into an arch as I sucked in a breath and held it. My heart stopped, starting again with a bang, and I pulsed around him as I let go, squeezing him, holding him.

He was right behind me, kissing me once, deep and possessive, before he took what he needed. A deep thrust, his muscles tight as a soft cry passed his lips, and he rocked his body, filling me as much as he could, as if through the motion he could claim me. As if I was anyone else’s.

As he slowed, he collapsed on top of me, face buried in my neck as he let my hands go. I cradled him in my arms, still too drunk off of him to think. It was a glorious limbo, those few minutes before our minds caught up with our bodies. But when they did, I felt the shift, the wall between us, creeping taller, sprouting barbed wire and broken glass.
 

He propped himself on his forearms and looked down at me, hands in my hair.
 

My voice was rough. “That was …”

“I know,” he said as his thumb shifted against my cheek.

“This doesn’t change anything,” I said, willing it to be true.

His eyes were on my lips. “I know.”
 

And then, I said the thing that would be the final nail in my coffin, pushing my fears aside with false bravado because I needed him. That much, at least, I knew. And I could have him, for a moment maybe. And I’d make that moment last as long as I could.

“Can we do it again?”

He smiled and met my eyes. “Absolutely.”
 

Patrick

TWO DAYS IN A ROW, Rose was in my arms when I woke.
 

Whatever magic fueled my luck, I only hoped it didn’t run out.
 

My eyes were closed as we lay in the dark, her back pressed against my chest, my arm nestled between her breasts and forearm. Our fingers were clasped, shifting slowly as she breathed in, breathed out.
 

It was early — my alarm hadn’t gone off yet — but I knew there would be no going back to sleep. The difference between that morning and the morning before mirrored in my mind. From my fears and hopes yesterday to today — to the moment that I knew when she woke up that she wouldn’t pull away. She wouldn’t say no. For now, at least.

The night before rolled through my thoughts, and I smiled, savoring the sweet burn of the memory like the first sip of whiskey after a long, lonely day.
 

The kiss — that first kiss, when she closed her eyes and gave herself to me — was everything I knew it would be. I stepped into her knowing the risk, but I saw it in her eyes. She didn’t want me to stop any more than I wanted to, and instead of telling me to leave, she gave me that kiss, the one that opened that cracked window enough that I could climb in.

Part of me wondered how long it would last. The rest of me told that part to shut up and go with it.

A good while later, when I finally convinced myself to leave, I kissed the curve of Rose’s neck in parting. She shifted against me and hummed.

“See you later, Rosie,” I whispered, and she kissed my fingers before letting me go and settled back into sleep.
 

I climbed out of her warm bed and pulled on my clothes, grabbing my phone on the way out of her room, trying to keep the smile on my face in check. The broken lamp was still on the floor, the only thing really intact being the shade. I swept it all up and threw it away with Valentino watching me, tail curled around his back paws as he licked his front paw like a prince, then set up her coffee machine for her, leaving a sticky note on the start button.

Have a good day, Rosie. -Patrick

Her apartment was quiet as I left — Lily’s door open and Ellie absent — as was the hall, though my thoughts screamed Rose’s name.

I unlocked my apartment to find West stretched out on the couch, reading. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I said as I closed the door.

That one word was all it took. He looked me over with shock on his face. “What happened?”

My smile somehow stretched wider. “Rose.”

More shock. “Rose?”

I smiled.
 

West blinked. “How the hell?”

I didn’t want to sit down, didn’t want to stop moving, so I made coffee. The energy working through me was so different from yesterday. Rather than being amped up from wondering what it all meant, I felt certain. Quiet. Now the only question was when I would see her again.
 

I poured out the old coffee and filled up the pot. “She came home from work yesterday pissed. I mean, really pissed. She was spitting nails at me from the second she walked in the door, told me I couldn’t stay anymore.” I poured the water into the tank as I spoke and re-loaded the filter and grounds, hitting the start button.

“And then?” He sat up and laid his book on the coffee table.

The machine began to sputter as I walked through the kitchen and sat in the armchair. “And then, I went for it. I was just about to kiss her, but she beat me to it.” I shook my head, smirking as I rubbed my jaw. “Then she was taking off my shirt, and then we were in her bed. I swear, I thought she was going to stop me at any moment, but she didn’t.”

He scratched at his beard. “What does it mean?”

I shrugged, shaking my head again. “She says nothing. I’m not sure I believe her. I’m not even sure she believes herself.”

“And for you?” he asked.

“I’ll take what I can get. I don’t know what it means, and I don’t need to know. Not yet. So I’m just going to take it one day at a time.”

West smiled. “I knew if one of you made a move, you’d end up back together.”

“Hey, man. No one says we’re together. I’m not counting on that, not this soon, at least. Who knows. Rose could spend the day freaking out and trip on me again tonight.”

He sat back in his chair and threaded his fingers behind his head. “She won’t.”

I chuckled. “Says you.”

“Yeah, says me. We’ve been watching the two of you for months. Rose can say all she wants that she’s not interested, but that’s a bold-faced lie.”

“Because she doesn’t
want
to be interested in me. That’s the problem, and that’s exactly why I’m not getting my hopes up, but I feel better than I have in a long, long time. Even if it’s just temporary, I’m riding the wave until the surge is over.”

“Well, if you ask me, it’s been a long time coming. I hope it’s not temporary, this time. I hope this is it for you two.”

I sighed, smiling, imagining it were true for only a moment before I brought myself back down to reality. “It could be sweet.”

Rose

I woke before my alarm went off, rolling over in the dark, though I nestled back into my comforter, not quite ready for the cold world outside my bed just yet. I was more relaxed, more sated than I had been in forever.

My mind groaned into gear and the night came back to me, piece by piece, kiss by kiss. A smile found its way onto my lips.

What are you doing, Rose?

I wasn’t even sure how it had happened. One minute I could have set him on fire, but he’d set me on fire instead.
 

It had been coming for months, I supposed, an inevitable explosion after being in a pressure cooker with him for all that time. It was exactly what I’d been afraid of when he started staying with me. Now the lines had been crossed, and there was probably no going back.

The only thing that surprised me was how little I regretted it.

I’d been fighting my feelings for him since we’d broken up, and now I was free of it all. Like I’d been drowning, kicking and clawing to get to the surface, but it wasn’t until I let go and sank into his dark arms that I found peace. And that’s exactly how I felt. Peaceful. Like everything was going to be just fine.