“Well…”

“Dat’s what ye said.”

“Goddamn it, Patrick,” I sighed, “If I left it up to you—” My words were cut short as I was flicked right in the center of my forehead. It completely stunned me for a moment; we’d been having what I thought was a serious and heated conversation and he flicked me in the forehead?

I must have looked as shocked as I felt because Patrick began laughing hysterically at whatever he saw on my face.

“What the hell?” I screeched after a moment of complete silence, throwing my body weight against him until his back hit the bed. I scrambled to hold him down as he continued to laugh beneath me, ineffectively trying to fight me off as I flicked at his head.

“Ye shouldn’t take de Lord’s name in vain, Amy,” he tried to scold through his laughter, “I’ll not have any wife of mine bein’ blasphemous.”

“Ha, ha. You’re so funny,” I said back through heavy breaths as we wrestled across the bed. “Can’t say goddamn it, but I can say—” I paused, before moaning breathlessly, “Fuck me now, Patrick.”

He froze beneath me, exactly like I knew he would, and I crowed in delight as my finger met the middle of his forehead with a hard thump. Ha! A little distraction and victory was mine.

He didn’t even flinch as I flicked him, but the moment I put my arms over my head in a modified victory dance, he was rolling me underneath him.

“Say it again,” he ordered seriously, pinning my arms above my head.

“What?”

“Say, ‘Fuck me Patrick’,” he ordered, shifting my hands into in one fist. “Say it.”

His free hand slid down my leg to catch underneath my knee, and before I knew it he was pulling it up to hug his side and arching his body into mine. Our breaths were still labored from the wrestling match, and my chest felt tight as I tried to acclimate myself to the change in mood and the feel of him against me.

“Say it,” he whispered, rubbing his lips over mine then pulling away as I tried to deepen the kiss.

“Fuck me now, Patrick,” I whispered back, the words sounding so much more obscene when I wasn’t joking.

“Ye need it, darlin’?” he asked as his hand slid under my tank top and curled around my breast. “I haven’t been takin’ care of ye. I was bein’ careful.” He rolled his hips against mine and a thousand pinpricks of sensation seemed to flare through the lower half of my body. “I don’t have to be so careful anymore,” he said with another roll of his hips. “I can give ye a little, now dat I know dat pretty soon I’ll be so deep, ye’ll feel me for days. I’ll take de edge off a bit, yeah?” Another roll. “What have ye been doin’ wit’out me? Ye take care of yerself in me bed?” Another roll. “Slip dose little shorts off and roll around in me sheets?”

If he hadn’t been hitting me in exactly the right spot to make my mind go fuzzy, I probably would have cared that his words were making my cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“I have not!” I argued, lifting my hips to meet his. My hands were still pinned above me even though I pulled at them, and his fingers began to pluck at my nipple over and over, the sensation adding to what he was doing below. “I don’t do that.”

“Ye don’t use yer fingers to get yerself off?” he asked dubiously.

“Not here! Your mom’s here!”

“Me mum’s here now, and I don’t hear ye tryin’ to stop me.” I whimpered as he leaned back to his heels and lifted his hands from my body, but I wasn’t disappointed for long. He was only leaning back so he could grasp the tank top at my waist and rip it over my head in one smooth movement. “Ye goin’ to stop me?”

I shook my head silently as he tossed the shirt off the side of the bed, but when he leaned down toward me again I found my voice. It was hoarse, as if I’d been yelling and sounded almost scratchy to my ears. “Yours, too,” I ordered.

His dimple showed as he smiled at me in approval, then with little fanfare he grasped the t-shirt behind his head and tore it off, sending it flying to the floor. His skin was smooth, with just a smattering of hair in the middle of his chest, and I ran my fingers through it for a moment before he took hold of my hands, trapping them above my head again.

“Hands to yerself, yeah?” he said. “I’ll stop, but—” He didn’t finish whatever he was about to say, instead lunging toward my chest with a groan and pulling my nipple into his mouth.

He sucked hard then softly in a confusing rhythm that I couldn’t follow, then bit down tightly before soothing my skin with his tongue. My hips instinctively moved upward seeking his, and he met me with a hard thrust.

“Keep dem dere,” he ordered, pushing down on my hands so I’d understand what he was telling me. “Christ, ye feel good.”

“Watch your mouth,” I chastised breathlessly as he moved to my other breast, giving it the same attention as the first. His hand slid down to my thigh, rubbing down to my knee and then back up slowly.

“Make me,” he challenged, moving up to press his mouth to mine. His chest rubbed against mine as we writhed on the bed, and my breasts, still wet from his suckling met little resistance as they slid up and down with the force of his thrusts. My breath began to hitch in my throat as the pressure on my clit intensified, but before I could hit the peak I was reaching for, he pulled away, leaving me frustrated beyond belief.