Page 13 of The Comfort Trap

"You want this?" he asks in a low growl that vibrates through my entire body.

"Yes, sir," I breathe, the words feeling torn from my throat.

"Tell me," he demands, his hand coming up to grip my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I want to hear you say it."

The words spill out of me, a desperate, broken string of pleas. "Yes. I want you, I need you. Please—"

He doesn't make me wait any longer. He pushes forward effortlessly, sinking into me with a slow, deliberate pressure that steals the air from my lungs. He stops when he's fully seated, buried to the hilt, and I can feel every hard inch of him inside me, a perfect, overwhelming fullness.

"Fuck," he murmurs, bending down to whisper the words against my ear, his breath hot and ragged.

He doesn't give me time to adjust before he starts to move, pulling back almost all the way before slamming back in. The pace he sets is relentless, a deep, punishing rhythm that has me gasping his name, my nails digging into the leather of the couch.

"Let go." He commands against my ear.

Suddenly, the pressure on my shoulder disappears. For a heart-stopping second I'm untethered, until his hand, still slick, moves to my neck. He's holding me, possessing me. Instinct takes over. My hand drifts down to find some sort of relief from the overwhelming sensation.

His other hand shoots out, wrapping around my wrist and pinning it to the couch beside my head.

"I said don't touch," he says, a low warning that sends a jolt straight through me. "Let go."

And then I understand.

I stop fighting it. I stop thinking. I let my body go completely limp against the couch, my full weight sinking into the leathercushions. I surrender to the sensations. To him. To the relentless rhythm of his hips, the hand possessively wrapped around my throat, the way he fills me so completely. There is only Patrick, only this, only the overwhelming wave of pleasure that washes over me, pulling me under. I’m his.

He shifts his angle, not speeding up, but driving deeper with each thrust. The change is subtle at first, a new pressure against a place inside me that makes my whole body jolt. Every nerve ending feels raw, exposed, the line between pleasure and a sweet, stinging ache blurring into something indescribable. I can feel my own release building, coiling tight in my gut, a pressure that's almost unbearable.

"I'm going to come," I manage to choke out, a warning.

"Come for me," he commands, his thrusts becoming even more forceful. "Come all over yourself. Show me how much you love this."

That's all it takes. The command shatters my control. My body arches off the couch as my orgasm crashes over me. I come hard, spilling over my stomach, my muscles clenching around him in rhythmic pulses. He doesn't stop. He drives into me through my release, chasing his own climax, his movements becoming erratic, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside me and groans my name, his dick pulsing as he fills me up.

The world goes quiet and still. The only sounds are our ragged breathing, the frantic beating of our hearts. He collapses on top of me. For a long moment, we lie there, tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat.

Then, slowly, the world comes back into focus. He gently pulls out, a sensation that makes me shiver, and rolls off me, landing heavily on the couch beside me. I turn my head to look at him, my body feeling loose and boneless, my mind blissfully quiet.

He meets my gaze, his expression softening as he reaches out to brush a strand of damp hair from my forehead. The stern, dominant persona is gone, replaced by the warm, loving Patrick I know so well.

"Green?" he asks.

I nod, not trusting my voice to form words yet.

He leans in and presses a soft, tender kiss to my forehead, then to my lips. "You were incredible," he whispers against my mouth. "I love you."

"I love you too," I murmur back, the words feeling inadequate to express the depth of what I'm feeling.

He sits up, his hand reaching for the blanket draped over the back of the couch. He pulls it over us, tucking it in around my shoulders. He wraps an arm around me, pulling me against his side, and I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat.

Chapter 6

The Things We Don't Say

Ricardo [THEN]

ThewordMaybeonmy coffee cup becomes my personalobsession. I carry it with me all day, sneaking glances at it when no one is looking. It isn't a yes, but it isn't a no. It's a crack in the armor, a tiny sliver of hope I cling to with a desperation that is probably a little unhealthy.

For a week, I stay away. I let the mystery of that single word simmer. I give him space. I tell myself I'm being strategic, letting the anticipation build. In reality, I'm terrified of messing it up.