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Wrong Pt. 01

By: GirlintheMoon



This is a repost of an older story of mine with some minor editing. Thank you, R, for your preservation skills.

*****

Chapter 1: What Big Eyes You Have

"Do you like that?" he asked after his warm, wet tongue ran along my painfully sensitive nipple.

He knew perfectly well that I did.

Pleasure bloomed throughout my body. His mouth caressed and consumed my breast. No other guy I'd ever been with knew my body the way he did, which should have been ridiculous because this was the first time he was acquainting himself with the most intimate parts of me.

"Please," I finally whispered.

I needed him inside me, momentarily not caring about how wrong and dangerous it was. I hated myself for wanting it, but the desire was too powerful to ignore. And I had gone too far already, I told myself. I'd hate myself later; now I would do my best to enjoy it. Looking down at his head on my breast, it definitely wouldn't be hard to enjoy it.

I shifted uneasily beneath him. "Just do it already."

He laughed against my wet flesh, his hot breath fanning across me and making me shiver. Green, desire-drenched eyes met mine. "So impatient. What do you want?"

My eyes clenched shut. Why did he have to make me say it? Couldn't we just fuck and get it out of our systems? I'd be guilty enough when it was over—did I have to have memories of begging for his cock to haunt me, as well? Maybe he wanted me to have those memories, just to be a dick. I wouldn't be surprised.

"What do you want?" he repeated, his talented mouth moving down to kiss and lick my belly.

I sighed, knowing nothing would happen until I answered him. He'd always been stubborn. "I want you."

He muffled a laugh against my belly.

Slowly, so slowly I wanted to scream, he pulled my panties down. The fabric and his rough fingers tickled my skin. My wet pussy clenched as the cool air rushed against it.

"And what do you need?" his sinfully low voice asked.

I was ready to kick him in the face, but that would mean he couldn't fuck me and I couldn't have that.

"You're an asshole," I muttered, closing my eyes.

"Tsk, tsk. Open your eyes and tell me what you need." A finger toyed with my soaking lips. My body arched on its own.

"You," I whispered, tears nearly coming to my eyes. I had never needed to have sex like this before, and I had never been more turned on.

He shook his head playfully. "You know what I want you to say."

I couldn't fight him anymore. I was too desperate. "Your cock."

Savagely he tossed me across the bed. I loved the roughness, which surprised me. I'd always been made love to tenderly, slowly. With emotion.

But this was totally different. This was going to be straight fucking. There would be no caresses here, no sweet kisses, no deep looks.

Plain old fucking.

And somehow that eased my conscience a little bit, as fucked up as it sounds.

Suddenly he was on top of me, nudging himself between my thighs. "I just couldn't stop thinking about—"

"It's okay, Nina," he said, almost gently.

"This is so wrong," I nearly cried. He didn't say anything.

His rock hard cock bumped against my wetness and we both moaned.

"Just this one time, Patrick, and we never bring it up again. Promise—oh," I had to pause. He had his hot, wet mouth over my nipple, sucking it desperately like a newborn. Two fingers were pushing in and out of my far too ready pussy. "Patrick!"

"Yeah, yeah, one time," he muttered distractedly, kissing his way down my body.

"I'm fucking serious! Promise! Promise me. One time and that's it, and we never mention or..."

But he stopped me again when his mouth found my pussy and I could only moan. I'd had a few guys go down on me before and I loved it, of course, but the image of Patrick's cinnamon-colored hair between my thighs as his electric tongue laved my lips and tender clit had me sobbing. He added a finger, fucking me with a ferocity that had me writhing and grasping at his hair. His lips sucked in my clit and his tongue flicked against it frantically.

"Oh my God, Patrick," I said over and over. I didn't think I'd speak coherently ever again. 'I can't... I don't..."

Before I finished my statement, his large frame was back on top of me and his hardness was pushing its way through my slick pussy. There was a delicious resistance, but after a few ruts he was blissfully inside me. We both cried out.

He whispered the filthiest words in my ear:

Your pussy was made me for me.

I can't wait to come in you.

I'm going to fill you up so much, cum's going to dribble out of you for days.

I bet you've never been fucked like this. Get used to it. I'm going to fuck you every way imaginable... I'll have you scream my name like you don't know any other word.

He pounded away, the wet sound of him moving through me turning me on. Not to mention the way he looked into my eyes, like I was the only woman he'd ever fucked—which I knew was far from the truth.

"I want to fuck you all day," he told me, sucking my lobe. "I think I'm going to be hard for the rest of the night, even after I come."

Then he couldn't speak anymore. Our hips slapped together, our sweat dripped down our bodies and our tongues toyed playfully with one another. Our moans and hisses filled the dark room, creating a beautifully erotic soundtrack to our union. I knew I'd go home later and finger myself to the memory, and that thought made me feel dirtier and hornier than I already felt.

My hips lifted up to meet him. I couldn't get enough of his cock inside me. He breathed harshly through his nose at the sensation of me fucking him back, and then continued pounding me deeply. His hand snaked between to grab my breast, pressing against the nipple with his thumb. I jumped and my pussy automatically tightened.

Cursing, he picked up his pace. He bent his head over to latch onto my nipple. He sucked it for a few minutes and then ran his hand down to my slippery clit. He didn't bother teasing; he went straight to circling it with his finger, over and over again. His aim was to make me come, which plucked the chord of desire inside me. I gasped and clutched his forearm. My vision blurred at the indescribable pleasure. I briefly wondered if he was fucking me blind, but all thoughts vanished after a particularly rough thrust.

His movements started growing sluggish and less focused. I knew the end was coming. Finally I felt his teeth bite down on my shoulder and I lost control of my body, coming in a way I never had before. It was so good it was almost painful. I didn't think it would ever stop. He let out a litany of curses and stopped thrusting, grinding deeply instead. With one final curse he came, shooting a healthy-sized load inside me. I wondered when he'd last fucked.

He'd been insatiable with me. Wild. Brutish. God, it was divine.

After we caught our breath and cooled down a little, he placed a heavy hand on my hip that was almost possessive. "We're not finished," was all he said.

And that's how I started screwing my sister's ex-husband.

******************************************************************************

I never liked my sister's husband.

First, he was a smug asshole. He thought he was gorgeous and charming; he also thought he could win over just about anybody. Fine, he was gorgeous and, okay, quite charming. But I wasn't just anybody. I told anyone who'd listen about how ridiculous his eyebrows were, or how he only cared about how he looked, or he was as charming as a cold sore. We had a bizarre tension between us that made me want to leave the room as soon as he entered it.

He had thick rusty colored hair that always looked unbrushed and wet green eyes that gleamed with constant amusement. He thought everything was funny. Especially me.

The real reason I disliked Patrick was the way he looked at me. It was like he could see straight through me. It sounds clichéd, I know, but it's how I felt. When I caught him looking at me, it was like he could see how small and insecure and vulnerable I secretly thought I was and I didn't like it. I needed to be strong, and I so desperately needed people to think of me that way.

And then he loved to tease me.

"New boyfriend, Nina?" he asked one Sunday night he and my sister, Chloe, decided to visit.

Since he knew damn well it was a new boyfriend, I glared at him and gave him some murmured answer.

"So what's your name?" he'd asked the poor guy, who fiddled with his silverware nervously under Patrick's unnerving gaze.

I knew the feeling.

"Uh, Thomas."

"Thomas," Patrick said, nodding as if he were programming it into his head. "I'll try to remember but I'm terrible with names." There was a pause in which Thomas gave a polite nod and went back to his mashed potatoes. But Patrick, of course, was never polite, and I was already expecting some comment. He didn't disappoint. "Especially with Nina's track record. Last month it was John, tomorrow it'll probably be Rob. I need to develop some kind of system to remember." He gave Thomas a friendly smile and started cutting his steak.

Needless to say I never saw Thomas again.

My sister was married to Patrick for two years before she decided she couldn't handle it anymore. They had dated five years before they got hitched, and it seemed like they were officially sick of each other. He said she nagged him all the time; she resented the hours he put in at work. He didn't seem to care much about working out their problems, and his nonchalance over the situation made her throw things at him. Literally. That was kind of a funny sight, I have to be honest.

So he moved out—into my neighborhood, of course. I saw him out constantly, and while he was never really with girls, I gave him the stink eye all the time because, hey, I was a loyal sister.

Or at least I used to be.

******************************************************************************

It happened as these things usually happen: I had too much tequila.

It was my friend's birthday and, as these things go, she demanded I meet her shot for shot. So I did. I was getting out of a brutal break-up and welcoming any and all things to end my pain, anyway.

The only faulty part of the plan, which I really should have seen coming, was that her boyfriend appeared at some point in the evening and the two vanished. Our other friends had disappeared, too, and I was shit drunk. My cell was dead, my feet were killing me and a glance in the bathroom mirror confirmed I looked like the living dead.

I stumbled to the door, not quite sure what the hell I was going to do, when I ran right smack into my worst enemy. I'd seen him at this bar a few times; I should have known he'd make an appearance. I'd really been an idiot that night.

'Whoa, there," Patrick laughed, raking his eyes over my body. "You're a sight for sore eyes, kid."

"Fuck you," I muttered flatly, too tired to keep up with the usual snark. I spotted his friend Jeremy and Jeremy's girlfriend in the background, eyeing us with amusement. I gave them a little wave because they'd always been pretty cool.

"So what happened? Decided to come and get trashed by yourself? That's a little pathetic, even by your standards."

I put a hand up to my temple which was beginning to throb and stared at the spinning floor.

"Patrick, so help me God. If you don't leave me alone I'm going to kick you in the balls so hard you'll be coughing sperm."

He laughed and leant against the wall, albeit a bit wobbly. I realized then he was a bit drunk himself.

"How's Chloe?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room.

"She's not here," I muttered, trying to get my phone to turn on even though I knew it was dead, dead, dead.

"I know," Patrick laughed again, this time with a bitter edge. "She never goes out."

I sighed and glanced around, desperate for a familiar face. "Look, I've got to go. I'd say it was nice running into you but it wasn't."

I started walking away but he placed a hand on my elbow. "Hey, hey, wait a second. You're not fit to drive home, young lady."

"I'm not driving home," I snapped, trying to rip his hand from my arm. I hated when he touched me. It set my hair on end.

"So how are you getting home?"

"It's none of your business!" I hissed, finally succeeding in getting him to release me. I pulled way too much, ending up on my ass on the very sticky floor.

Patrick had the decency not to laugh, though he couldn't quite conceal his smirk.

"You young girls can never hold your liquor." I opened my mouth to point out we were only about five years apart when he cut me off. "Come on, I'll take you home."

"You're drunk," I snapped, letting him help me off the floor because the other option was becoming permanently stuck to it.

"Not drunk, no. Tipsy, yes."

"You shouldn't be driving."

He looked over at me with those jolly rancher eyes and grinned. "You can trust me."

In that moment, with his eyes glittering in the scant bar lights and that fucking smile, I really wished I didn't hate him.

******************************************************************************

In spite of my protests, he brought me back to his apartment.

"Yours is too far and I don't want to further risk getting pulled over," was his lawyer-like explanation.

He brewed us tea and sat patiently with me as I slowly sipped it. I felt a little bit better, but way too drunk for my liking. Fucking tequila. Fucking friends.

"You can sleep in my bed," he said suddenly. "I'll take the sofa."

"No," I sighed, eyeing his threadbare sofa that had probably seen some pretty disgusting stuff. "I'll take the sofa. It's your place."

"Nina, just take the fucking bed."

My head was playing tricks on me because suddenly I was very fixated on his wet pink lips and the way they moved to say "Nina" and "fuck".

He must have said a few more things because he snapped his fingers in front of my face and brought me back to the conversation.

"What?" I asked dazedly, trying not to notice how good his shirt looked on him.

Oh my God I'm losing my mind! I thought

I'm just horny, I told myself. And I'd been drinking. And I was a touch lonely lately, especially since things with Sam hadn't panned out.

"I asked how things were going with... what's his name? Sam?"

I looked down at my chipped nails and hated having to admit to another failed relationship, especially to someone who always seemed to find amusement when they happened. "We broke up."

I peeked up and was surprised by his expression. It wasn't amused or teasing or anything, really. It was kind of blank.

"Ugh, tough break," was all Patrick said, and he didn't appear like was going to say more. Tipsy Patrick was much more likable.

I followed him into the kitchen with my empty tea-cup and deposited it in the sink, rubbing against his arm in the process. He was so warm, and his forearms looked so strong. I had a thing about forearms.

I turned to apologize and was caught in his stare. Never in my life had I seen such a sexually charged gaze in my life. He looked like the proverbial wolf that wanted to gobble me up, and—damn it—my nipples were hardening.

I parted my lips to say something, some last bit of sanity, but then his tongue was in my mouth and I was against his wall, feeling his long body molded to mine, and it was so good. His erection burned and stabbed my stomach, grinding against the soft swell there. I gasped and held onto his shoulder. I wanted to touch him, to feel the heat on my bare hand. I wanted so much in that moment.

He pulled his lips away from mine to suck hungrily at my neck, surely leaving marks. At that moment I didn't care. This wasn't my sister's ex-husband, or my archenemy. This was just Patrick... and he was devouring me.

He reached a hand beneath my skirt and palmed my pussy, groaning at the wetness through my panties as if he were in pain. He sucked my neck, then trailed his kisses down my chest. Frantically he ripped open my shirt, latching his mouth back to my body before I could make a sound of protest. His mouth hungrily opened around my nipple through my flimsy bra, soaking the material and moaning into the wet circle. I thought I was going to die.

His hips frantically pushed against mine, the clothed-covered cock hitting me in the most perfect place. In my alcohol-addled mind, all I wanted was him to rip down my panties and fuck me until I didn't know my name.

And then I spotted it.

My sister had proudly bought a cookie jar at some point during their marriage, thinking it was cute and homey and that when they had kids she could put cookies in it. I don't think Patrick had given it much thought, and I don't think it was there for any sentimental value or anything. I think he just took it because she probably left it behind, like so many of her disappointments. But that cookie jar brought me back to reality and sobered me up a bit.

"Stop," I protested weakly, sounding more like I was moaning for his cock. Which in a way I probably was. He ignored me, slipping a finger past my lacy panties and eagerly circling my soaking clit. I think I literally said "Guh!" and slammed my body back against the wall; it felt so good. No one had ever made me feel like that.

Saying stop was harder this time, but I knew if I didn't do it then that we would end up in bed and I couldn't let that happen. It was wrong, and Chloe would never forgive me, and I would never forgive myself. Plus this was Patrick. He was probably doing this to fulfill some strange, perverted sexual fantasy.

"Patrick, stop," I said more forcefully, nudging his aroused body from mine.

He looked up, confused, and gave me a quick kiss on my jaw. If I didn't know him better I'd think it was a gesture of tenderness.

"I have to go."

"What?" He looked genuinely perplexed and stared at his sopping finger that had been inside me like he couldn't understand.

"I can't fuck you."

His mossy eyes darkened at my language and he took a step closer to me. I held a hand out and pressed against his hard chest.

"It wouldn't be right. And I hate you."

I might have slurred those words but I think he got the gist of them because he smiled.

"Nina, come on. You want this."

I swallowed. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do," he mocked back, plunging two fingers into my weeping cunt before I could stop him.

"Patrick," I keened in the most embarrassing tone. He laughed triumphantly.

I kicked at him a little and he thankfully removed his fingers from me. He moved a few steps back.

"What's the problem?" he asked, sounding incredibly frustrated. A peek at his impressive erection gave me an idea why.

"You're my sister's ex-husband."

He smirked a little. "The key word is ex."

I stared at him pointedly. "This is wrong and you know it is."

"I know I want to fuck you," he said shrugging, like he wasn't making me even wetter. Like he wasn't propositioning his ex-sister. Like I hadn't been the Maid-of-Honor at his wedding.

I squeezed my eyes shut and ignored his calloused hand on the soft flesh on my thigh. "Please," I begged, though I didn't know what I was begging floor.

My eyes popped open and spotted the cookie jar again.

"I just can't do this. I love my sister. I'm sorry." I pulled my top up and my skirt down. "Can you call me a cab, please?

There were a few agonizingly awkward moments as I stared at his floor while he watched me. Finally he walked over to his phone and ordered a cab to come over. I thought he'd be angry with me and kick me out into the cold or something like that, but he told me to sit down.

He watched me thoughtfully while we waited for the cab—which was taking forever—and strummed his fingers impatiently.


Wrong Pt. 01



I thought we'd sit there in silence and probably never speak again until he cleared his throat and got me to reflexively meet his eyes.

"This is going to happen, Nina. I guarantee you'll be back before the week is out, begging for my cock."

I narrowed my eyes at him, but said nothing. I was too afraid he was right.

******************************************************************************

Chapter 2: Doux Désir

I showed up at his apartment at 3AM two nights after we met at the bar. He didn't look terribly surprised by my appearance. In fact, he looked amused. I wanted to kiss that fucking smirk right off his face, so I did. I hopped on him and gave him an angry, bruising kiss.

I hadn't been able to think of anything but the feel of his cock against my stomach, the heat of his skin, his dark green eyes undressing me, the feel of his hands on my body, and I was fucking tired of it. I hated him and myself so much.

But I figured I was probably going to hell anyway, and I might as well make it fucking worth it.

We pushed into his apartment. He swung the door shut with his leg and flung me onto his big sofa.

"Well, well," he started to taunt, but I smacked my palm against his mouth.

"If you want inside you'll shut your mouth and just fuck me."

I didn't have to tell him twice. He dragged me off to his bedroom. I wasn't shocked by his black silk sheets; he seemed the type. He ripped off my shirt and tore my bra down.

The rest was outrageously wonderful, as I've already mentioned.

Once we were done, and after he made his solemn promise (or threat?) of us meeting again, he looked over at me. "I'd have you suck my cock," he murmured lazily, "but I'd probably come too fast—the idea of you bobbing up and down on my cock makes me shake—and then I wouldn't be able to fuck you again."

I gulped.

"It's a shame," he said casually, leaning over my body and staring hard into my eyes. "I should really take advantage, with this being our last time and all."

I hated how he said that. It was sarcastic and just so Patrick. I wasn't sure why he was suddenly so interested in fucking me, and I didn't want to start pondering the possibilities because I was afraid none of them could be good. Who was this stranger hovering over me with a grin too beautiful to be fair and a cock too perfect to match?

"I'm going to fuck you again now," he said in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. "You're going to scream my name again and again. And don't give me bullshit about the one-time thing. This still counts as once." He looked at me sternly. "And you're going to come again. Don't be shocked if my neighbors call the police. You are so loud."

I opened my mouth to say something but he ran his hand down my jaw.

Then he nudged forcibly into me, making both of us gasp and curse. "In fact, I'm counting on it."

And then he was moving and words were an impossibility. It was slower than before, shocking me. He kept intense eye contact and kissed me with something unidentifiable and strangely personal. I looked away after a while, unable to handle his burning gaze. I tried not to give it too much thought; in fact I really couldn't because of the force of his thrusts and the incredible shocks going through my pussy.

I stared at him and wondered how I could let this be the last time. No one had ever claimed me like this. It was as if I was ruined for all other men, as dramatic and clichéd as it sounded. I had a sneaking suspicion it was true, too.

I hated Patrick Thorne from the moment we met, but I probably loved him more.

******************************************************************************

As it turns out, I didn't go running right back to him. The guilt I'd shoved back for my temporary pleasure hit me full-blast when I got home. I sobbed in the shower for ages. The worst part was I didn't regret it. It was one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life, and I just hated that it was so messed up.

I ignored Patrick's calls for the day and spent the night at my friend Sophie's, just in case he showed up. I doubted he would—he couldn't be that desperate for pussy—but I was too cowardly to chance it.

My mood didn't improve the next day either when I received a hysterical call from Chloe. She'd been on a disastrous date the night before, she didn't think she'd ever recover from the divorce and she still loved Patrick.

"Why couldn't he love me, Nina? Why? What did I do wrong?"

I cried in the tub that night for a change of pace. Getting pruny seemed like an extra penance.

Luckily I didn't hear from Patrick again, and though it gave me an uncomfortable pang in my stomach, I ignored it and focused on other things.

Things changed a week later, however, when I was at work.

"Nina Harmon," I answered my phone distractedly.

I was desperately seeking an important file my impatient boss had asked for twenty minutes before. The guy disliked me because I snapped at him for ogling my tits. Now he found pleasure in giving me a hard time over even the most mundane duties. He probably didn't even need the file, I grumbled to myself, nearly spilling my coffee all over my paperwork.

"Well, hello, Ms. Harmon," a voice all too familiar greeted.

I repressed the girly butterflies threatening to flutter up from my stomach to my chest and groaned. "What is it, Patrick?"

I tried to throw in a little extra bitterness into my tone so he wouldn't know how thrilled I actually was he called me.

"Now, now," he laughed, "is that how you greet all your lovers?"

I sighed and thanked God my boss was distracted by yelling at some other misguided employee so he wouldn't notice me on the phone.

"I guess I'll have to rephrase: what the fuck do you want, Patrick?"

He laughed again, the sound immediately traveling to my pussy and lingering there like it was on some fucking tropical vacation.

Stop it, Vagina. He is the enemy.

Even though we hadn't spoken in a week, I kept feeling like it was only a matter of time before we'd have to face one another again and talk about what happened. It seemed like the healthy, mature thing to do.

It had absolutely nothing to do with me wanting to see Patrick again.

Not in the least.

"Well, since it appears you're going to refrain from being polite, I'll just cut to the chase: have dinner with me tonight, Lover."

He said "lover" dramatically, like he was telling some joke. I wished I could punch him over the phone.

I snorted loudly and then played it off as a cough when a few curious coworkers glanced my way. "You want me to have dinner with you? No, I'm not having dinner. Coffee. I'll do coffee. We need to talk. That's it."

"We're not finished," he said again, "and you know it. Dinner. At 7. I'll pick you up at your shit-hole apartment."

"Patrick—"

"Bye, Lover."

"Stop calling me that, you prick! I'm going to—"

"Nina." My boss's cool voice interrupted my threat. My cheeks reddened and I heard hysterical laughter on the other end of the phone before an abandoning click.

Slowly I put my phone down and tried to smile at him. "I'm sorry, sir. I was on the phone with a friend and he—"

My boss waved a dismissive hand. "The file?"

"Um. Right here, Sir."

He took it without thanks. Before strolling off to his gargantuan office, he paused in front of a bunch of my coworkers to give me a look that basically told me he'd be riding my ass even harder than usual now. "And Nina? Please refrain from using company time to make personal phone calls. I was almost certain that was referenced on the last office memo. Also, please take care with your language here. This is a professional environment, not a bar."

"Yes, sir," I mumbled, but he'd already vanished.

I should have felt worse about looking like a fool in front of the boss and coworkers I so desperately wanted to impress (or at least I used to want to impress them), but all I could focus on was the dampness in my panties and the sudden urge to fill my pussy with the only part of Patrick I actually liked.

And then, like last time, my sister's trusting, innocent and loyal face flashed before my eyes and I glanced at the photo of us hugging on my desk. I thought of her phone call, how terribly Patrick had wrecked her. Would I suffer the same fate?

I hoped not, but I'd probably deserve it.

I wasn't a good person. I knew that already. I had made a lot of mistakes in my life, some I probably would never be able to make right. So in spite of my protesting, traitorous, weeping vagina, I opened up my e-mail.

Patrick,

I'd use some serious profanity here but you're lucky my company has a filter. I also don't want to threaten you, because I know you and you'd end up using it your advantage and I believe I've given you enough ammunition.

I'm just letting you know that, in spite of your crazy and presumptuous delusions, I will not be going to dinner with you tonight. I will meet you for coffee sometime to talk like adults when you're ready to do so. That's it. Let me know when you're available for our meeting, and please schedule it in the day.

-Nina

My pussy called me a not-so-very-nice word but I was proud of myself.

I wasn't going to dinner with Patrick. I wasn't fucking him again. I just wasn't.

Because in spite of everything, in spite of Chloe—I had a terrible and foreboding feeling it would crush me.

******************************************************************************

Later that night I was watching Jeopardy with my cat Rufus, trying to get my mind off work and sexy ex-brothers, when someone knocked on my door.

A look in the peep-hole made my blood boil. I ripped open my door without any consideration as to how I was dressed.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Patrick strolled in like he owned the place. He spotted my cat and bent over to give it a few rubs. Rufus purred against his leg lovingly, the fucking traitor.

"It's currently," Patrick paused, dramatically looking down at his watch, "7PM. The time I promised I'd be here."

He grinned at me then and I had to lean against the door to give me strength. I hated how for the first time in my life my hormones were turning me into the heroines of those God-awful romance novels that had no spine and were so obnoxious you wondered why the hero even liked them in the first place.

I didn't say anything, so Patrick spoke again. "Is that what you're wearing? I don't think the restaurant has a specific dress code but I don't think they appreciate cat-decorated pajamas and t-shirts with the words Rub for Luck on them."

My cheeks flushed immediately.

Fuck.

I had totally forgotten what I was wearing, being so flustered by Patrick's appearance.

"Patrick, don't be—"

"Luckily I foresaw your laziness and the time it takes you to get ready, so I changed the reservation to 7:45."

I laughed in spite of myself and sagged on my sofa. "Patrick." I was resigned, and hoped he heard and saw it. "I can't go out with you."

"Sure you can," he said confidently, petting Rufus underneath his chin.

"No. I can't. People will probably see us there. And it's too much..." I took a deep breath. "It's too much like a date. In fact, you're dressed like it's a date. And I can't date you, or anything like that."

I didn't think he intended on dating me, and I was embarrassed the minute I uttered the words, but something made me say them.

Patrick stared at me intensely for a minute, making me fidget and stare at a faded spot of carpeting I hadn't noted before.

"So you can fuck me but you can't date me?"

My eyes went up to his in disbelief. "You want to date me?"

He shrugged and went back to paying attention to my cat. "I wanted to take you out to dinner. We need to talk, like you said. Why not do it there?"

He didn't answer the question, but I didn't dwell on that.

There were a million reasons why we shouldn't do it there, and I hadn't even listed the most important yet, but strangely I felt myself standing like I was on auto-pilot and heading for the shower.

A half-hour I was spruced up. I wore a simple and conservative blue dress and very little make-up. I didn't know what Patrick was up to, but I needed to be on my guard.

Something in his smile when he saw me emerge from my bedroom let me know I was right.

******************************************************************************

"I met the weirdest client ever today," Patrick said casually, taking a large bite of his chicken.

I swallowed my pasta and struggled to keep it down. The nerves were driving me crazy. He hadn't said a thing about the other night, about my sister, about us. He just made funny observations on other diners, joked with me about getting me in trouble with my boss and talked about his day. I had no idea what was going on, and I hated that. So rather than ask him flat out, I went my usual route of avoidance and denial and took another big gulp of wine.

"He's divorcing his wife and has all the money. She's asking for a lot of it, but he seems more than willing to give it to her. His one stipulation, Nina? He wants her doll collection." Patrick laughed and took a sip of his wine. "Can you believe it? Her fucking doll collection."

I laughed nervously, trying to ignore the way I felt when Patrick directed his smile at me. "Why?"

"Because she loves it. She's collected them for years. Some she inherited as heirlooms, others she went all over the country to seek out. She's a big collector."

"Wow," I said lamely. I thought about it for a minute. "That's kind of fucked up on your client's part. It's just personal then."

"No kidding," Patrick agreed. "It's usually always personal. It's marriage. It's amazing what people will do to hurt each other."

There was an awkward pause, or at least I felt one because it felt like it was my cue.

I'd drunk enough to give me some courage, and though the cold prickly feeling coursing through my veins told me it wasn't enough, it had to be done.

"Is that what you're doing to Chloe?" I asked quietly, staring into his green eyes intently.

He grimaced and put down his fork. "Fuck, Nina, Chloe has nothing to do with this."

"She has everything to do with this. She's my sister and your ex-wife. She divorced you. You must be angry, and I can understand that, and I think you're probably using me to get back at her. It's not fair to any of us, and I don't want to be a part of it. I'm sorry. We had a great... an amazing night. Thank you so much for it and—"

"Shut up, Nina." He was annoyed. "Yeah, she divorced me. I wasn't around anymore. Do you know why? Because I didn't care. I gave up. I didn't love her and I couldn't pretend as well as she could."

I cringed hearing those words, remembering my sister's sobs as she wondered why over and over again Patrick shut her out their last year.

"I didn't divorce her because I was lazy, or it never seemed like the right time, or I thought she'd go bat-shit. I wasn't far off, right?" he asked with a rueful smile. "Who really knows why I never manned up? I was just kind of numb about the whole thing, so used to going with the flow. I didn't really know what to do." He took a generous drink and I smirked inwardly, wondering who needed the courage now. "I'm not angry she divorced me; I'm thankful. So, taking you here, Nina, and fucking your brains out the other night had nothing to do with any of that. I get the connection, the guilt, whatever... but we have this one life. And I'm so fucking tired of doing what I'm supposed to all the time." He eyed me up and down like I was tastier than the dish in front of him. "I want you. I wanted you all week. I'm a little guilty, yeah, but not for the same reasons. I won't get into that yet. Just know I want you. And for the first time in my life, I'm going to do what I want and get what I want."

Well.

I didn't know what to say.

We finished our meal in a weird silence—not totally comfortable, but not uncomfortable, either.

He ordered us crème brûlée and fed it to me with his spoon. Ordinarily I was against that shit, as I had a working hand and I loathed spotting couples feeding each other, but something about it was so erotic that I couldn't tell him to stop. I didn't want to tell him to stop. As I swallowed the delicious dessert and stared back at him, I became unbearably wet. I wanted to take his hand and press it between my legs. I wanted to slide under the table and suck him dry underneath it.

He motioned for the check and I realized that, though we touched on Chloe, we hadn't talked about us. About what happened. Fuck.

We got in his car and I didn't say a word as he missed my turn and continued on to his apartment.

I'd been so bad already. What was one more night? Just one more night and then we'd both get this weird thing out of our systems. He'd tire of me, I'd tire of him. One more time and we'd be bored out of our minds.

Right?

I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror and noted my goofy smile, glinting eyes and rosy cheeks.

I was fucked.

******************************************************************************

Wrong Ch. 03: Surrender

We were silent as we took the elevator up. A few times I felt his eyes scanning my body, but mine were focused on the doors. I was resolute; my fate was sealed.

That's what I kept telling myself, anyway.

Finally we reached his floor and he let me exit first. I could feel his eyes on my body even more acutely now, and though it made me slightly nervous, each zing of the electric energy between us became hotter.

He unlocked the door to his apartment and we walked in.

"Sorry," he murmured, speaking for the first time since we left the restaurant. "It's a bit messy."

It wasn't at all, actually, but I figured he was a neat freak. It wouldn't surprise me.

He switched on each light while we made our way in, making me feel exposed and naked beneath the harsh bulbs.

I sat on his sofa, listening to him shuffle around the kitchen. He appeared with a glass of wine for the both us, though we hardly needed it. Still I sipped it, hoping it would get the last few jitters out of my system. I accepted and knew this would happen, but the nerves refused to go away completely.

He was so confident, but this was so messed up and so out of character for me. Sleeping with my sister's exes wasn't exactly one my hobbies. We'd never competed over a guy before. In fact, we had completely different types. Yet there I sat, fidgeting next to Patrick.

He reached for me first, his warm hand touching my thigh. I jumped and stared at the hand, tan and large against my pale skin. "Now is the time to say no."

I looked up and examined his dark green eyes. I thought of the last time we were together, how amazing it felt, our conversation during dinner, the looks he gave me from across the table.

I thought of Chloe, too. Her tears, her confusion. I wondered if I'd ever be able to look her in the eye again, and if I could, what kind of person that made me? Would I ever be able to forget this whole experience? Would I want to?

I should have said no. I wanted to be able to say it. The word, however, was foreign to me in Patrick's apartment. I knew when we left that restaurant...well, truthfully I knew from the first kiss, that I couldn't say no to him. I simply didn't want to.

Just one more night, I told myself. I'd force myself to forget all of this afterwards.

So I stared boldly back at him as I inclined my head, my lips parting to meet his. Surprisingly he was tentative at first; in spite of his smug exterior he must have been at least partly prepared for me to waltz out of his apartment.




Wrong Pt. 01



Quickly he amped up his passion, however, and we were engaged in the most erotic but simple kiss of my life. His lips against mine, the gentle but experienced nudging of his tongue and his breath against my face worked me up so fast I thought I was going to have an orgasm right there. His hands barely moved on me; one was on my waist as the other ran its way through my hair.

My kissing grew more fervent, but he shocked me again with his continued restraint. He didn't rush things. He took his time with our kiss, drawing out the passion and letting it simmer delicately like he was a grand chef conducting a masterpiece of a meal.

I was ready to rip off my clothes and lifted my hands to do just that. He stopped me.

"Let's go to my room."

He stood and took my hand, coaxing me to his bedroom. A small smile toyed with his lips but he didn't look at me; he merely lead us into the pitch black room.

I expected him to turn the lights on immediately like he had before when he stepped away, but this time he left me standing with only the faint and distant light of his hallway dancing across his large bed and some furniture. Most of the room was shrouded in darkness, and he had disappeared into it.

"Patrick. Not funny." I fumbled around for a light switch but there wasn't one where there should've been.

I stomped over to where I presumed the lamp was, but then arms wrapped around me and pulled me into a firm—and naked—chest.

"Not being funny. Just getting ready." His voice was smooth and low, and so strangely tender.

"Patrick," I whispered. I didn't know what else to say.

"Do you know that I have been able to think of nothing else but your body since I had you? That sometimes at work I literally have to go jack off in the bathroom because just remembering how you looked when you came was enough to give me a permanent hard-on?"

I pressed back against him, hating that he still wore his pants. Not realizing he actually wanted an answer, I cried out when suddenly a hand grabbed a breast and two fingers twisted a nipple through my clothing.

"Do you?!"

"No."

"You had me half out of my mind before and now that I know what it's like to fuck you, I can't stop wanting. I'm going to bury myself inside you all night."

He didn't say this roughly, or wantonly, or crudely. It sounded nearly like a confession, an almost guilty admission.

Something about his words and the tone of them stirred my curiosity, but then he worked on my clothing and started kissing my neck and all I could think of was having sex again. I just needed and wanted; never before had I been so disconnected from the rest of my surroundings. All that existed was Patrick and me standing in his shadowed room.

Suddenly I was naked, and I turned to eagerly strip him of his pants. He didn't stop me, but he didn't help, either. He watched me as I ripped them off, tugging them with frustration. I gave up when they lingered on the lower part of his calves, and then stared hungrily at what had already been inside me. I knew what it felt like and I craved more.

Crouching down, I slipped his boxers off and let them gather below with his pants, keeping my eyes on his cock the entire time. I watched as it leapt out, hard and twitching enthusiastically in front of my face. It truly was beautiful; up until really examining Patrick's, I hadn't thought penises were that attractive. His, however, made my belly heavy and my head dizzy.

Just staring at his dick made me wet and ready, and honestly I could have just sat hunched over it for hours. He moved, however, stepping out of his pants and boxers and flipping on the light. Then he took a step closer to me. I looked up and our eyes immediately connected. The want that plagued me was also painted all over his own glossy eyes.

He put out a hand and let it play and wind itself through my hair. I knew what he needed, and I needed it even more.

Moving closer to him on my knees, I let his cock just rub against the softness of my cheek. He actually gasped at the sensation. Apparently he was paying more attention to my hair than to my actions. Now those green eyes were on mine again, listening to what I was telling him with my fixed and promised gaze. Those gorgeous lips spread open. I guess I shocked him for the second time that night. First, I stayed and encouraged the encounter, and now I was going to give him a blowjob.

My pink tongue slipped slowly out of my mouth and I licked my lower lip with it. He moaned at the image and softly put his hand on my other cheek, the one that wasn't covered by his cock and pre-cum. His thumb stroked the satiny skin beneath my eye.

Finally I let my tongue tickle his head, swiping it back and forth slowly and lightly. A delicious sound came out of him and he pushed forward. I pulled my head and mouth back just a bit and smirked, shaking my head. The message was: this is my show; your cock is my prop and I'll do with it as I please.

He got my meaning and moved his hips back, attempting to smirk in return. I could tell from the taut muscles in his face and by the tense way he stood how much effort it took him not to take charge. I would let him later, of course, but something in me, something carnal and dirty and needy, wanted to have the power right now. I had to have the upper-hand, to dish out or restrain any pleasure I deigned to give him.

After a few moments, I tasted him again, slowly running across the ridges and bumps and veins that ran across his length. He panted and the hand on my face gripped harder. The other clenched in a fist at his side.

I did this for a bit—merely examining him, tasting him and driving him wild. He shut his eyes, unable to bear both the torture and the sight. Taking advantage, I speedily sunk my mouth onto him and let his cock make its way fully into my throat. He grunted at the sudden shock of my mouth surrounding him.

I sucked and licked as it made its way deeper inside. Salty and smooth, Patrick made the best meal ever. I think I even moaned around his dick, increasing the pace of my tongue and moving my head back and forth in a desperate rhythm. We went on like this for a while before he started grasping at my hair.

"Not yet, fuck," he said in a rush, trying to get me to stop. I didn't want to, but I wanted him inside me more, so I pulled off of him and let him hoist me up.

He practically threw me onto the bed. I was mesmerized by his cock illuminated by the faint lamplight, sticking out into the air and glistening from my saliva. Patrick stumbled a little on his journey over to me and I laughed, thrilled I'd driven him so crazy. He rolled his eyes at my juvenile giggles as he knelt onto the bed.

His long body stretched against mine until nearly every surface of our flesh was in contact in some way. The laughter stopped; his eyes boring into mine chased away any amusement.

Lips lingered on lips, feather-soft and hardly kissing. His hands ran down my arms and a knee pressed into my pussy as he shifted his position a little. I don't know how long we spent just watching the other, and I can't pretend to guess what he was thinking about.

I thought about the years I'd known him, the different expressions I got to see for the first time, how the Patrick I knew now compared to the one I thought I knew then. I wondered if this would be as intense as our first encounter. Would I still feel ashamed, or finally sated? I was terrified I'd want more of him.

I was even more afraid I would end up like Chloe, devastated and broken.

I wondered that a lot when it came to him, obviously, and as much as I wanted this, it was a question that wouldn't disappear.

Another question slithered its way into my brain, one I didn't want to ask but I really would've loved to know. Or hated to know. I couldn't quite decide. Patrick saw the curiosity on my face, I suppose, and the intensity in his eyes lessened as a small smile lifted his lips.

"What?"

I wanted to ask "How long, Patrick? How long have you wanted me like this? Was this why you were always a prick? Why you humiliated all my boyfriends? Why you made me uncomfortable on purpose so perhaps I'd stay away? Or because you couldn't deal with what you felt? And why are we doing this now? Where can this possibly go? Won't this be a huge mistake? What will I do the next time I see Chloe and face the devastation in her eyes and think about how I've felt you inside me? But most importantly, Patrick, how long?"

Instead I forced my face to spread into a grin and said, "Just wondering when you were going to stick it in."

He analyzed me like he always did. He knew I was lying; he wasn't a fabulous attorney for nothing. I suppose like me, however, he decided whatever it was he didn't want to know. So he pretended, too, and smiled as he bent his head down to finally give me a fragile but impassioned kiss.

Pulling his full, wet lips away, his eyes focused on my own swollen lips. "You want me to just 'stick it in'? How romantic."

My pussy and the rest of my body told me I was ready, but my heart kept saying Wait. Nina, wait. You've done this before, but now... There's no going back. Are you prepared? Are you really ready?

Then Patrick positioned our bodies, pulling my legs up so that my feet rested on his shoulders and his arms wrapped around my back. Now there was no more waiting, no more thinking. I couldn't go back, and I couldn't stop from going forward.

We watched one another as his cock thrusted its way inside me, my incredible wetness still resisting him slightly. I guess my body was giving a little fight of its own, but of course Patrick won. He was finally completely and deeply inside, and his beautiful face smiled contentedly as his forehead rested on mine.

At first it was slow and incredibly arousing. He'd push forward and rest inside for a few moments, quietly taking me in with his eyes and body, before leisurely pulling out. Then he'd give me a fast and harsh thrust for good measure, just to remind me who I was dealing with.

It wasn't long before the lust overflowed and took us over, and his fucking grew purposeful and quick. His eyes clenched shut as he moved against me. My own body helplessly rose up to meet his heavy waves.

We made dreadful sounds, but everything that came out of Patrick's throat was delectable to my ears. For an instant coherent—and frightening—thoughts came to me, like how I wanted to do this all the time, that I wanted to feel this way all the time, that I wanted to make him nuts every day, that I wanted to listen to his sounds forever. I drove them out of my head. I told myself that I would focus on nothing else but the moment for now.

Patrick opened his eyes, and the burning forest that lingered beyond those lids held me so captivated I could contemplate nothing else but the driving force of him fucking me, of his arms holding me, of his kisses on the damp and sensitive skin of my throat.

He took a hand away from my back and clasped it around my breast, letting the thumb rest gently on the tight nipple. I gasped while he kneaded the breast and murmured things I couldn't make out into my neck. I just held on while his pace grew faster, sliding down to his sweaty ass cheeks to touch him, too, and to anchor him inside me.

His fingers now toyed with my nipple, tearing forceful and animalistic sounds from my throat I'd never known I could make before. The fucking grew even more desperate and intense and I knew I was going to lose myself in an unbelievable orgasm soon.

"Patrick," was all I could moan, but he understood.

His hand moved down to where he was possessing me and he found my damp clit, moving his fingers against it with ferocity and intention. I screamed and dug my short nails into his ass, needing it faster, harder. Just needing it.

"Please, please, please." I was begging Patrick to make me come, but it felt like more than that. It was almost as though he was fucking me into somewhere else and I was terrified I'd never make it back. I needed him to keep fucking me, to keep pleasing me, to keep me there. With him.

"I'm close," he responded through pants, "and we'll come together."

At first I didn't know if I could wait, but I saw in Patrick's eyes how near he was to it, too, and I knew it would happen. I wanted him to reach it more than I wanted to reach it, and I also accepted I probably wouldn't be able to until he did, anyway.

"Please come," I whimpered. No one had ever made me whimper before.

Before Patrick.

"Shit." He moved his other arm from my back so that he could support himself against the mattress as he dug in deeper and further.

We moved so fast together my hair was practically in my face and I was growing dizzy, but I didn't care.

"Fuck," he cursed again, our slippery bodies tired while they moved together but intent on reaching their mutual goal: complete ecstasy.

Then it happened. All of Patrick's muscles seized up, his eyes focused in on mine, and he somehow managed to pound harder.

"I'm there," he choked out, flicking my clit even harder. "Come on and fucking come with me, all over my cock." He punched the mattress and smashed his lips down to mine. "Coming inside you," he whispered against them.

And he did. He continued to thrust, albeit slower, and the sloppy, slippery noise and outrageous sensations drew me over my own edge. I strangled his dick with my muscles and he grunted at the feeling.

"Yes!" he encouraged, giving me another forceful thrust with his still pulsing cock. "Come on, Nina! Let it all go. Feel me."

I felt him from my head to my toes, in all of my muscles and tendons and organs and tissues. I felt him everywhere. I was right about him fucking me somewhere else, but I realized he fucked himself there too. We were lost together in a storm of clandestine paradise.

I wondered if we'd ever find our way back.

We fell asleep shortly after he slipped out of me, exhausted by the fierce fucking. I slept fitfully, however, and woke just as the sun rose.

Golden shadows crept across Patrick's room. I couldn't rest anymore; those troublesome concerns and questions were coming back now in the literal light of day, and as much as I loved being nestled near Patrick's warm body, I needed to get up.

Plus I wasn't exactly sure what to do with myself. Was I supposed to leave? He'd driven us there so I had no way to get home, but I could call myself a cab. Deciding to wait a bit, I pulled my shirt on and slipped out into the kitchen.

I was thirsty and a little hungry so I peeked in the fridge. Pretty empty, except for some cheese. I saw milk, double-checked the date (though Patrick didn't strike me as the kind to keep spoiled milk in the fridge), and poured myself a glass of it.

It wasn't until I replaced the milk and shut the fridge that I noticed it. Patrick had a dozen or so photos and papers up on the refrigerator door, but now I saw one partially covered that made my heart stop. I recognized it. Carefully I pulled it off and looked closer at it. It was a picture Chloe had in their living room because it was the only one of the three of us where I was actually smiling, and she and Patrick looked so loving and happy. It was taken not too long before they were married.

But now I noticed something I never took the time or care of paying attention to it before, and apparently neither had Chloe. She had her arm around him and was lovingly laughing happily at something as she looked at him with big, content eyes. I was standing next to her, more of a good-humored smirk than a smile on my face.

Patrick looked a man in love. Chloe still kept the photo because of that expression, even if she had put it away in a box and only took it out when she was feeling particularly nostalgic or weepy. She liked to remind herself that at one time, at least, he was in love. Yes, he looked desperately infatuated as he stood next to her, arms at his side.

But he wasn't really looking at Chloe.

He was looking at me.

"Nina."

I jumped and spun around, the old photo still in my hand. His eyes spotted it and narrowed.

"What are you doing?"

Wordlessly I pointed at the milk. He didn't look over at it. Instead he walked towards me, his eyes slowly sweeping to mine. He took the photo from my hand and released me from his gaze to look down at it. He stared at it for a long time while I fidgeted, feeling naked and cold and frightened and totally freaked out. Then he carefully placed it back up where it had been.

When he finished, he sighed and looked at me. His eyes roamed over my body slowly, but not in a sensual way. He was assessing me, or I guess assessing my reaction. He knew I had seen it, his look in that picture. He knew things were making sense to me now. He must have been waiting for me to freak out, or throw the milk at him, or run far away.

When I just stood there, shivering a little and staring back, he turned and walked back to the bedroom.

"Bring your milk with you," he said without turning. "It's cold out here."

He disappeared and I still hadn't moved. My eyes jumped back to the photo, now prominently displayed and practically blazing with light.

I reached for the milk and followed. 



Wrong Pt. 02



Thanks again to Rainey for her awesome preservation skills. 

Chapter 4: I Spy

I was in a daze when I left Patrick's later that morning.

"I'll call you," he told me, watching while I put on my clothes and slipped into my shoes. 

He only wore boxers. I stared for a minute, even if I was freaking out inside.

Patrick had a picture of me on his fridge. 

Now I was pretty sure he always wanted me, even when he was with Chloe. If I was going by the look on his face in that photo, he wanted me even before they were married, too. It made me feel like everything around me had been ripped away, that I hardly knew anything about the man staring back at me or the marriage he had with Chloe. Or his relationship with me.

My mind raced as I searched for my purse, replaying the last few years in my head and wondering how I missed it. I considered myself incredibly observant; clearly I was wrong about a lot of things. I tried to think about things he'd said, done, thought, and if the significance had changed. Now I understood why he drove away all my boyfriends. It was also obvious why he couldn't stay with Chloe.

There were dozens of questions in my head, swimming about and wrapping around each other until they were one knotted mess. It gave me a headache. After I found my bag and turned to look at Patrick, I asked myself what finally made him leave her. What was the final nudge that convinced him he couldn't stay married to her?

Patrick walked over to me, wrapped his arms around my waist and gave me one last kiss. When he was done, he stepped away and just stared at me. 

No words were necessary. A hand found the knob of the door and I was out in his hall, feeling his eyes on my back until the elevator doors shut behind me.

As I rode down, the biggest question I pondered was how long, exactly, had I wanted him?

********************************************************

Patrick didn't call me, and he didn't answer my two pitiful calls, either. Yet again, it appeared he ditched me.

I went about my business, desperate to drive out the memories of his tongue, the exact shape and texture of his cock, the feeling of him making love to me and the horrendous guilt which continued to simmer in my stomach. Nothing I tried worked and I became dreadfully distracted and irritable. I was haunted day and night, but especially at night.

Chloe and I only talked on the phone once. It was a short chat. She complained about work, asked me how I was doing, and then had to go. She was testing out another date. 

"Are you okay?" she asked me before hanging up. "You sound off."

"I'm fine," I said, not sounding it at all, even to my own ears. 

What else could I say? I sound off because I fucked your ex-husband, the man you're still in love with?

"Are you sure?" Chloe sounded skeptical. "You have a weird tone."

Thankfully her date rang her bell before I had to answer and she hung up. She texted me later to tell me he was a loser. She didn't make mention of my tone again, thank God.

The guilt helped take a little of the edge off when it came to what I was feeling about Patrick, whatever the hell that was. I guess if I had to express it, I'd say I actually missed the bastard. It was ridiculous. I told myself that every day. We just had sex. It didn't have to be such a big deal (if you decided not to factor in who I had sex with).

As I walked the stairs up to my apartment one evening, exactly a week and a half since my last night with Patrick, I looked up and my eyes were filled with him leaning nonchalantly against my door. He held a bag of take-out. Dressed in an exquisite suit, I guessed he came straight from work. His tie was undone a bit and he looked tired, but otherwise he was as attractive as ever.

I stopped, paralyzed. I hadn't expected anything like this, nor had I prepared myself for him coming back into my life. His eyes flicked upwards and he finally spotted me. His smile was slow and intimate. It was as though someone had set a fire at my toes; the warmth crawled up and through my body.

"What are you doing here?" My voice sounded frightened and far away.

I missed him and I wanted him, but this wasn't going to lead anywhere good. As much as I wanted him to be standing there, as desperately as I wanted to kiss him all over his face, it was much better that Patrick stay away. That I hate him.

Plus he was fucking with my mind; I'd convinced myself the revelation I thought I had was bullshit. He just had an old photo on the fridge. He had to have once loved Chloe; it wasn't too weird to keep something of hers around. It also had been buried on the fridge with other paperwork, clippings and take-out menus. I told myself I imagined the look on his face. I nearly convinced myself that all the intensity in our sex and the chemistry that seemed to coat the air around us was bullshit, too. It was a good explanation as to why he vanished.

Unfortunately, that burning chemistry was still there. The hunger and want in his eyes weren't—couldn't—be my imagination. It was all there. It was all real. Oh, God.

"I figured you'd be hungry," Patrick said, holding up the bag. 

I wasn't sure if he meant it to be an innuendo; his face and tone gave nothing away. My body, however, was hungry for food and for him. I didn't realize how starved I'd been for his presence until that moment. It was silly and inexplicable how much I wanted him...which is why I automatically switched into bitch mode.

"It's a little presumptuous of you to just show up at my door with food. Someone could be coming over. I could have plans, you know."

His smile grew wider and he pushed his body off the wall. "There's no one else coming and you don't have any other plans. Let's go inside and eat. We'll chat."

"Fuck you," I growled. 

How dare he just show up at my apartment after not calling? I hated caring about that as much as I hated him being there, because I was acting like we had something. Which we most definitely didn't, naturally. We couldn't. Why did I keep forgetting that?

"Would you like to?" he teased. 

"Leave."

"But I'm hungry," Patrick said, walking up to me. I took a few steps back but he kept approaching and soon one of his hands wrapped snugly around my upper arm. "And I miss you."

Swallowing, I tried to get my arm out of his grasp. I wasn't trying hard enough, or he really was that strong. All I could smell was his cologne. His lips were so close that I could already imagine the sensation of them on mine. 

"Please go," I whispered, because I had to. "Nothing good can come of this."

"Are you mad at me because I haven't called?"

"Patrick."

"I've been busy at work and my—"

"Look, you don't have to do this and it doesn't—"

"My father died."

The words I wanted to fling at him suddenly flew from my mind as I noticed the sadness in his eyes. Upon closer inspection, while he did look wonderful all rumpled up, he also looked incredibly tired and a bit lost.

I exhaled slowly. "I'm so sorry. How come you didn't tell me? How come Chloe didn't tell me?"

Patrick looked at me with confusion. "Why would she know? And I wanted to call you but my mother has been inconsolable so I've been taking care of everything. I had to fly out to California for a few days. There just wasn't any time and... I didn't really want to explain over the phone." He looked around my cold and shabby hallway. The paint on the walls was peeling and a light flickered obnoxiously above us. "I didn't really want to tell you here, either."

"I'm sorry," was all I could say. 

"I still should have called or texted," Patrick added, smiling a little again, albeit sadly. "That was inexcusable. I can't imagine what was going on in that little over-analytical head of yours." 

"Patrick, your father died. It's okay. I'm sure I was the last thing on your mind." 

He stepped closer so my back was against the wall and his body hovered over me. "You were usually the only thing on my mind."

"What?"

"I'm sure I've mentioned on more than one occasion my father and I were estranged, right?" He messed up his tousled hair and his eyes looked away. I did remember that Chloe often said they didn't get along, that his parents had moved to California and he never visited them. She said he had a brother who died when he was young and his parents were never the same. "I'm sorry he's gone. He was my father. And I'm sorry for my mother. She's totally lost now. I think she might be moving out here. She needs me." He blew out a harsh breath. "He's been sick for a long time, though. When I got the call, I wasn't shocked."

Without realizing I was doing it, I'd lifted my hands and ran them up and down his arms. He moved closer. "Still," I murmured, a hand with a mind of its own winding its way up his arm and sinking into that thick, disheveled hair. "I'm sorry. It had to be tough on you."

Patrick didn't say anything further; he just watched me try to comfort him. He took my other hand and brought me to the door of my apartment. I pulled my key out. I could feel his presence behind me and it was overwhelming. Taking a deep breath, I stepped to the side and let him enter first, shutting the door after us.

Rufus ran over and meowed immediately. He purred and rubbed around Patrick's ankles. Wordlessly I headed for the kitchen and opened a can of cat food, keeping an eye on Patrick.

He studied some of the knickknacks I had. Then he looked at the pictures I had of my family on a little table. His face was unreadable. Then he stopped at one that featured me when I was a little kid, grinning with a few teeth missing as I stood proudly next to my brand new bicycle with my father.

Patrick laughed and held up the picture. "You were ridiculous even then." His smile faded a little. "Perhaps this will paint a little picture for you of what my father was like... Let's just say I don't even think I have one photo with him, let alone an adorable one like this."

He carefully placed the frame back on the table.

Something strong tugged at me and made me cross the floor. I hugged him fiercely. He tensed at first, clearly surprised. Then his body loosened up and those long arms hugged me back. "I'm sorry about your father," I said into his chest. He kissed my forehead. 

We stayed like that for a few minutes. Then he said it was time we ate. 

I didn't have a kitchen table, so we sat on my couch and ate the delicious take-out. Patrick told me a bit about his mother. Some stories made me laugh. Others made me feel sympathy for the ten year old little boy that got lost somewhere when his older brother died. 

"She wasn't the same," he said softly. "Neither was Dad. But Dad was never exactly pleasant. Mom used to be. Then after Jimmy died... She stopped making dinner. I went to school without lunch. It just was bad all around. Thank god my Aunt Kathleen stepped in, otherwise I probably wouldn't have made it." He shook his head with a grim smile. "I need to stop spilling my guts right now. I'm losing all of my elusive air." He stared at me for a moment, his eyes running over me in my work dress that was all probably wrinkled and sloppy by then. "You just make the words come out."

I was learning so much about the man I was once so sure I loathed. It was a heady feeling.

"I don't do anything," I mumbled, standing and taking my plate and his. I was definitely embarrassed, or maybe flattered. 

"You don't know what you do to me." A hand stopped me from running off to the kitchen, running up my arm and clutching my elbow. "I missed you. Really."

I put the plates down and sank back into the couch. My eyes met his and I realized I was shaking. "Why? Why, Patrick? What is this?"

His hand clutched my thigh and squeezed. "Let me show you."

"No. Why are you doing this?" I pushed his hand off me. "No sex. I want us to talk."

It actually hurt to push his touch away. I would have been lying if I said I didn't want to disappear into my bedroom with him, but I needed answers. More than he had given me. That photo in his kitchen had brought us onto a whole other road than the one I thought we were on, and I couldn't continue riding on it blindly without knowing at least some of its twists and turns.

And then there was the matter of Chloe. 

He sighed and leaned back, shaking his head a little. "When I first met Chloe I thought she was cute. I liked her. She was a bit high maintenance for me, but I knew I was pretty high maintenance, too." He smiled at me but I couldn't smile back. "We'd been dating for six months. I was always on the edge of breaking things off. It didn't feel right to me. Then she suckered me into coming over to dinner at your parents' house. Everything told me not to go, that I was making things more serious between us by 'meeting the parents', that I was still leading her on. But Chloe has that face—you know it well I'm sure—that sometimes you can't say no to. I mastered how to eventually but this was early on." He looked over at my little table of frames. "We all sat down to dinner and she was bitching about how you were running late but she couldn't wait for me to meet you. I half-listened as she told me a little about you. Then you rushed in the house and gave us all a smile. You were out of breath and all red in the face, and your hair was everywhere, but you were beautiful. I think for the first time in my life I was literally struck speechless, and for a smart ass like me who always had something to say that was truly terrifying. I didn't know what the fuck it meant." 

He looked over at me. I hadn't moved since he started talking. I felt like a stone—I couldn't move, couldn't feel. I just listened. 

"I hung around Chloe more often and, without even realizing I was doing it, I encouraged her to invite you out with us, along with some other people, too, of course. I said I wanted to go out in big groups. It wasn't until, like, another six months after that, about a full year after Chloe and I started dating, I realized what I felt for you was borderline obsessive attraction." His eyes studied my face. "So I was nasty to you. I could tell you weren't overly enthused by me, either. I went back to thinking about ways to break it off with Chloe. I just wanted to get away. I was a dick to her sometimes, hoping she'd dump me. But she was always so fucking pleasant, so eager to let me be an asshole because she thought she loved me."

"She does love you," I whispered, tears sliding down my cheeks.

"She thinks she does. She clings to me but she doesn't love me. She hardly knows me. She never tried to know me." His words were so certain I almost believed them. 

"Anyway, I was a pussy when it came to breaking it off with her. I felt how much she depended on me, and at the same time I was addicted to seeing you, no matter how infrequently or briefly." He snorted and gently touched my arm. He was cautious, wanting to see if I'd push him away again, but I didn't want to and I'm not sure I could've, either. A person only has so much strength, after all. "It was kind of pathetic how into you I was. Then I'd feel all guilty about lusting after my girlfriend's sister that I'd think 'I have to break up with Chloe' and then we'd start arguing and she'd start sobbing and we would end up back at square one.

"Suddenly we'd been together for five or six years. She started bringing up getting married. It dawned on me she'd been hinting about for a while and I just hadn't been paying attention. I was seriously going to break it off then, but I thought that even though I didn't necessarily love Chloe, I'd spent so much time with her that being with her was easy. Nice. Comfortable. I didn't feel like going back into the whole dating-scene again, and I thought you were untouchable. You hated me, you were her sister, etc. I was an asshole, Nina, but I married your sister because it was convenient. Not everyone marries for love, you know? She was good to me, I thought we'd always get along, blah blah. And here's the really sick part: I knew I would always see you."

I bolted off the couch and paced. "What changed? When did you decide you couldn't stay married to her and why?" The questions just slipped from my mouth and my voice didn't even sound like my own.

Patrick blew out a deep breath. "I realized I was in love with you. It wasn't just attraction or a stupid infatuation, like I thought it might be. Like I hoped it might be. I was in love with you. I felt like the ultimate slime. It was towards the end when things were really bad and you stopped over for a girls' night to cheer Chloe up. The two of you were giggling about something in the living room. Then you came into the kitchen for a beer, and I was eating at the table, and you looked at me. Your expressions were never warm when you looked at me, but this one iced my whole body. I felt miserable. You stomped out and went back out to Chloe. I listened to you telling her jokes about work, about your boss, about other boyfriends, and I felt physically ill listening to you laugh for her after just giving me a look that could make Jesus think twice." 

"What did you expect?" I asked in a whisper.

Patrick laughed, but he didn't sound happy or all that amused. "I couldn't figure it out. Why the fuck should it matter if you hated me, if I disappointed you? I just thought you were pretty, I kept telling myself. I was just attracted to you. It wasn't that bad because we can't help noticing attractive people, right? That's what I always said to myself. Then that night I was in bed and it finally came to me that I loved you. That I always had, particularly when I got to know you. You might have been recalcitrant in my company but you still spoke. I still found out things about you."

I sat next to him and put my head in my hands. It felt like it was going to explode any minute. "You can't possibly love me, Patrick. We were never close enough for that."

He ignored me. "Two or three months later I told Chloe I didn't love her anymore and things weren't working out. Then she filed for divorce." He moved cautiously closer to me. "I wasn't going to seek you out, Nina. I thought I'd get over it. I thought I was strong enough, you know? I'm a man and there are plenty of other women. I wasn't even sure if I believed in 'love' or whatever. Then I saw you out that night and it just... wasn't over. I don't want it to be over."

He gently touched my knee. "What are you thinking? Talk to me."

My head shook back and forth. He wanted me to talk? But soon I found myself talking regardless. "Patrick," I sobbed, "I can't believe... Poor Chloe. Poor Chloe."

"Do you hate me for it?" he asked softly.

"A little," I said around my sobs, "for her sake. For yours. All that wasted time because it was 'convenient'. You've really destroyed her, you know?"

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do for her anymore. And she'll recover. She isn't destroyed. She's just stuck on this because it was convenient for her, too."

"I know," I said, my sobbing calming somewhat. Somehow I knew that, too. Tears still came from my eyes in a never ending river—I could name each drop. Fear. Hate. Love. Disbelief. Shock. Sympathy. Lust. Guilt. "But this has to stop. I'll never be able to face my family again. Not even sure how I'll be able to do that now."

"No," he said firmly, tugging a hand away from my face so that it was in his. "I've cut myself off from what I want, from you, from all this shit I feel, for far too long. We can make it work."

My laugh was brittle. "Really? I'll just take you back to Mom and Dad's? Introduce you as my boyfriend? Basically give a middle finger to Chloe and ruin our relationship? That's how we'll make it work, huh?"




Wrong Pt. 02



"I'm not saying it will be easy," he began slowly, "but can you honestly sit there and tell me you don't want me? And not just in a physical way?"

I was silent, except for my occasional hiccup. I was never a very good liar. 

"Life's short, Nina," he said, repeating this again. He'd said it the night he took me out for dinner. "I just witnessed physical proof of that seeing my dad in his coffin. Let's just see where this road takes us, okay? I don't know what'll happen any more than you do, but I'd like to find out. I love you."

I sucked in a deep breath and shut my eyes.

"I do. I'm sorry if you don't want to hear it yet but I've kept it in for so fucking long. I love you. Please don't push me away."

"My family—"

"Loves you," he interrupted. "They'll understand eventually."

"Patrick! I can't just—"

But he shut me up again, this time with a kiss. His mouth fit so perfectly against mine. His scent made me insane. The exact pressure of his body against mine as he suddenly sprawled us out on my couch felt so right. It all felt so right.

"Don't you see?" he whispered hotly against my lips between a kiss. He started removing clothing, spreading my legs, positioning us. "Don't you see how right this is? Please, Nina, I need you."

Then those lips were against mine again and I found myself eagerly agreeing with everything he said.

******************************************************************

We eventually moved to the bedroom. He laughed at the posters on my wall.

"Are you still in college?" he asked. I couldn't help but snort a bit, too.

Rufus tried to get in there with us; Patrick nearly broke his neck trying to step over him. With a smile at me, Patrick picked my cat up and put him on the other side of the door.

Then we had sex again— and when we were done we rested, wrapped up in each other. He stroked my hair from time to time. Now and then I kissed his chest. We were in a perfect, right, beautiful bubble. 

"What was your father like?" I asked him after a while. 

He drew circles with his finger on my belly, keeping his eyes fixed on my stomach. "He was a lot like me, actually. An egotistical asshole. Unhappy with everything and everyone. I think he was what I would have become if I'd stayed in a loveless marriage. Bitter. Distant. Disinterested."

My heart hurt when I thought of Chloe.

"She's never going to forgive me if she finds out."

He wetly kissed a nipple and made my hips pop up. "You want to hide our relationship?"

"We're in a relationship?" I asked a little breathlessly. He murmured against my breast and the vibrations were incredible. 

"Yes."

"Patrick." He climbed on top of me and he was so hard. "It can't work out."

"Chloe loves you. It's going to work out. All of it." Looking at my expression, he said, "If you prefer, we'll keep it discreet for a little while. But I'm not letting you go now that I've got you, now that I know what you taste like, what you scream like, what you moan like... what you feel like. I can't let you go." His steady eyes bore into my own. We both knew what a risk he was making, unveiling all his intimate thoughts and emotions to me when I could easily turn around and break his heart. It was then I accepted how serious he was.

I wanted to tell him something, but I didn't know what. Then he slid into me, touching me deep inside while his eyes probed my own, and I couldn't say anything at all.

******************************************************************

A few hours later he put his suit back on. Now it was entirely rumpled; he had removed it in a frenzy. 

I slipped on pajamas and watched him prepare to leave. A pang went through my body and I realized I was already missing him. I didn't want to see him go. Impulsively I kissed the arch of his cheekbone. 

His eyebrows jumped up but he just smiled mildly. 

He went into the bathroom for a few minutes and when he came back out he looked much more put together, even though his suit was still wrinkled and he needed a shave. I decided I liked the unshaven look, anyway.

"I'll call you," he promised. "Tomorrow. I swear it."

I teased his penny-colored hair and told him I knew. "I'll miss you," I said without thinking. 

I was embarrassed for being so obvious about it but it didn't really matter. Patrick knew I would already, I'm sure. 

Patrick walked over and kissed me deeply, squeezing his arms around my middle. "Me too."

He walked slowly to the door like he hated to leave. I hated watching him go. 

Then he opened door and left. 

I went back to bed and quickly decided that the bed felt bigger and colder than ever before without him beside me. Rufus came to snuggle, which I appreciated, but it wasn't the same. 

I laughed a little to myself, amused and horrified to realize I cared a lot more about Patrick than I thought.

******************************************************************

The next day Patrick called me at work like he promised and said he wanted to have dinner that night. He spoke nervously, almost as though he was worried I'd changed my mind in the time we were apart. I could understand his concern; I had changed my mind a million times.

But I was selfish and I wanted him. I wanted also to desperately believe what he'd said to me could be true—that we could have each other and that everyone would accept us. He had sounded so sure, so convinced. Patrick was rarely wrong. 

"Dinner sounds good to me."

"Really?" he asked. 

"Really," I laughed. "Did you expect a different answer?"

"I'll pick you up at 8," he said before hanging up.

I smiled as I set my phone down. Then it vibrated again a little while later and I picked it up, not even bothering to look at the screen. "Are you double-checking? I already said yes!"

"What?" Chloe's confused voice asked.

"Oh." Shock and fear whipped coldly through my body. "I'm sorry, Chloe, I thought you were someone else."

"Who?" 

"Just a friend," I lied. 

"Nina. We need to have lunch. I'm leaving work right now."

Icy dread filled my heart and lungs. My stomach battled butterflies. "Okay... What's wrong?"

"We'll talk about it there. Meet me at Gino's in a half hour?"

"Okay," I agreed hesitantly. She'd already hung up.

My high from just a few short moments before was gone and I was crashing. I left work for lunch—terrified.

******************************************************************

She was already there when I arrived, toying with her necklace nervously and watching for me. When she spotted me she waved me over frantically. I suppressed the urge to throw up.

I sat down as gently as I could and looked at her with frightened eyes. 

As soon as I sat down, she spoke. "Patrick's seeing someone, Nina."

Her face was grave and serious. She knew, I told myself. Trying not to faint, I prepared for her to start flipping out on me. 

"How did you find out?" I managed to ask.

"I'm still friends with his secretary, Karen. She told me he came into work late yesterday in the same clothes he wore the day before with a big 'I've just been fucked' grin. Then she texted me and said she could overhear him making a date today."

"I'm so sorry, Chloe," I began, "I didn't—"

"Unbelievable. I wonder who the fuck she is. Karen said she couldn't hear him say her name, and no women have been stopping by or anything." She sat back in her chair and exhaled shortly. "I want to know so bad. I know it'll only torture me but I need to know." 

Relief clashed with horror. She didn't know it was me, but she knew he was with someone. And she seemed hell bent on finding out who it was. I wanted to suggest maybe he walked in with the same clothes on due to grief over his father's death, and opened my mouth to do just that, but then I realized she hadn't mentioned anything about it. She still didn't know. Apparently Karen didn't know, either, or she would have told Chloe. 

If I'd said anything, Chloe would have demanded to know how I knew and she was smart enough to figure things out. She'd know instantly who the new woman was, that's for sure. My heart pounded as I thought about how I'd dodged two bullets.

She talked about ways she could figure it out, how she knew she was trespassing on his private life but she couldn't understand how he could move on so quickly, how it wasn't fair he had met someone and she kept going on dates with losers, but I was lost in the stormy ocean of my own hazy, messed up world. 

Then she said something and I was brought back to the conversation. "What?"

"I asked what's up with you. You're a million miles away."

"I'm sorry."

She looked me over and then a small smile flickered on her lips. "You're fucking someone, aren't you?"

"Chloe!" 

She looked at me closely and her smile grew wider. "Oh my God, you're serious about him, aren't you?! Why haven't you said anything? Is that why you've been acting weird? Tell me everything! My own love life may suck but that doesn't mean you can't tell me about yours!" 

I can't tell you about mine, Chloe, because you're likely going to ram a machete into my head, I thought.

"I'm not seeing anyone."

This time she heard the lie. She looked at me like I was five. "Don't lie, Nina, it's written all over your face. Tell me."

Trying to smile, I just shrugged. "It's new." 

Chloe sat back with a knowing smirk. "Ah. Don't want to jinx it, huh? I understand, I get it. But don't think you can hold out on me for long. I'll get you to tell me about it soon enough. I always get the truth!"

I sipped my water carefully, trying not to choke.

******************************************************************

When I got back from lunch I called Patrick immediately and relayed the whole thing to him. He cursed Karen and his own stupidity, and told me not to worry. Chloe would find out when we were ready for her to know. He calmed me down a little and then sweet talked me enough so that I didn't demand we stop everything all together again. 

"I'm looking forward to seeing you later," he told me.

"Me too," I couldn't help but say.

Even after years of thinking I hated him, even after just having lunch with my spurned and devastated sister, I couldn't lie to Patrick.

Later, he showed up an hour early and laughed when he saw I was just in a towel. 

"You planned this, didn't you?" I demanded, hiding my amusement. Apparently I couldn't hide it well because I felt the corner of my lips quirk up. 

He didn't waste any time. He slipped out of his jeans and ripped off his boxers, smiling devilishly at my gasp. His shirt disappeared and then he was on me, ripping off my towel and pulling my wet hair. 

Patrick kissed me and walked me backwards until my butt hit the back of my couch. Quickly he whipped my body around and bent me over so that I was facing the front door with my hands grasping the top of the couch. 

I felt his cock slide against my ass cheeks and moaned. He reached around and put a hand on each tit, kneading them and flicking his rough thumbs against the nipples. I grunted and squeezed the couch.

"Yeah, I know you want it, Nina," Patrick said confidently. "We don't have a lot of time. We have reservations, actually, so I'm going to fuck you hard and fast. Are you ready?"

I couldn't answer him. His cock was now rubbing between my cheeks, making all sorts of dirty and naughty and fabulous things come to mind.

He let go of a breast and grabbed my hair, pulling on it slightly. "I asked you a question. Are you ready to be fucked, fast and hard?"

"Yes!"

He plunged in and I squealed, both at the sudden invasion and at the bite he decided to give my shoulder. 

He wasn't kidding about the fast and hard part, but I was so wet and ready for him that I was screaming for him to go even harder. 

"You like it rough, hm?" he whispered in my ear.

"Uh-huh."

"Then take that cock," he ordered, ramming it in so hard that I collapsed onto my forearms and hung my head. He was still tugging on my hair and saying all kinds of filthy things.

"Yeah, you're going to sit all through dinner," he gasped, "all through dinner with my cum inside you. Yeah, that's what I want. I want you to feel it all through dinner, dripping out into your—ugh—into your panties."

We were quiet for a little bit, our bodies moving constantly and frantically against one another. Patrick's thrusting was sure and quick, driving me out of my mind.

I finally let out a long, high-pitched moan and came without warning, digging my fingers into the fabric of my couch. It was endless and freeing and so motherfucking good. I didn't want it to stop, and it seemed like it never would.

"Yes, yes, yes," Patrick chanted, fucking me hard as he felt my spasms around him. I knew it would be any second for him, too. Then he started pulsing, filling me up just as promised. His face dropped down to the back of my neck. He moaned open-mouthed against my skin. 

"Feels so fucking good," he panted breathlessly. "Fuck, Nina, fuck! I love you! I love you so much!"

We heard glass shattering as Patrick continued to release inside me. Both our heads looked up in orgasmic bliss and confusion. Then our bodies popped up in shock. 

Chloe stood there on the threshold of my apartment, one arm wrapped around a pillow. A broken bottle lay at her feet and thousands of little shimmering pieces of glass sparkled against the red wine on my floor. 

She must have wanted a surprise girls' night.

She said nothing. I said nothing. Patrick slipped out of me. I felt his cum slipping from my pussy and down my thighs, the ultimate evidence of what we'd just done. Of what she'd seen. Of what she'd heard.

She took a step backwards. Then she took another. It was like we were wild animals and she couldn't turn her back on us because we were dangerous.

Well, weren't we?

Her face was white, her eyes wide, her mouth open on a silent scream. It felt like an eternity as we stood there, us watching her, her staring at our naked and fucked bodies. 

Then she ran and disappeared, leaving behind the scene of betrayal as quickly as she came upon it. I was too frozen to go after her. I stared unseeingly at the empty doorway, wondering if it was all one big nightmare. 

Patrick pulled his boxers on and retrieved a broom and a mop. He shut the door and started sweeping and mopping up the floor. I watched the glass dance and listened to the sound it made as he cleaned it up. It was a surreal experience, watching a nearly-naked Patrick cleaning my apartment.

I realized I hadn't put any clothes on and shuddered. I stood in the same place, the same position, completely naked. When Patrick finished getting most of the glass up, he glanced at me. He picked up the discarded towel from earlier and wrapped me up in it.

He pulled me into a hug I couldn't feel and kissed my cheek. "I'm sorry that had to happen like that. She shouldn't have had to find out that way."

I just stood there, letting him hold me, wondering how everything had gone so wrong.

Chapter 5: Revelations & Hope

An hour or so later I finally found my voice and told Patrick he should go. 

"I just need some time to myself, I think."

His eyes stared down at me. "Nina, I don't want to leave you right now."

My hand went to my cheek, expecting it to be wet with tears, but it came away dry. I was confused. Shouldn't I have been weeping?

My cell phone rang from my bedroom. Cursing, Patrick went to get it. He came back out slowly and handed it to me.

"It's my mom, isn't it?" I asked, mildly surprised at how normal I sounded. How calm. 

In hindsight, I was probably thinking the worst had already happened—my sister had caught us fucking. She'd heard Patrick screaming out his love for me. She saw me fucked and blissful. Nothing could be more terrible than that.

"No, your friend. I sent it to voicemail." He skimmed his fingers down my arms, caressing the goosebumps. "Do you want to sit down? You're shaking." 

Blindly I sat and heard Patrick rustling around in my kitchen. He cooed at Rufus and I heard him open a can for him—thank God. Poor cat must've been traumatized. 

He walked out a few minutes later with a glass of water and buttered toast. He made me eat and drink, but honestly I didn't give much of a fight. The energy was completely zapped from me.

After I ate most of the bread, Patrick picked me up and brought me into the bathroom. He turned on the tub, filled it with hot water and sank me into it. Picking up a washcloth and soap, he washed my sweating and soiled body delicately and lovingly. Though he hardly put any pressure on me, each swipe burned and bruised my skin. Each loving touch gave the most exquisite pain.

"Are you sorry?" he asked after a bit, disrupting the silence that rested over us like dirty film. 

I digested the question and spoke in a voice I hardly recognized. "Of course I'm sorry. I broke my sister's heart."

Patrick stared into the bathwater, swirling it around with his hand. "No... I know you're sorry about that. I'm sorry about that, too. I meant— are you sorry about this? About us? Do you regret it?"

Sighing, I contemplated the scruffy, patient, kneeling man beside me who I used to detest above all things. He was carefully guarding his emotions. It had to be rough on him, too. In all his confessions, he never once said he hated or even disliked Chloe. 

Was I sorry? Sorry seemed like such a silly word when applied to our situation, to what I'd done to my only sister. 'Regret' fell short, too. I acted so selfishly, aware of the damning consequences but too desperate to obtain my own pleasure. 

I'd become freakishly needy for Patrick's touch. He had married my sister, shared her bed for years, had sex with her, cared for her, spent holidays with her, fermented his image and career with her by his side... 

Was I sorry?

Now I was able to see a side of Patrick I never knew existed. For the first time in my life, someone made love to me. Someone was enamored with me. When you overlooked the antagonistic and self-serving persona, Patrick was amazing. Endearing. Beloved. Could I regret experiencing all that? Tasting him? Feeling him inside me? Seeing him watch me with such strangely devoted eyes?

Remembering a question I asked myself not long ago, though it seemed like years before, I wondered again how long ago I'd started wanting him. The whole affair had exploded so intensely and quickly that it couldn't have just begun when he started sniffing around. And the hate I had for him for all those years always seemed tinged with something else. If you truly dislike someone, you feel indifferent, don't you? Sparks don't ignite and pop down your spine when you see them. No, I'd felt a puzzling mixture of things for Patrick for as long as I could remember.

Since...

Then everything clicked into place. I didn't just want Patrick.

"Do you know when I first started loving you?" I asked him, not realizing my prolonged silence had sent him into his own quiet whirlwind of thoughts. His head snapped up and the heat in his eyes nearly made me stop speaking. The words, however, and the emotions had been stifled for too long. "You were married to Chloe for four months and the two of you made me to go the movies with you. It was a stupid movie but I can't think of the name now... Chloe went to the bathroom. We were standing by the concession stand."

Patrick said nothing but his alert eyes and rigid posture told me he was listening and that he recalled it all perfectly. He never forgot anything.

"My ex-boyfriend was there. Mike. We had just broken up and he was there with some gorgeous girl, practically fucking her against the wall. You got so angry. I didn't understand it then. I was too depressed to make sense of anything, really..." I drifted off, thinking back, wondering how I could have been so blind. It wouldn't have changed our situation at all, but it might have prepared me for the onslaught of feelings that were slamming into my awareness now. "Anyway, I think I was about to cry or something. You said, 'Don't worry about him. Even someone like you could do a million times better.'" 




Wrong Pt. 02



Patrick stared at me. A corner of his mouth moved up like he wanted to smile, but he didn't seem particularly amused. "Nina, really? That is the moment you started loving me? That's... disappointing. And sad. I was being a dick."

My numb face managed a slight smile. "Maybe. You were being less of a dick than usual, which I appreciated. It was the first time you said something halfway decent to me. And you were so angry for me. On my behalf." I looked down at my pruned fingers. "You also forget I'm used to macho men who don't really express their feelings. My dad is a good example of that." I looked back at him and my heart thumped heavily at the expression I saw on his face, at how he restrained himself from holding me, likely thinking I'd shatter into a million pieces if he touched me. "Even if what you said was carefully constructed to come off as an insult, I read through it. I had no idea what you felt back then, but in that moment I remember thinking, 'Wow. He's not such an asshole.' I didn't know it then but hating you became a lot more complicated. I might not have loved you then but something shifted."

Patrick let the water drain and pulled me up, drying me off with another large towel. Once I was dry to his satisfaction, he gazed down into my face. "I can't believe it was that easy. Something so small. And here I thought I was going to have to buy you diamonds and rubies and thousands of books to get you to love me."

It was said with humor but there was a touch of that vulnerability that lingered around the edges of Patrick's personality, left over from a time when no one loved him or cared for him when he was a kid. 

My heart was broken and bleeding because of what I had done knowingly and almost gleefully to Chloe, but it ached when I watched Patrick and thought of letting him go. Finally I let myself completely feel everything—not just the guilt and shame.

"No," I said firmly, putting my hands on him for the first time since we were discovered. 

Patrick's eyebrows rose. "What?"

"You asked me before if I was sorry about us, if I regretted it. My answer is no."

He caressed the side of my face with his hand. Then it danced down to my throat, where it curled around to grab me. He felt my heart racing and smiled faintly. He ran his hand up into my hair and clutched it in a strong fist, tipping my head back so he could kiss me deeply. He hugged me close to his chest and his pounding heart. His kiss expressed almost boyish delight, mingled with distinctive adult male satisfaction.

Pulling away a few moments later, his damp lips grinned. "This doesn't mean I'm going to stop being an asshole."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." I gave him one last peck and slipped a long shirt over my head. I picked up my phone. At Patrick's inquiring look, I said, "I'm just going to leave her a message. I'm so worried."

He nodded and then cleared his throat. "So, do you want me to go home? I can go home. Give you time."

Letting out a deep breath, I shook my head. I'd committed myself to this path. Some, who knew Patrick and his ways well, would say I damned myself to it. And I wanted him to stay, no matter what. Enough vacillating. It was time to pick a decision and stick to it.

"Stay. I'll be right back."

Relieved, Patrick removed his clothing. I walked out into my living room and called Chloe. It went straight to her voicemail.

"Chloe... I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am you had to see that. This isn't something we've been doing for— I've been such a coward lately. I need to... explain, if you'll let me. I love you and I never meant to hurt you. I know that I did hurt you, that I've been a selfish bitch. I love you so much. You're my sister. Please call me when you can. We need to talk."

I sniffed and shook my head, hanging up. This was going to take a lot more than words. I didn't know if my relationship with Chloe could ever be repaired. Something told me the scars from this would last a lifetime.

Walking back into the bedroom, I couldn't help but smile at the sight of Patrick sprawled out and fast asleep like a little kid, Rufus curled up on his chest. It was strange getting used to his vulnerable side, but I liked it. I was struck once more by how quickly everything had transformed. It was overwhelming, to be honest. 

I didn't know what would happen with Patrick. He was moody, arrogant and a self-proclaimed narcissist. He had changed slightly, but he hadn't changed that much. He could very likely break my own heart one day.

Climbing into bed with him, smelling him and feeling his warm arm automatically wrap around me, I figured it was a risk I was more than willing to take.

******************************************************************

Thankfully the next day was a Saturday. Feeling and looking as I did, I would have had to call out from work. My eyes were glassy and puffy, and I'd had nightmares all night. I was exhausted, scared and devastated. 

Patrick woke up and smiled at me, and then his smile faded. I looked awful. "I'll go get you breakfast," he whispered, kissing my lips. "The place around the corner, right?"

I smiled—or at least I tried to—and pressed my lips onto his cheek.

I took a hot shower, then crawled right back into bed. Peeking at my phone, I saw I had no missed calls or texts. I nearly drifted off to sleep when the phone went off. My heart and stomach lurched and I quickly reached for it to look at the screen. It was my mom. Shit.

"Mom?"

"Hey, I haven't talked to you in a couple of days."

Weird. She sounded pleasant.

"Um, yeah. I've been busy."

She laughed a little. "Always working so hard. Get out and live a little, Nina."

Oh, Mom. You have no idea.

"Mom, have you talked to Chloe?"

"That's actually why I'm calling you. She stopped by this morning and she looked like crap. Do you know anything? She said she was fine but she was obviously upset."

I closed my eyes. So Chloe hadn't said anything to Mom and Dad. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or horrified. 

"I've been trying to call her," was all I could say.

"I hope it isn't anything to do with Patrick. She lets him get to her far too much."

I shifted in bed, massively uncomfortable.

"Even today I told her he was an ass, that she could do much better. I don't think she gets it."

"Yeah," I muttered, tears making my voice slightly wobbly. 

My mom picked up on it, and as all mothers do when you don't want to talk about something, she asked me about it. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Are you crying?"

"No."

Mom sighed. "What's the matter?"

"I'm just really tired. Mom, I've got to go."

"Okay." Wow, she gave up easily for a change. "Call me later. I'm worried about you, and your sister."

"Okay."

We hung up and I took several calming breaths.

Patrick strode in. "Fucking place took forever. I can't—" His words stopped when he saw me sitting there, crying quietly with my phone in my hands. "Did she call?"

I shook my head. "My mom."

"Oh, Jesus." He ran a hand through his hair. "Bad?"

"Sh-She doesn't know. C-chloe didn't t-tell her." I could barely breathe, let alone speak.

He sat down beside me and took the phone, placing it on my nightstand. "Isn't that a good thing?"

Yes. No. I didn't know.

Patrick put his head on thighs and kissed my skin. "It's going to work out. You don't believe me now, but I swear to you that it's going to be fine."

I doubted very much it was going to be fine, but I didn't want to think about it anymore. I wanted to forget. 

"Touch me," I begged, squeezing my eyes shut to stop the annoying tears. 

Sitting up, Patrick let his hands run up my legs, pushing up the long shirt I wore. I tried to lose myself in the feeling but pain still ached in my chest. 

"More."

He kissed me, nibbling a little on my bottom lip. "Let me help you forget."

"Yes."

"You're so beautiful," he breathed against my cheek. I let out another sob, unable to stop it. "Shhh. It's okay."

He ran his tongue down my neck while his hand moved over my pussy. His fingers spread around, moving in the wetness that increased with every pass he made. A finger slipped in and I gasped. He started sucking the flesh of my throat and then put another finger inside. My pulse throbbed in my ears and between my legs.

"I need you," I whispered. 

"I know." He blew gently on the skin dampened my his mouth and I shuddered. My hand went up to his hair, tugging on it and holding him to me. 

His hand worked against me, turning me into a helpless mess. I moaned and said things I didn't even understand, but Patrick understood it all. Somehow he'd removed all his clothes and placed himself against me. He was hard and almost as needy as me. He slammed into me with a deep punishing thrust that was so brutally delicious I forgot everything but the feeling of him inside me.

"Look at me," he grunted. 

His words wormed their way into my awareness and my eyes fluttered open, the lids heavy with fatigue and pleasure. I stared into his eyes while I begged him to go faster. He pumped against me in rough, plunging movements, but then he slowed down. 

"Nooo," I complained, running my fingernails down his sweaty back until I reached his ass. I clawed at him, pushing him into me. "I want to get on top."

"What?" he panted.

"Me. On top." I wanted to control this since it seemed I could control very little else. 

He obliged and flipped us over so I could ride him. His strong hands cupped my butt and tried to move me up and down, but I resisted. Leaning across his body so that my nipples touched his chest, I whispered in his ear. "I'm running this, asshole." I sat up and moved all the way up before slamming back down. Scorching heat up through my pussy and obliterated any remaining particles of pain floating around in my mind.

He moaned and slid his hands around, letting one grasp my boob while the other toyed with my clit.

I ran my nails up and down his chest, scratching him as I moved fast. My hair flew around me; some strands stuck to my sweaty forehead. The sex was so intense I nearly burst out into tears again. 

Wanting to dish out the same punishment, I started slowing down. I ground into him, letting his cock move around inside my soaking warmth.

"No," he said breathlessly. "Please. I need... Need it faster."

"Too bad." I smirked when his eyes focused on me. My head fall back as I moved back and forth slowly, careful not to let his cock slip out. My mouth opened in a silent groan as I felt an orgasm not far out of my reach. In spite of my desire to torment him a little, my body's own needs won out. My hips automatically moved faster.

"Yesss," he sighed slowly. My head fell forward and I tried to smile as my hips thrust hard into his. He stared at where we were joined, his lips parted. His finger rubbed fast circles on my clit. 

Sounds came out of my mouth I never knew I could make. "Fuck," I gasped as the hot and cold waves rolled through my belly. I came harder than I could ever remember, clenching him hard. It seemed to last forever. 

When I got my bearings, I realized he was still hard inside me and was fucking me from below. In spite of my amazing orgasm, I was still hungrier than ever for him. I hopped off of him, ignoring his startled protest, and rapidly kissed my way down his chest. His wet dick slid up my stomach and over a tit until it proudly pushed against my smiling lips.

"Oh, God," he said, looking down at me with a twisted expression. He sounded and looked like he was in pain. Poor baby. 

My smile grew at the sight of him. It was fun to see the great and powerful Patrick Thorne nearly whimpering for my touch. I kissed the head of his cock and laughed at his tortured curse. 

Licking my lips, I moaned at the taste of me on him. 

"You're fucking killing me," he groaned. "I mean it."

Smiling again, I just took the tip in my mouth and swirled around. 

"Ugh." Patrick's hips involuntarily moved upwards. 

"All good things come to those who wait," I teased.

"Haven't I waited enough?" Patrick panted, his eyes glowing in the late morning light. The double meaning of those words stole the smile off my face, replacing the moment with severity. 

Things I didn't want to remember threatened to creep back in, so I swallowed his cock. He cried out and grabbed the back of my head. Having such a vulnerable yet powerful part of Patrick inside my mouth made my pussy tingle yet again. His fingers wove into my hair and desperately shook. I made a little noise at the delightful feeling and he moaned. All the while my tongue snaked around him and my cheeks provided warm, wet suction. I moved up and down, moving frantically as I felt him harden further. His breathing sped up and twisted. No words were spoken. He could only grunt and make nonsensical sounds.

His cock bumped against my throat and I focused on breathing so I wouldn't gag. He pulled my hair and let out a pleasured cry.

Eventually he whispered, "It's coming."

I moaned into him, needing his cum as much as he needed to give it to me.

"Oh, God," he grunted, his hand pulling almost painfully on my hair.

He came a rush. My tongue flicked around rapidly as my mouth filled with that distinct salty taste of him. I tried to keep up with it, swallowing each current as it came, but some of it managed to leak down the side of his cock. When he was finished and his entire body relaxed, I licked up the remainder. He made a noise and shut his eyes against the sight. 

Smug and thrilled with myself, I slithered up beside him. He was still gasping. His eyes opened and swung over to me and he grinned, running a shaking hand up my side. "You look like the cat that got the cream," he said with amusement.

Licking my lips, I smiled. "I guess so."

His forest eyes gleamed. 

We stayed there for a while, wrapped up in the afterglow. 

When the glow wore off, my smile died.

Sighing, I stood and put my shirt back on. I threw on some sweatpants and then quirked an eyebrow at Patrick who still lounged on my bed, thoroughly naked. "Are you going to sleep the day away, then?"

He didn't smile. His stare was intense and hypnotic. "It's going to be okay, Nina. They'll all forgive us. Just give it time."

My phone vibrated—I had a text. I had a good idea who it was from, and a glance at the screen didn't prove me wrong. 

Chloe wrote, "Lunch at noon at the cafe around the corner."

I showed it to Patrick and he looked at it with confusion. "Well, I guess that's good. At least she wants to talk, right?"

I nodded silently, but I had a bad feeling about it. It was getting late so I started to get ready, not speaking another word to Patrick. He got up at some point and was waiting for me by the door when I walked over to go. He handed me my purse and pushed my hair back from my face. "I have to run over to my apartment for a little bit so I won't be here when you get back. Let me know how it goes, please."

I nodded and walked out, trying to convince myself that this was good. She wanted to talk, to see me. I'd feared she'd never want to speak to me or lay eyes on me again.

We'd talk calmly, like adults, and maybe she wouldn't forgive me today—or ever—but at least we'd sit down and I'd get a chance to explain. Maybe, just maybe, she'd understand.

I had no idea how wrong I was.



Wrong Pt. 03



Thanks to everyone who has read and to those who sent feedback. And thank you, Rainey, once more—you saved me! 

***** 

Wrong Ch. 06: Resolutions 

I spotted Chloe immediately when I walked in. She sat nestled in the corner, staring out the window. I could tell she knew I was there by how she tightened up, but she didn't acknowledge me. She looked awful; I could tell she hadn't slept.  

I made my way over carefully, almost like she had somehow put grenades underneath the chipped tiles of the coffee shop. If I did manage to stumble on one, I certainly deserved it. 

When I made it over safely, I dropped into the seat across from her. A waitress came over and I ordered a coffee, trying to keep my voice quiet. I don't know why. Maybe I felt like if I didn't disturb her too much with my presence she wouldn't yell at me. We wouldn't have to deal with this. It was silly, like a little girl's fantasy. 

Chloe finally shifted and reached for the steaming cup in front of her. The waitress brought my own a few seconds later. Then we were alone. 

After a few long and tortuous minutes, she looked up at me. "How long?" 

The question startled me. Of course it was perhaps the most reasonable one to start off with, but I was surprised. It dawned on me she thought maybe we had begun when they were still married and I was horrified. 

"About two weeks," I whispered. 

She put more sugar into her coffee and stirred. The sound of the spoon against the mug seemed so loud. 

"I guess I figured out who he was fucking, huh?" 

"I'm so sorry, Chloe. I didn't mean to hurt you." 

She smiled without humor. "You know, I really hate it when people say that. What you mean is I didn't mean for you to find out. Of course you knew it would hurt me, otherwise you wouldn't have snuck around." 

I didn't say anything. 

"I just keep wondering how you could be so stupid. You saw what happened with me." She took a sip of her coffee and looked me over. "Do you really think you'll be any different? What the hell do you guys do together, besides sex? He'll grow bored of you, if he isn't bored already." 

She looked at me with hate and a splash of pity. I wasn't sure which was worse. 

I tried to pick up my cup but my hand was shaking. "I can't explain it, but Patrick and I really enjoy each other. I know that's messed up and I know it must hurt you but I can't help how I feel. I don't know what to do. I... I love him." 

Chloe's blue eyes sparkled with perverse amusement. "Yes, I'm sure you do. I bet you even think he loves you, too." She took in a shuddering breath. "I heard him say it to you, of course, but Patrick isn't really known for his honesty. Plus, he was inside of you. A guy will say anything when he's fucking some slut." 

The words were large knives that Chloe slowly and expertly stabbed inside of me. No one can hurt you quite like a sister can. They know the buttons to press, the insecurities you have, the best weapons to use against you. They understand the sizzling burn of a single word. 

I was unsure of what to say or do. I couldn't tell her she was wrong; even I wasn't exactly sure where Patrick and I stood, in spite of everything we'd said and done together. I wanted to defend myself and my burgeoning relationship, but it felt wrong to shout the words at Chloe. She was the injured party here, not me. 

"I'm sorry. I don't know how to say how sorry I am. Everything falls short," was the best I could come up with. 

I had envisioned all sorts of great and convincing things to tell Chloe. I thought our relationship would recover somehow. Now, sitting across from her with nothing but coffee between us, I wasn't sure. 

"I wish I could feel sorry for you," Chloe bit out. She started to cry. "You're going to have a rude awakening sometime soon, Nina. And you won't have your family to fall back on. You'll have no one. You'll be totally alone." She grabbed her bag and stood up. 

She threw a couple of dollar bills on the table and gazed down at me for a moment. I looked up at her, forcing myself to meet her glare, and studied her face. It was the face of the sister who waited for me at the bus stop every morning and afternoon. She was the sister who kicked Tommy Parker in the balls for calling me ugly in the 7th grade. She was the sister I shared so many laughs with over the years, who let me borrow her favorite dresses, who understood me for all the times crappy boyfriends and screwy friends didn't. 

"Was it worth it?" she asked quietly. 

Then she spun on her heel and disappeared out the door. At a loss, I sipped my coffee. It had gone cold. 

**************************************************************************************** 

When I got back to my apartment, I felt my cell vibrate. The display said Mom. 

I didn't want to answer it. I was depressed, alone and terrified. I just knew this time Chloe had told her, that my secret was fully out. I didn't know how she would react. Mom and Dad both disliked Patrick. Mom told me once he gave her the creeps; he was "scheming" and "calculating". Yes, he was definitely all those things, but he never had the chance to show her the good parts of him. The wonderful parts that shocked me every time he let me see them, no matter how familiar they'd become. 

"Hi, Mom." 

I heard her take a deep breath. "Nina. Your sister was just here. What the hell is going on?" 

"I've been..." The words got trapped in my throat. I swallowed and tried again. "I've been seeing Patrick. It's been going on for two weeks or so. I didn't know how to tell her, and she found out before I could." My voice was flat, devoid of feeling. 

"Jesus," Mom whispered. "I thought you hated him." 

"Me too." 

"Chloe is so upset." Mom made a sound of disapproval. "Did you have to go after her ex-husband?" My father said something in the background that was thankfully muffled. 

"I didn't plan to, Mom. It just happened." 

She sighed. "Nothing just happens." She said something to my dad and then came back to me. "Honestly, what the hell am I supposed to do? How could you put me in this situation? I'm in the middle of my two children." She was silent for a minute. I couldn't think of anything to say. Then she groaned. "And how could you put yourself in this kind of situation? He's not a good guy, Nina. You can't possibly think this is going to work. He's screwing around, trying to hurt you both. Can't you see that? Not to mention, I think your relationship with your sister is going to suffer for a long time. Her face... God, I can't get over it. I can't." 

"I'm sorry. I don't know what to say." 

"Well, how are you going to fix it?" 

Someone knocked on my door. I looked through the peephole and saw Patrick standing on the other side, holding a take-out bag and looking tired. 

"What do you suggest I do?" I let Patrick in and gave him a small smile. 

He scanned me up and down, almost like he expected me to be covered in bruises. 

"Well, for one thing, you have to get rid of Patrick. Don't you think that's obvious? I don't know what you were thinking about. That man is trouble on many levels. I don't like him and I don't want him around you, not to mention what it's doing to your sister." 

Patrick's gaze lingered on my face and his features scrunched together in concern. He put his palm on my cheek. For the first time in my life, in spite of everything, I felt completely cared for by someone. Adored. Loved. 

"Mom, I have to go. I'll call you when we've all calmed down a bit." 

"Don't you dare hang up! Nina!" 

I pressed "end". It didn't feel good, but nothing would at that moment. Patrick took another long look at me and whatever was in my face made him wrap his arms around me. For the millionth time since this all began, I couldn't believe I was seeking comfort from someone who was once my arch-nemesis. 

"I love you, you know," he said a few minutes later. He kissed my hair and stepped back, meeting my eyes. 

"I know." And I did. 

What I didn't know was if it would always be enough. 

He smiled and got us two plates, putting food on them. He brought them out to the living room and I followed, watching as he put on a game show. We sat there together, not really paying attention to the TV or even to the delicious food in front of us. 

I thought for a long time in that darkened living room, my shoulder against Patrick's. I loved Patrick and he loved me. Maybe it wouldn't always be rainbows and unicorns and pixie dust. In fact, it wasn't even that now. The point was you never really know if loving one another is always going to be enough. It was enough right then, in that moment, laughing with our mouths full at someone's stupid answer. 

Yes, I decided, kissing his eyebrow. It was enough right now. That's all that mattered. 

******************************************************************************************** 

A week later I was organizing my messy apartment. At the back of my closet, I found a pair of sexy heels Chloe bought me for my last birthday. I hadn't ever worn them; I never really had an occasion. I slipped them on while cleaning, feeling a bit more glamorous. And a little sad. 

We still hadn't spoken. I didn't know what to do. Since our last meeting went so poorly, it didn't make sense to ask her to meet with me again. An e-mail felt insufficient. I rambled whenever I left her voicemails, hardly getting to the point. Text messages were totally out of the question. 

I called her every now and then, leaving her a trivial voicemail about how I ran into someone we used to go to school with, or about a sale going on at her favorite store. I wanted to show her how much I missed her, how important she was to me. I hoped to remind her the same about me, but who knew if that was true anymore. 

My mom sent me an e-mail, telling me she missed me and she didn't want to be involved in the fight with Chloe. She said she was disappointed in my actions and that it was going to take a long time for her and Dad to get over it. She suggested it would be best if I didn't come over for Sunday dinner. I thought it best, too. I was also sure Chloe would be over the house, and I didn't want to make her uncomfortable. 

We made a step towards reconciliation, but I knew things would never be the same. It would take a time for my mother to accept I was serious about being with Patrick, and that Patrick was serious about me. 

I heard my apartment door unlock and open. I smiled. I gave Patrick a key to my apartment a few days before. It was stupid to have him knock every time he came over, which was a lot. 

Long, warm arms wrapped around my waist. "Nice heels." 

I grinned but then thought about how they were a present from Chloe. "Thanks," I said softly, moving out of his hold. I yanked them off and tossed them back into the closet, ignoring Patrick's curious eyes. 

It seemed it was going to take a while for me to get over it, too. 

************************************************************************** 

Later that week I went down to the corner store to buy some eggs and milk. I had run out of the essentials but didn't feel like going to the supermarket. 

I stood on the long line, sighing impatiently. Then I swore I caught a glimpse of my sister entering the store. I got off line impulsively and followed her to the back. I was sure I was just being crazy, just missing her. 

She went down one of those dead-end aisles and a weird fear prickled the back of my neck, like she'd brought me there to kill me or something. I was being ridiculous, and told myself I'd watched one too many horror movies. 

"Chloe?" 

She turned around and it really was her. I was shocked; this wasn't her neighborhood. She had also cut her hair into a short and lovely bob. She looked wonderful, even if she wasn't smiling. 

"You look great," I said. An older man pushed by me and I dropped a box of cereal from my basket. 

She leant down and picked it up, placing it back on top. "Thank you, so do you." 

My heart warmed up. She was lying; I was wearing sweats and I didn't have any makeup on, but the fact she was trying gave me hope. 

We were quiet for a moment. Chloe was eyeing the filled shelves, and I was staring at her. She wasn't even uncomfortable. She always could hold her own in the most difficult situations, while I just went to pieces. 

I couldn't endure the silence anymore. 

"I know it's only been two weeks since I saw you, but I miss you." I said it in a rush without thinking. I shut my mouth after and knew I'd probably scared her off. Here she was, right in front of me, not running away and being pleasant. I ruined it by referring to the delicate subject. 

Chloe surprised me by smiling. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I got your messages." 

"Do you think—could we get a drink together sometime? Something like that?" 

She grabbed something off the shelf but I was too nervous to pay attention to what it was. Then she looked at me. It was such a sad look, almost sympathetic, like she was sorry for me. 

"No. No, I don't think we can." 

The warmth fled from my sinking heart. "Oh. I understand." 

She shifted on her heels and peeked at her cell. "I have to run." 

"Chloe. I'm sorry. I love you." 

Her face softened. "I know." 

"I didn't mean to hurt you." Tears filled my eyes. "Really." 

"Bye, Nina." She walked over and kissed my cheek. 

Then she was gone, leaving me under the harsh florescent lights in an aisle that went nowhere. 

********************************************** 

Patrick asked me to come up for lunch the next day. I went into his office, a little nervous to be seen by his partners in the firm, and especially his secretary, Karen. She was friends with Chloe and probably knew about the whole thing. 

Karen sat at a big desk in front of his office, clicking at her computer. She looked up and smiled at me when I walked over. It was all very professional. She was professional. And mature. I wished I could be so grown up. 

"Hi, he said he'd be out in a minute. Can I get you coffee or anything?" 

"No, thank you." I sat nervously on the couch, waiting for her to pounce on me or fling angry accusations. 

Nothing happened. Patrick came calmly out of his office a few minutes later, Karen wished us a good lunch, and we were out in the afternoon sun without incident. I promptly burst into tears. 

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Patrick asked, pulling me over to the side. 

I shrugged. I didn't know, exactly. "I can't deal with all of your, whatever. Your friends and coworkers. Not that I've really met any of them." 

Patrick's head tilted and he sighed. "Okay, so you're upset I didn't introduce you to anyone? I have to get back for a meeting and—" 

"No, no, it's not that. I just mean that they all must know who I am, or if they don't... Well, they will, won't they? It's just embarrassing. What are they going to think of me?" 

Patrick's eyes squinted at me. "I don't know... Who gives a fuck?" 

"I do!" I cried loudly. People paid us no mind as they walked by, but I felt foolish. "I do," I said again in a quieter voice. "It just makes me look bad." 

"Nina. You have to grow up. Yeah, it's not particularly flattering but you have to remember you're going to offend people almost every day of your life. You take too long on line, someone's fucking offended. You get a promotion, someone's offended. You forget to send a birthday card, forget it. The end of the world." 

A little smile flitted across my face. 

He ran a hand through his delicious hair, glinting in the golden afternoon light. "You chose this. This is the course you're on. With me. There's no going back. You need to decide right now, this very minute, if you want to continue. You know the risks, the drawbacks of this situation. You have to decide if it's enough, and then you have to stick with it. No more internal debates or doubts or whatever the hell goes on in that head of yours. Be confident with whatever you decide and people will respond to that." He kissed my knuckles and then pinned me with a serious stare. "What will it be? Do you want to be with me?" 

"I'm sorry," I said, pulling my hand from his. His face fell. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his lips. Against them, I said, "I choose you. Always. No more second thoughts. I don't care about anyone else. Or I'll—at least I'll try not to care." 

His hand traced my face. He took a heavy breath. 

"Let's ditch lunch," he said. 

I laughed, letting him pull me along. 

Later that night, Patrick was watching something on my TV. My cat was on his lap and the both of them looked so content—so at home—that I nearly cried over it. 

But then I decided I'd done enough of crying, of second-guessing, of holding Patrick back with an unsure hand. He was right earlier in the day; I had to grow up. Patrick wasn't some guy I was just "seeing". He was my boyfriend. I felt things for him I'd never, ever felt for anyone else. 

I walked over and picked Rufus up, putting him on the floor. He meowed with displeasure and then scurried off. 

Patrick looked up at me with amused confusion. "What'd you do that for? We were getting in some bro time." 

"Ew, never say that again." 

I sat on his lap and kissed his neck. 

"Ah, now I see where this is going. You were overwhelmed by my beauty as I watched television and selfishly decided to have your way with me." 

I laughed into his neck. "Patrick, stop talking." He opened his mouth to say something else but he quickly shut up when I ran my tongue up his throat. When I reached his lips, I pressed my own against them and shoved my tongue into his mouth. He moaned and finally moved, threading his fingers into my hair. 

I pulled away and smiled. 

Patrick panted, watching me. "What the hell was that for?" 

I straddled him, loving the predatory look in his eyes as I lifted my skirt and slipped my panties down as far as I could. "Just because." 

His hands ran up my thighs and reached around to clutch my bare ass. "Just because?" 

"I love you." I leaned over to kiss him again. I could feel his cock pushing insistently against my hip. 

I readjusted and took him in my hand, sliding him through my wetness for a moment before sinking down onto him. He groaned and rested his head back. He watched me move with hooded eyes. 

"You were right," I whispered. "I need to be mature about this. Grown up. No more indecision." I thumped down against him heavily, letting him push deeper inside of me. "I wasn't expecting this. You. I was totally blind-sided. And my sister... It got all fucked up. But I know I love you, and I don't want to be away from you. I want to be good for you." My breath sped up and I was having a hard time speaking, but I felt it needed to be said. "I want to be the strong woman by your side. And you make me strong. I don't care what people will say. Even my family. This is my life and I love you." 

Patrick lifted his hips to thrust into me. "Only you," he grunted, "would have a serious conversation during sex." 

I grinned. "Love me or leave me, Patrick." 

"Shut up and fuck me," he said with a big smile. 

And I did. When we came, it was together—with our eyes locked and our arms around each other. 

Chapter 7: An Ending, A Beginning 

I dragged Patrick through the snow, clutching his gloved hand with my own. We were going to be late. 

"Are you sure we really have to be there?" he called from behind me. 

"Patrick!" A snowflake caught on my eyelash and I rubbed it away, likely smearing my mascara and eyeliner everywhere. "You are such a fucking devil." 




Wrong Pt. 03



"I'll probably erupt into flames when we walk through the door." 

"Probably," I agreed. My boot stuck in a crack on the sidewalk and I nearly fell, but Patrick caught me just in time. "Thanks. Now maybe God will give you a minute before setting you on fire." 

Patrick grinned and kissed me. I had to pull away after a minute. 

"Stop trying to distract me! We have to go." 

We couldn't be late for the wedding. Number one, I didn't want to be late, and number two, I didn't want to be a spectacle. People were already going to be watching for us. It had been a year, but we were still interesting specimens. 

It appeared Chloe could love again. She met Greg shortly after our whole terrible fall-out. A few months later she started emailing me back. She invited me over to dinner once to meet him—only me, and only once. He was kind but a bit plain and mild-mannered. Not at all Chloe's type, but it seemed she was trying something new. And it worked. Shortly afterwards she was engaged. I tracked most of their relationship through Facebook (once she unblocked me) and I felt unbelievably relieved Chloe found someone new. Perhaps even a bit selfishly. 

My parents still weren't thrilled with me. They invited me back to Sunday dinners but I didn't go; Greg and Chloe were typically there, and Patrick was never invited. I understood and hoped that, with time, things would change. 

My mother kept in touch with me. I didn't speak much to my father. He hadn't forgiven me. 

Some friends stopped talking to me, too. Family members united with Chloe. There seemed to be more repercussions to my relationship with Patrick than I originally realized. 

But Patrick and I stayed together. It shocked everyone. If I were being honest, it shocked me, too. Some mornings when I woke up before him and looked over at him, painted with morning sun, he didn't seem real. None of it did. Then he'd wake up and call me a creep for staring at him while he slept, or he'd drag me over to him and fuck me, proving he was very real, indeed. 

Then I received Chloe's wedding invitation. We did share emails, and sometimes even texts, but I didn't know if I'd be invited to her wedding. It was even wilder that she invited Patrick, too. 

And so we were racing to get to the church on time. 

We ran up the slippery steps and slipped inside the dark church. My nose burned from both the frost outside and the incense burning inside. Some of the people in the last few pews turned around to glance at us with disapproval. We rushed into our seats and panted, holding and squeezing the other's hand. 

We made it just in time, too, because the music began to play. The bridesmaids and groomsmen made their way up the aisle. I obviously hadn't been asked to be a bridesmaid, and while I'd decided at the time it was a fair decision, it still hurt a little. But I was just glad to be a part of Chloe's day. 

People were watching us, I noticed. I'd expected it but I couldn't help fidgeting under their stares. They probably thought it was rude we'd shown up. I tried to remind myself it didn't matter what they thought. Chloe had invited me, had extended an olive branch, and I happily accepted it. 

Then the music changed. Chloe and Dad appeared. She looked absolutely beautiful. She gave my father a little grin when they started walking up to the altar. 

When Chloe reached Greg, I saw the look he gave her and felt a bizarre sense of relief. He really loved her; it was all over his face. 

The actual ceremony was long and a bit boring. I stopped paying attention and stared at Chloe. My sister. 

Time had changed us. We didn't get along when we were kids, we became best friends when we hit our teens and now we were polite but distant relatives. Chloe still loved me, of course, in her own way. But I knew with a sad sense of finality we would never be close again. 

The ceremony was finally over. Chloe burst down the aisle with a giant grin, Greg smiling beside her. She caught my eye and her smile grew softer. Then her eyes shifted over to Patrick. Her expression froze. I couldn't imagine what that moment felt like to her—to be arm-in-arm with her new husband, faced with her ex-husband. Then she nodded at him and continued on down the aisle. 

It had to be so hard for her. A rush of affection came to my heart when I again realized what a big deal it was that she invited us. 

The crowd flooded back out into the snow. I tugged my gloves back on while Patrick watched me. 

"You okay?" 

I wanted to kiss him, but that would have been in bad taste. I only nodded. 

My mother drifted over to us. She tried to ignore Patrick but she failed, tossing him a reflexive smile. You couldn't really ignore Patrick; I'd tried. "Will we see you at the reception?" 

"We're going to come for a bit," I said. "Chloe mentioned she wanted some pictures with us." 

Mom swallowed. "Really? Good. I've missed you. It will—it's nice to see you." 

Dad walked over and took my mom's arm. "They're waiting for us in the limo." 

He didn't look at us. We didn't exist. 

Mom looked back at me. "There's room if you two..." 

Patrick stepped in. "We'll take a cab and meet you there." 

Mom looked at him with an almost thankful expression. She probably regretted her offer as soon as she made it, but I appreciated it. 

My parents disappeared and most of the relatives and friends had gone, as well. Patrick's arm wrapped around my back. 

"You sure you want to go?" 

I took a deep breath. Chloe wanted me there, even if was just to take a few stupid pictures. "Yes." 

And so we went to the reception. Chloe and the wedding party were taking pictures outside when we arrived. She waved me over and we started posing. 

At some point, my mom pulled me away. She looked upset. "Will you come over to dinner this Sunday? Chloe and Greg won't be there." 

I opened my mouth to say no. Not without Patrick. I wanted my parents to understand he was a part of me. But at the same time, I missed Mom and Dad. They were a part of me, too, and I couldn't blame them for needing to adjust. 

I nodded. 

Mom was thrilled. "Really?! Oh, wonderful. I'll make your favorite, okay?" 

"Make whatever you want," I laughed. "I'll still come." 

She was called by the photographer and rushed over. I looked for Patrick and spotted him a good distance away, talking to Chloe. 

I watched them talk. Chloe wasn't crying or saying anything cruel. Patrick was polite. I wondered what they were saying. Then I decided it wasn't any of my business. 

He came back to me a little while later. "Closure," he said. I took his hand. 

Chloe glanced back at me and I waved at her. She smiled and waved back before disappearing into the banquet hall. 

Patrick and I had decided we wouldn't go to the actual reception. It didn't seem fair or appropriate. It was Chloe's day. We didn't want her to feel sad or uncomfortable, and we didn't want others to be focused on us. 

So we hailed a cab and went back to my apartment. 

We were both in a somber mood, lost in our own thoughts. Neither of us said much as we took off our coats and pulled some leftover take-out from the fridge. Rufus was mellow, too. He sleepily joined us on the couch, curling up into a ball in the corner. 

Patrick put his arm around me and turned the TV on. 

After a while, I felt an urge to say something. "I wish I cooked for you. I never make you anything." 

Patrick turned his head to give me a bemused smile. "Thank God. I've tasted your cooking. I don't want to be poisoned any time soon, thank you." 

I didn't really want to cook, either. I just didn't know what else to say, and I hated the silence. 

Patrick sensed this and put his hand on the back of my neck, massaging me with his fingers. "I prefer take-out." 

"It's expensive." 

"I don't mind." His eyes studied me. "What's really bothering you?" 

"I don't know," I sighed. "It was a big day, wasn't it?" 

"Yes." He stroked my hair. "I'm sorry you couldn't stay for the reception." 

I snorted. "I'm not. God, can you imagine?" 

His lips lifted into a smile but he didn't seem particularly amused. "No." His other hand came to my face. His thumb caressed my lips. "I just know it's hard on you being exiled from your family." 

"My mom invited me for Sunday dinner and I said yes." 

His smile widened. "Good!" 

"You're not invited." 

His smile turned wicked. "Even better." 

I slapped his thigh. "Patrick!" 

He kissed my cheek. "Let's go to bed." 

"It's early." 

There was a gleam in his eyes. "So what?" 

I followed him, giggling when he put his hands on my hips. 

He pushed me down on the bed a bit violently. He quickly undressed, his eyes simmering with so much intent that a tingle went through my body. 

Then he was on top of me, tearing off my dress. There was a stretching sound as he ripped it off. He flung it over his shoulder and pulled off the rest of my clothes. Normally I yelled at him when he ruined my outfits, but I felt the same urgency, too. 

He reached down to finger me for a minute, running over my wet clit. I was ready, and looking down I saw he was painfully ready. 

There wasn't much foreplay before he thrust inside of me, but we didn't need it. This was so much more than sex. Belatedly it dawned on me that the day was probably rough on him, as well—perhaps even more so. We were comforting one another, reminding each other of the pleasure amongst the pain. 

His pace wasn't fast, but it wasn't gentle, either. He moved his thick cock in and out with punishing, deep nudges. My nails ran down his back. He groaned and brought his lips to mine. He nibbled on my bottom lip, making me gasp. Then his lips traveled down, nipping the flesh between my neck and shoulder. 

A few minutes later, Patrick's hot mouth surrounded my breast. My nipple became excruciatingly hard when his rough tongue lapped at it. I shrieked and lifted my hips to his. He somehow settled deeper inside me. I was opening up; my legs spread wider and my pussy desperately grabbed at him. 

We didn't speak. Words weren't necessary. It felt like we were binding ourselves to one another, which was silly because I already considered myself bound. 

I clutched his back when I felt my orgasm careening towards me. 

"Oh, God," I moaned. 

Patrick's hips slapped against my own. He took his mouth off one breast to torture the other. My hands flew up to run through his hair and pull him closer to my chest. 

Then he pulled back to look at me, wanting to watch me come. I fell apart around him just as he kissed me. My body trembled and shook, and I grasped at his hips to hold on. 

Patrick sped up and fucked me through it until I nearly begged him to stop. His hands fisted the bedsheets harder and harder with each plunge. Suddenly he lifted himself up and met my eyes while his thrusts became erratic. He came with a long groan, his expression twisted with agonizing pleasure and his eyes frozen on mine. The naked lust—and love—made me tighten a little more inside. 

He collapsed to the side of me, trying to catch his breath. My body hummed and I felt relaxed for the first time in a long time. I didn't want to think too much about it, but it did occur to me that maybe it was even better between us now that we felt we were somewhat on a path of absolution. 

Now that Patrick had moved away from, the cool air became too much against my damp body. I pulled the sheets up over our heads with a laugh and snuggled closer to Patrick. 

He touched my stomach with his hand and I sighed. My skin was still ultra-sensitive. 

"Move in with me," he said, still slightly out of breath. His hand reached for my ass and tugged me closer. 

I thought for a moment I hadn't heard him correctly. My smile faded and my mouth dropped. "What?" 

He snorted. "Move in with me." 

"Are you out of your mind?" 

Patrick immediately switched from calm to annoyed. "Yes, I'm out of my mind because I want my girlfriend to move in with me. What a fucking lunatic idea." 

He had a point. But it was poor timing. I wanted to tell him so but I couldn't speak. 

We stared at each other for a few minutes. I waited for him to say more, but he kept his mouth shut. 

I blew out a breath. "I'm sorry. You're right. It just feels like the wrong time to talk about it." 

"When would the right time be? I'm always going to be your sister's ex-husband." He gave me a quick peck on the lips. Then he pulled back with a soft smile. "I've wanted this for a long time. I'm tired of waiting for a convenient time. Move in with me. Then I want you to marry me." 

My heart jumped. "Patrick, what are you..." 

"I already have the ring." His eyes glittered in the faint light. "Move in with me. Marry me. Tolerate me when no one else will." 

His lips moved over my neck and down to my collarbone. I thought hard about it and wrapped my arms around his torso. I could feel his heart beating. 

Patrick would always be Chloe's ex-husband. But he was something much more now, and I loved him. I'd made plenty of sacrifices to be with him and, while I was sad to hurt other people, I didn't regret them. I'd made my choice the year before on that snowy sidewalk that I wanted to be with Patrick and that I needed to be strong. People would always judge us, but it didn't matter, anymore. 

It was easy to keep punishing myself, really. It was a lot harder to take a deep breath and plunge into the unknown with the amazing, ridiculous, complicated man next to me. 

I pulled his hair and he lifted his head, his green eyes scanning my face. 

"What's your building's policy on pets?" 

************************************************************ 

A few months later I stood in Patrick's living room. 

Rufus pawed at Patrick's beautiful—and probably insanely expensive—area rug for the millionth time. 

"Stop that!" I hissed, but he ignored me. 

Patrick walked out from the bedroom and Rufus instantly stopped. Bastard. 

"I have to go pick up a few things. I'll get us some lunch." He walked over and kissed me casually, just like an everyday kiss. I loved it and clutched his shirt when he tried to pull away. He smiled down at me and picked my left hand up, examining the ring he'd put there a few days before. "I really have good taste." 

Then he lifted my hand to his lips. "I'll be back." 

I continued unpacking after he left, pausing now and then to yell at Rufus or stretch my back. 

Eventually I pulled out the gift Chloe had sent me shortly after her wedding. 

We weren't close, but she had sent me a few emails when she returned from her honeymoon. I told her Patrick and I were engaged because I didn't want to her to find out any other way. I'd learned my lesson the first time I kept a secret from her. She didn't respond right away, and when she did her answering message wasn't particularly warm and fuzzy. But she seemed to be okay with it now, or at least resigned, and in her last email she expressed some interest in wedding details. 

The gift was a picture of us—Chloe and Greg, Patrick and me—after the wedding. I looked at the photo for a minute, studying our awkward happiness with awe and fascination. 

Greg was staring at Chloe with tenderness, a content smile on his face. Patrick's expression was calm and at ease. His arm was around my shoulders, and he looked like he had all he needed. 

My lips were curved in a half-smile, trying to stifle a laugh after Patrick whispered a dirty joke in my ear to cheer me up. It was odd, but I hadn't taken a picture with Patrick yet. Not since we became a couple. We looked right together, I noticed. We looked happy. 

Chloe's face was hard to describe. There was a sadness there, but also a sense of quiet satisfaction. Her smile wasn't her usually wide and perfect smile, but her eyes shone with brilliant radiance. Patrick's presence undoubtedly brought out the bittersweet element for her, but I wondered if Chloe, too, felt the sense of closure both Patrick and I walked away with. Perhaps seeing her ex-husband at her wedding made everything come full circle, and it was easier for her to let go. Perhaps that was just wishful thinking. 

But Greg clearly made her happy. He was a good guy. It didn't take me long to see that. I hoped she felt relieved, loved and at peace. She deserved it. 

I still didn't feel good about what I did to my sister, no matter how much time had gone by. It didn't matter that she found a new sort of happiness, or that she appeared to not hate me. Closure had helped me move on, to heal, but it wasn't a magical wand which erased all of my misdeeds. 

There was just no way I could convince myself that some of the things I did were right. But there was no way I could tell myself loving Patrick was wrong. 

I placed the frame on the table near the window, tilting it towards the sun to make it glow.