16 comments/ 40124 views/ 29 favorites Pleasing Aphrodite Ch. 02 By: angel_grant I got that heart-in-my-throat feeling every time a stream of people passed the coffee shop window. I'd been obsessively checking the time on my phone for ten minutes so I knew it would be another five at least, but that didn't stop my excitement from rising when a crowd poured through the station in my direction. I thought the anticipation was going to kill me before Patrick ever arrived. For the hundredth time that day I brought up the text message he'd sent me and reread it. I'm coming back early. Can you meet me at the Starbucks in Penn Station at 7:30 tonight? I miss you. My stomach tightened in excitement and I felt my fondness for Patrick surge again. His use of full sentences, correct punctuation, and capitalization even in text messages was ridiculously endearing, but it was the last sentence that my eyes focused on and held: I miss you. Patrick and I had been seeing each other for a year: seeing each other and sleeping together nearly every weekend. It was an intense thing when we were together; the rest of the world faded away and we connected on a level that was almost overwhelmingly sensual, but within that intensity were unspoken lines we didn't cross. Those lines were mostly his. He was a private person, not exactly unfriendly, but he maintained an emotional distance even with good friends. And, though handsome, his face frequently wore an impenetrable expression. He had a typical cop's stony stare, but just beneath that he was soft; compassionate and thoughtful, full of affection. However, despite the closeness we'd developed in the last twelve months, we didn't talk about us or try to give a name to whatever it was we had. I didn't doubt his attraction to me, or his respect, but I did sometimes wonder how deeply his feelings for me went. We'd never verbally agreed not to discuss it, but somehow I knew I couldn't come out and ask him. There was the age thing too: he was thirty-four years older than me, a few years older than my dad—my dad whom he'd worked with for many years. I knew that bothered him to a degree, both the age difference and the fact that he knew my dad. It certainly bothered him more than it bothered me, and I think some of those unspoken lines were there because of his discomfort. I hadn't told any of my friends about him, so I guess whether I had reservations about the relationship or not, I was at least aware the gap between our ages was not something to take lightly. I'd thought a lot about it, trying to figure out my attraction to him. I didn't think it was because of age. I didn't particularly find other men his age attractive, or at least no more attractive than men of other ages. There were guys in my classes who were cute and smart, but while I knew they were attractive, I wasn't hot for them. But with Patrick, there was real, intense desire each and every time I saw him. I wished I could be more open about it. We rarely held hands when we were out, and though we'd kissed long and sensuously once, at the edge of Central Park, with people passing by, the only passionate kisses he gave me when we were out in public were at the street corner by my dorm where we were somewhat sheltered from foot traffic. There were times when my desire was so strong I thought about leaping across a restaurant table, throwing my arms around his neck and kissing him. And there were other times, my heart filled with admiration and love, when I felt like dancing in giddy circles around him. But I didn't want to make him uncomfortable. I'd been to his office once, a few months after we'd started sleeping together. I hadn't even realized how high in the police ranks he was until I'd gotten to the floor where he worked and was asked by a doubtful, executive-looking woman if I had an appointment with Chief Santorini. I'd stammered stupidly, intimidated, but had given my name and waited while she phoned the office. A few moments after she'd replaced the phone in its cradle Patrick emerged from a side corridor looking a little confused. He hadn't hidden his pleasure at seeing me, but it was at that moment I realized how terrible it would be if he lost his coworkers' respect because they found out about his nineteen year-old lover. I craned my neck as another surge of people filed past the window. Anticipation welled up inside me as I looked eagerly for even a hint of him amidst the travelers—his grey crew cut or maybe the shape of his broad shoulders in the dark blue overcoat he'd no doubt be wearing. When I finally spotted him, my chest expanded almost painfully with a sudden, giddy inhalation. His eyes zeroed in on my face through the window glass, his mouth stretching in a smile. I scrambled from my seat and out of the coffee shop, meeting him a few steps from the entrance. He immediately took me into his arms for a tight embrace and I happily pressed my face into his neck, breathing in his familiar scent, arousal flooding through me. "Thanks for meeting me," he said. His voice was low and rumbling. I felt it vibrate through my body. "I hope it wasn't a pain." He released me and stood back, picking up the bag he'd dropped at his feet in order to hug me. I shook my head, nearly bursting with excitement. "No, no," I said hurriedly. "I'm glad you asked. Why'd you leave the conference early?" "The second panel I was on got rescheduled and we finished up this morning. So I ducked out." His eyes lifted and he took my arm and guided me gently toward the exit. "It was an exhausting week. I was ready to be done. You know how I hate leaving my routine behind." He looked at me and smiled a small smile. "I do know," I said emphatically. Patrick didn't just like his routine; he needed it. Or, at least, that's what he'd told me once. "After my wife left, my routine was the only thing that kept me going," he'd said. "The irony being that my routine, or rather my dedication to it, was a large part of why she left." He worked and worked out five days a week without fail: arriving at his office by 7:00 A.M. and the gym by 5:00 P.M., getting home somewhere around 7:00 P.M.. Even if I hadn't been busy with evening classes and studio work he wouldn't have had time to see me during the week anyway, so when we got together it was on the weekend: almost always Friday; sometimes Saturday; and lately, the occasional Sunday. The fact that we were together tonight, a Thursday, was very unusual. "And besides," he added, "I wanted to see you." My heart skipped a beat and I drew a sharp breath. We'd left the building and stood on 8th Avenue, both of us buttoning our coats against the cold. We stepped to the side as a crowd passed and I felt his hand touch my arm, just lightly, steering me out of the stream of bodies. "Have you had dinner?" he asked. "No, not yet," I said, still delightfully stunned by what he'd said. To be honest I hadn't remembered to eat. I'd been so distracted and excited by Patrick's text. I knew I should be hungry, but for some reason, I just didn't feel it. "Let's get something quick. Unless you've got things you need to do tonight." "No, I don't," I said, nearly cutting him off in my rush to let him know I was available. "What are you hungry for?" His intense gaze trapped my eyes for a second as his eyebrows perked almost imperceptibly. He lifted his hand and touched the tip of my nose with his index finger. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, but only a hint. His fingertip lingered for just a second before he let his hand drop, but the brief contact made my whole face flush. I felt a shiver travel down my spine. I was surprised and excited by the uncharacteristic innuendo, subtle though it was. "Let's get a cab," he said, taking my arm again and gazing down the street. I followed him to the corner, feeling a little dazed and confused, but terribly pleased and more than willing to follow anywhere Patrick led me. Once inside the taxi I felt another surge of excitement when Patrick gave the driver an upper west side address. "Do you mind take-out?" he'd said turning to me. My heart-rate increased; we were going to his apartment—going to his apartment on a Thursday night—something else totally out of the ordinary. For a few minutes we rode in silence. I watched his profile as he gazed out the window and felt the almost-painful ache inside me lurch like a restless, living thing. Not for the first time I wondered what it was I found so attractive about him. I'd always liked geeky, skinny, artsy boys in high school. Patrick was none of those things. He was smart, he knew a lot about art, but he certainly wasn't geeky or skinny. I'd never found the weight-lifting jocks at my school attractive in the least, but one look at Patrick and my head started to spin. Apart from his size, his huge frame, and muscular torso, he wasn't anything like the men I saw emerging from the Gold's Gym near my dorm. He didn't swagger or show off, but he was undeniably strong and intimidating. It had more to do with his calm and composure than the flex of his bicep. I'd never felt the least bit nervous walking around the city with him, not even in the middle of the night in the darker areas I never would have gone alone. More than once l'd smiled ruefully thinking my dad would be glad to know how safe I was walking in Manhattan. Unless, of course, he knew with whom. When he turned and saw me staring I looked away quickly, but his hand caught my chin and he turned my face back to his. He looked at me with that intense focus that still managed to intimidate me—the way it had when I was a kid—but now also sent my heart racing with excitement. "Thanks again for coming tonight, Holly," he said quietly. His thumb stroked my cheek softly and I stared back at him trying to decide what complex range of emotions his expression showed. "You look beautiful," he said. My heart surged and lower down, my body tightened with longing. When he looked at me like that, I wished I could see myself through his eyes, because I found it hard to believe he really found me beautiful. Sometimes I'd see women around his age who were beautiful—truly beautiful and confident in their bodies, with sex appeal I couldn't hope to have—and wondered why Patrick was drawn to me and not them. I knew I was at least pretty, maybe prettier than average, but beautiful seemed an overly ambitious label. I was lucky enough to have inherited my mom's big, brown eyes and thick, dark hair, and was sure they were my best features. I hadn't, however, inherited her angular face and high cheekbones. My face was a smooth oval, not unattractive, but it made me look younger than I wanted to look. I'd often wished I'd gotten my mom's striking bone structure. I couldn't help feeling dissatisfied with my body, but I didn't know a woman who wasn't. I was slim and my breasts were all right—B cup, not too big, not too small—but I wished I had a bit more curve to my hips. I felt like I'd looked the same since I was 16, and wished I had more of a woman's body. If Patrick had the same wishes, he certainly hid it well. He bent his head and kissed me softly, his palm cupping my cheek. I expected a quick kiss, but he was all heat: blazing skin and soft, wet mouth. I closed my eyes and felt my head swim. The kiss lasted a few minutes, our mouths moving slowly, tongues just daring to touch. He pulled away when a sudden jolt of arousal made my breath catch in my throat. His blue eyes studied me for a few seconds, inches away, before his hand dropped to mine and he leaned back. "I had dinner with my brother David the other night," he said, still looking at me. "I told him about you." "You did? What did you tell him?" Patrick looked at me for a second before he answered. When he finally spoke, there was a gravity to his voice, though he was still smiling slightly. "Everything." "Everything?" I repeated."Like...everything?" He nodded slowly and my heart started beating a little faster, but I wasn't sure if I was nervous or excited. "What did he say?" "He said I was an idiot." Patrick laughed softly. "A lucky idiot, but an idiot all the same." He laughed again. "I've never known David to be wrong." I looked at him, waiting for him to go on, not sure what to say. I knew he looked up to his brother and respected his opinion, and I knew he was the person Patrick talked to when he needed advice. I couldn't help wondering how the conversation had gone, and what his brother had meant exactly. Did he approve? Did he think it was inappropriate? Did he discourage Patrick from seeing me? Whatever he'd said, Patrick didn't seem bothered, but I could tell there was more to the conversation he wasn't sharing. He squeezed my hand and smiled. "I do feel lucky." He changed the subject then, asking about the projects I was working on in school, and my nervousness was temporarily forgotten while we chatted, though in the back of my mind questions were forming. We got our take-out from a tiny Greek restaurant a few blocks from his building and by the time we left, a light rain had started. We ran the last half block to his building, just landing on the front step when the cold rain really began to fall. I was grateful for the warmth of the building and the empty elevator that took us up to the fourth floor. Once inside his apartment we shed our coats and shoes, leaving them by the door. Patrick carried the take-out bags to the kitchen and I crossed the floor behind him, the deep carpet soft under my bare feet, and felt excitement welling up inside me. My body responded with a familiar, delicious ache. I joined him in the kitchen and reached for one of the bags to open it. He caught my hand half-way, reached for my other, and turned me to face him. He immediately bent his head and kissed me softly on the mouth. He then brought my hands up to his mouth and kissed each wrist once. He raised his eyes to look at me and a little shiver passed through me. He smiled sweetly, but there was already a lusty look in his eyes. "I'm so glad you're here," he said. He draped my arms over his shoulders and moved his hands to my waist, stepping a little closer. "I missed you." "But you just saw me on Sunday afternoon," I said, confused. His mouth stretched into an easy smile. "I know." I looked up at him, a little nervous to see him acting so out of character. "Patrick?" I whispered, unable to put my confusion into words. He bent his head and took another small step closer so that our bodies touched. His lips grazed my cheek. I felt the drag of his shaved chin against my skin and the warmth of his breath as he pressed his mouth to my ear. I stiffened in anticipation. "Can you stay tonight? If you're free." His lips touched my ear, warm and soft and close. I gasped in surprise and a rush of excitement. He continued: "I want to be with you. I want to make love and wake up next to you in the morning." His hands moved up under my shirt and over my back, his fingers hot on my bare skin. He kissed my neck below my ear, the edge of my jaw. "I just want to be close to you." His voice was like liquid spilling over me, soft and warm and arousing. "Will you stay?" He kissed his way along my jaw while his hands slid up my back, fingers moving in little waves along my spine, massaging the muscles. When his mouth reached mine he kissed me softly and I stared at him, dizzied and overwhelmed. I'd wanted this for so long—for him to ask me to stay the night. I'd always been too hesitant to ask for some reason, so every night after we'd been together, even it was 4:00 in the morning, Patrick would take me back to my dorm. It was one of the unspoken agreements I'd just come to accept. Now, all of the sudden; what was going on? He kissed me for a few minutes, moving slowly and sensually. I felt like I was underwater. My head throbbed with desire and surprise. He bent his head to my neck again and the heat of his tongue as he tasted my skin made my legs go weak. I couldn't have stopped the low moan I made if I'd wanted to; I was incredibly, overwhelmingly turned-on. He drew back and regarded me carefully for a few seconds. I watched his blue eyes dance over my face and knew I didn't need to answer him, he'd read everything he needed in my expression. Things happened so quickly then. Usually he moved slowly: kisses lingered and lasted; his hands roamed and searched teasingly; but tonight he was eager and lusty. His hands kneaded my flesh, pulling me tight against him, and his kisses became more daring and forceful. I moaned when his teeth grazed my throat and he answered, bringing his mouth back to mine. "You're so sexy, Holly," he said, kissing me hard. It seemed only seconds passed before we were kissing with frantic, open-mouthed passion. My hands clutched at his waist while little cries slipped from my lips. Each time his great chest expanded I could feel the hardness of his erection against my stomach. I'd never known him to get aroused so quickly before. It was confusing, but such an overwhelming turn-on, any questions I had were eclipsed by my excitement. I reached up and located the buttons of his shirt and worked at them with frenzied excitement. His hands reached higher, slipping under the elastic of my bra and spreading out over my shoulder blades. I pushed the fabric of his shirt apart and spread my hands over his chest, delighted by the hard curve of his muscle and soft curls of chest hair beneath my palms. When he drew back his face was flushed and he smiled at me with something like wonder. "Can we go to the bedroom?" he asked, eager and just a little sheepish. "What about dinner?" I looked over at the bags of take-out still waiting on the counter. He kissed my cheek. "The Fasolakia can wait." He kissed the corner of my mouth. "I'm not sure I can, though." His hands roamed over my back and lower then, sliding over my hips and ass. The whole time he was pressed against me and I felt the hardness of his cock between us; he wasn't kidding. He kissed me on the mouth for a moment and then pulled away with reluctance. I watched in a half-daze as he picked up the take-out bags and put them into the fridge, unceremoniously shoving everything on the top shelf aside to make room. He turned to me then and reached for my hand. I stared at him, his lined, blue eyes sparkling, his shirt open and rumpled, and felt my heart lurch with affection. It was almost painful. I didn't resist even a little when he pulled me along behind him through the kitchen, hitting the light switch on his way through the door. The familiar scent of his room excited me; we'd spent so many passionate hours in here, I'd learned so much about sex and pleasure, about Patrick and myself. He walked me to the bed and let go of my hand. I waited in the darkness for a few seconds while he made his way to the lamp on the dresser. Patrick clicked the light and I looked around, finding the room exactly how I'd expected: tidy and spare with nothing amiss. Why did even that make my heart surge? Patrick crossed the room, shrugging off his shirt as he moved toward me. I started to unbutton my own shirt, but he stopped me. "Wait," he said softly, "let me." I wasn't going to say no. I let him take my hand and obeyed without question when he asked me to lie down. I slid onto the bed and felt it dip as he climbed on beside me. I leaned back and stretched out, expecting him to lie down beside me. Instead he moved on top of me, straddling my hips, and bent close, kissing my lips once. He slid his hands into my hair and combed it through his fingers, moving it away from my shoulders and face. His touch sent shivers down my spine. I watched the muscles in his arms and chest flex and shift as he moved, traced the familiar lines in his face with my eyes, and felt my body relax beneath him. Looking up at him I felt content. Pleasing Aphrodite Ch. 02 "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his hands still moving through my long hair. He kissed my forehead and his hands went to the sides of my head, lifting it slightly from the surface of the bed. I let myself go limp as he turned my head this way and that, leaving kisses in each new place his mouth touched. Now and then his arm brushed against my breast and I sighed. He slowly undid the buttons on my shirt and kissed his way down as he moved. I felt his hot breath on my skin as he parted the fabric of my shirt. He moved slowly, but with purpose, unhooking the clasp of my bra and pulling the thin fabric apart and over my breasts. He framed them in his hands and gave each nipple a soft, slow kiss before moving away. He helped me sit up enough to draw my arms from the fabric of my shirt and then laid me down on the bed again, his eyes now moving lower on my body. He reached for the front of my jeans and worked the button and zipper. He shifted again and I lifted my hips to help him slide my jeans off. Two seconds later my jeans and panties were in a heap on the floor with my shirt and bra. He regarded my nude body for just a second, his mouth a sly smile. He bent and I watched as his tongue made a slow pass over my belly. His hand slid over my thigh and down to my knee, and then he shifted once more and in one fluid motion, his mouth still planting kisses, he lifted my leg, slid beneath it and propped it on his shoulder. I felt myself open slightly as my thighs parted and sighed in anticipation of what was next. When his mouth touched the outer lips of my vulva I gasped. I heard him breathe a few words of praise, felt the gentle touch of his fingers as he parted my pussy lips, and then the heat of his tongue as he slipped it between my folds. I groaned. Loudly. I couldn't help myself. Patrick seemed to navigate my pussy with instinct, touching all the right spots in all the right ways. I had no doubt he could bring me to orgasm in less than five minutes, but he preferred to make it last and I was glad to see his initial enthusiasm had calmed and he was moving slowly as his tongue made passes up and down my open pussy. He took his time exploring with slow movements and light pressure. I sighed and let my thighs relax as he licked and sucked me, pushing my arousal higher and higher with agonizing slowness. My thoughts scrambled as I got closer and closer to coming. I couldn't focus or hold still. My head rolled back and forth and my hands clutched first at the bedspread, then Patrick's shoulder, then my own breasts. I could hear myself panting and knew at any second I'd start babbling without any idea what I was saying. All the sensations of being touched melded into one insistent throb and ache. I hadn't even realized he'd slid two fingers inside me until he lifted his head to look at me and I still felt the friction of his touch where I'd thought his mouth had been. "I love the way you taste," he said. He had an intense look in his eyes, a small smile on his lips. He moved upward to kiss me, and I tasted myself on his tongue. His fingers continued exploring, dipping in and out and swirling all around my pussy. I felt like I was melting into the surface of the bed, becoming nothing but the pleasure and the places where Patrick's mouth and fingers touched me. I reached down and fumbled with his belt and then the closure on his trousers. In my excitement I was clumsy, but eventually got his zipper down and slid my fingers beneath the waistband of his shorts. He drew back and took my wrist, moving my hand away. "Not yet," he whispered. He held his face close to mine and watched me while he moved his fingers in and out of my pussy. The look in his eyes was as erotic as his actions and I could feel my arousal inching closer to its peak. He kissed me once more and sat up, moving back between my legs. He swiveled his hand and I felt his fingers turn inside me, making me moan in delight. He lifted my leg with his other hand and rested my foot on his chest, holding it there. I felt the heat of his skin against the bottom of my foot, the tension of his muscles. His eyes traveled across my body slowly and thoroughly, coming to rest on my face. He moved his two fingers in and out of me, slowly and deliberately, letting his thumb make sudden but random contact with my clit. Each time I jumped and moaned, and each time the tension inside me increased. "Sometimes," he said. His voice was quiet, barely resonating in his chest. "I feel like a mortal before Aphrodite. I hope I'm worthy of your beauty." His thumb touched my clit, but didn't lift and I felt the pulse of pleasure build as he moved his thumb in small circles. I groaned, excited by the touch and what he'd said, but it was the look on his face that got me more than anything; the bare emotion he showed. My heart surged with affection. I was close to coming, I could feel it, but I wanted his body against mine, to feel his weight and heat, his cock inside me. "Wait," I said, breathlessly. "I don't want to come yet, Patrick." He lifted his thumb from my clit. His fingers moved in and out a few more times. "What do you want then?" he asked. He shifted his position and pushed his trousers and shorts down. His cock sprang up, fully erect, the tip glistening wet. He took in his fist and stroked it slowly. I wanted him inside me, but I knew how close I was to coming. I could feel it: the tense bubble waiting to be ruptured. All the little oddities of the evening, all the boundaries he'd crossed, and his uncharacteristic haste had brought me to a state of arousal so close to the crest I knew I'd come fast and hard once he moved inside me and I wanted to hold off a little longer before that happened. "I want—" I started to say, but then I wasn't sure. I wanted to know why I was here, what was different, why he'd missed me. I wanted to know what was hiding behind his eyes, what he wasn't saying out loud. He removed his fingers from inside me and moved his hand up my thigh. "You want what?" His voice was deep and soft. He pushed my thighs open and moved so his cock was just above my open sex. I watched his fist moving over it in slow, languorous strokes. I was transfixed for a moment and felt a longing to touch him, to taste him, to feel him slippery warm against my tongue. He watched me watching and, interpreting my stare, slowly moved to the side, pulling his legs from his trousers. He lay back on the bed and I knelt at his side, eager to return the pleasure he'd given me. When I took his penis in my hand I felt him twitch excitedly. I settled into a comfortable position and started stroking him gently and teasingly, wanting to take it slowly. I watched the expression on his face—so carefully composed just a moment before—melt into pleasure. It was a thrill to see him so easily undone. I felt a rush of excitement as I brought my mouth down to his cock. I extended my tongue and ran it over the blunt head and was delighted when he gasped immediately and with obvious pleasure. He murmured an "Oh God" and sighed. I'd learned a lot since the first time we'd had sex. Patrick had been my first sexual partner so I'd had not only to learn what he liked, I'd had to learn how to do it all. Using my mouth had been more difficult than I'd thought it would, but now I had confidence; I knew how to read his face and body language to determine how quickly or slowly to move, how gently or firmly to touch and suck, how many times I could take him deep into my mouth before he'd push me away, his face flushed and desperate, close to coming, but not ready for it to be over. I felt him relax as I continued, his eyes closing briefly as I licked and sucked, varying my pace and pressure. Soft, strained breaths came from his throat and I could feel his chest rising and falling, the pace a little more rapid than it had been a few minutes before. I let my tongue swirl around the head of his cock and stroked the base of the shaft with my fingers. I slipped one hand below his balls and teased them lightly with my fingertips while I worked my lips down over him, moving lower and lower on his cock. His breathing grew more ragged each time my mouth dipped low until finally he sighed hard. "Oh fuck, Holly. That's fantastic." Patrick only ever swore when he was truly enraged—something I'd only seen once as a kid and it had been terrifiying—or completely overwhelmed by sexual pleasure. He was usually so in control of his emotions, it was a total turn-on to see his composure falter like that, his animal side overwhelming his cognitive defenses. It made my head spin. I smiled as best I could with his cock between my lips and felt my pussy throbbing, the wetness building inside me. I continued stroking him, bobbing my head gently. I felt his hands brush my hair from my face, gathering it behind my head in a ponytail. I looked up and met his blue eyes. They were full of lusty anticipation as I drew him between my lips. He smiled and I continued moving up and down, finding a rhythm that brought more frequent low moans from him, his fingers tightening in my hair. I felt him urge me toward him and adjusted the tilt of my head so I could take him deeper. He applied gentle pressure to the back of my head, letting me know what he wanted. I moved lower and lower and was rewarded with a strangled curse as the head of his cock touched the back of my throat, nudging against the soft upper palette. I held myself there as long as I could, fighting the reflex to gag. His fingers grasped my hair tightly and I saw his face straining as he watched. Another curse, his voice thick and emotional: "Jesus Christ," he gasped, "Oh, sweetheart. You're unbelievable." I drew back and resumed bobbing my head for a full minute. I closed my eyes and focused my tongue on the bottom of his cock, moving it in waves to stroke the underside of his shaft. I loved the smooth heat and pressure between my lips and the taste of the fluid that coated my tongue. I looked up at him again and waited for direction, waiting for his direction. He stroked my hair with his hands, gathering up loose strands and tidying my ponytail. There was a slightly wild look in his eyes, but I could see him pushing it back, resisting the urge to lose control of his desire. But I wanted him to lose control. Without lifting my head, I shifted onto my knees. I closed my eyes and sucked him slowly, letting his cock move further into my mouth each time. It slid over my tongue, moving deeper and deeper with agonizing slowness. The deeper it went, the slower I moved. Patrick gasped, sighed, and groaned as I moved with patience and purpose one quarter inch at a time, drawing back a few times to relax my jaw, and then resumed. "Oh my God," he moaned each time I reached my limit. I opened my eyes and looked up. His face was twisted in an expression like pain and then relief as I drew back. I bobbed my head again, gradually increasing my pace, no longer being so careful. The idea was friction now: constant contact and pressure. He moaned my name and after only a minute reached down, drew me roughly from his cock, and pulled me to his chest, crushing my mouth to his for a kiss. I threw my leg over him and straddled his hips, pushing up from his chest until I was sitting astride him. He looked at me as if in disbelief or maybe wonder, and as I lifted my hips to take him inside me, he smiled a drunken smile. I moved my hips and let my body sink down, his cock filling me as I did. I shivered and looked down at him and I started to move. I touched my clit with one hand and steadied myself with my other, leaning forward over him. His hands slid over my thighs and hips. The rest of his body lay inert. He continued to smile at me, that enigmatic smile I'd seen earlier. "What's with that smile?" I asked, still moving against him, drawing myself up and down. He shook his head, still smiling. His hand lifted and he touched my breast, cupping it briefly in his hot palm, and then his fingertips swirled around my nipple, applying pressure at random moments making me cry out each time as the pleasure zipped through me. He said my name softly as I rode him, told me I was beautiful, sexy, amazing—encouraging me to feel every bit of pleasure I could. His hands moved over me, hot on my waist and over my breasts. I closed my eyes and focused on finding the right spot to stroke, the right angle to plunge down over him, the right speed and rhythm. I could feel it building again, like something expanding in my gut, pushing against everything else inside me. My stomach tightened, and my lungs felt weak. The anticipation reached a point of agony and I knew what was next, if I could just get there. I thrust and slid against him, now holding him deep, wanting to be full of him as I concentrated my efforts on my clit, no longer gentle but desperate, on the brink of frustration. The frantic noises I made rose in pitch, little squeals and cries erupting as I edged closer to coming. "Look at me," Patrick said just then, and I did. His blue eyes trapped mine and held me like another pair of hands touching, urging me toward my orgasm. I groaned as my pussy pulsed once, teasingly and then I shook while multiple spasms rolled through me, forcing gasps and whines from my throat. I felt the thickness of his cock inside me and stared into his eyes as I came. His hands held my hips for a few seconds as my orgasm slowed and the intense bliss dissipated, eventually becoming more of a hum inside me. He gave me a few seconds to rest before lifting me, rolling me onto my back, and positioning himself between my open thighs. In an instant he filled me fully and lowered his chest to mine. At first he held himself above me at arm's length while he rocked his hips slowly. He looked down at me after a minute or two and smiled. That smile again: full of a puzzling warmth. "What is it?" I asked, a little bit impatience in my voice. He paused, lowered himself enough to kiss my lips, and said, "I love you, sweetheart." I felt my heart squeeze painfully. I stared, unable to believe my ears. I made an attempt at a "what?" but he drew his hips back and he entered me then, pushing hard so my words became a groan. He thrust again with a deep, deliberate motion and closed his eyes. A second later he shifted and began to enter me again and again in a measured rhythm. He brought his mouth to my neck and kissed me just below the ear—a spot that never failed to turn me on—scraping his teeth against my skin lightly. He pressed his mouth to my ear and whispered, "I love you, Holly." I gasped. My head swam. Had he really said that? His tongue touched my ear—just the briefest touch and it made me shiver—and he said, "I love you and I love fucking you." A thrill shot through me like a rocket, blazing and full of fire. Inside, a sharp ache pulsed. He thrust hard, filling me again and again, his hands braced on the bed. My breasts bounced and my whole body absorbed the force of his body, again and again until it hurt enough I bit my lip and whimpered. He held back a little, filling me slower, still fully, but without so much of his strength behind it. "OK?" he asked, his voice strained and hoarse. I could tell it took effort for him to hold back. I nodded my head and ran my hands over his neck. His skin was burning hot, damp with sweat, tense muscles beneath, waiting. "Don't stop," I said. He resumed his motions, alternating between quick thrusts and slower, more measured movements that made his eyes close and his mouth open in a low moan. He was in his own world of pleasure, his body moving with one purpose only. Eventually his moans grew more frequent, his thrusts more frantic. His eyes were glazed when he finally opened them and looked down at me. A small smile turned the corners his mouth, but only for a second before he shook his head, moaned, swore, and began to fuck me harder. Eventually he thrust so hard I had to clench my teeth to keep them from being jarred. His breath came fast and on each forward thrust a low, lusty "oh" came from his throat. I watched his brow twist, his face taking on a tormented look. He breathed a few syllables as he panted, but I couldn't make out what he was saying or if they were even words. He made a noise between a groan and a whimper and pushed hard, burying himself one more time. He tensed and pressed himself against my pelvis as he came. He trembled against me for a few seconds and then let out the breath he'd been holding, his head dropped, and his arms shook as if they might give way. He groaned long and low and after half a minute of panting, shifted slowly so I could lower and stretch my legs. He lowered himself onto me and moved his leg, shifting us both so he could roll to the side, his cock slipping from inside me as he did. His arms encircled me and he held me close. His breath was coming fast and I could feel his heart beating hard in his chest. He pressed his face into my neck, damp and hot, alternately panting and crooning my name. It felt like a long time before his breathing slowed to normal. He sat up and looked down into my face and smiled his mystery smile. I was still in disbelief. He'd said it three times, I knew I'd heard it right, but I didn't trust my ears. He looked at me for a minute, stroking my hair. "You OK?" he asked. "Umm, yeah," I said. My head was still sort of spinning, my thoughts swirling chaotically. "Patrick," I said. And then I didn't know what to say. "Hmm?" His voice was lazy, satisfied. He lay down beside me and pressed his mouth to my neck, kissing me once. "What—" I started, then stopped, still unsure. I tried to collect my thoughts, looking for the right combination of words to express my confusion. "What—" His hand moved lazily over my body, tracing the curve of my hip. I opened my mouth, waiting for my thoughts to form, but, "Why?" was all I could manage. "Why?" He moved back far enough to look me in the face. "Why what, sweetie?" "Why..." I wasn't sure. Why what? "I don't know. Everything! Why am I here? I mean, tonight? Why did you ask me to stay?" "You don't want to?" he asked. "No. I mean, YES, yes I want to stay," I said emphatically. "It's just...I'm confused. Did something happen? Or...why did you..." I stopped and sat up, my thoughts were all overlapping, tangling my sentences as I spoke. "You said you missed me. You said—" I stopped again. I looked at him, at the creases on his forehead, the grey hairs that looked golden in the soft lamp light, looked at the man I knew, without a doubt, I loved and it hit me hard. "Oh my God, Patrick," I breathed, "you said you loved me." "I know," he said. "I do." Then, when I continued staring at him, he laughed. "Don't look so offended." "No!" I said quickly, "I'm not. I'm not. It's just...I'm surprised. I mean, everything has been so strange tonight." I watched his smile fade slightly and quickly added, "Not bad strange." I put my hand on his chest and leaned a little closer. "I mean, oh my God, I've never been so turned-on, Patrick. You were so...even when you kissed me in the cab..." I couldn't put it into words, how excited I'd been, how all the little advances had thrilled me even as they'd left me wondering what was behind them. "I'm sorry if it was sudden," he said gently. "If I wasn't such a coward I would've said it sooner." "You're not a coward," I said. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. He sighed, his great chest rising and falling under my palm. "I am. In addition to being an idiot." He smiled a half smile and closed his hand over mine. "I've been awarded medals for acts of bravery half a dozen times since I joined the police force, but facing down a suspect with a gun isn't as frightening as admitting how I feel." I looked at him, not sure what to say. I'd heard the stories and I'd seen the medals. I'd always thought of him as fearless. Pleasing Aphrodite Ch. 02 "My distance from my emotions was a big part of why my marriage failed. I loved my wife, but when it came to showing it, to saying it, I couldn't come through. I lost myself in my career, and while my emotional distance was a benefit a lot of the time, what made me a good cop made me a terrible husband. "I thought I'd come a long way since then, but as my brother so eloquently pointed out, I've learned nothing. That's part of why he said I was an idiot, not just for being with a woman thirty years younger than me, but for being with that woman and not telling her how I felt." I stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. He was showing me a side of himself I'd never dreamed existed, and I could see it was uncomfortable for him. "But I didn't want you to feel trapped or obligated in any way. I didn't want to seem like a desperate old man either." I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head and continued. "To be honest, I assumed you'd meet someone else and this would all stop. I didn't want to get in the way of that happening. I still don't." "Do you want me to meet someone else?" I asked, the tiniest pang of fear rising up inside me. He shook his head, smiling again. "God no, I don't want it, but I've expected it. I've seen guys checking you out, Holly—guys your age. I figured it was only a matter of time before one of them caught your eye." "But I don't want someone else," I said. It was the truth; I'd been asked out a few times by guys in my classes, but I'd never been even a little bit tempted or curious. "I want you. You make me happy, Patrick. You make me feel good." He laughed softly. "I'm glad I do." He reached for me and I let him pull me into his arms. He kissed my cheek and held me close for a minute. "I do love you, Holly," he said after a few minutes of silence. "I don't know what that means, really, if it defines anything more than my feelings, but I'm glad I told you how I feel. I might well be an idiot, but at least I'm an honest idiot now." I shifted until our mouths met and we kissed for a few minutes, slowly and carefully. When I drew back I studied the expression on his face. It was a complicated mix of uncertainty and affection. My heart surged as a ripple of excitement moved through me, the slightest ache of arousal beginning inside me. I snuggled against his warm body, feeling safe and satisfied, and laid my head on his chest. "Patrick?" I said after a few minutes of content silence. "Hmm?" I pushed myself up on an elbow and looked down into his face, feeling just a little bit shy all of the sudden, self-conscious like way back when we first started seeing each other and I'd realized I was attracted to him. For a second I thought about those nervous dinners with him, how thrilling they'd been, how happy I'd felt just being with him. It seemed like a long time ago, but it also seemed like we were there again, flirting and testing, a little uncertain. I looked at him waiting for me to speak, and felt another surge of excitement. I felt almost dizzy. When I spoke I could only manage a whisper. "I love you too," I said.