"Speaking of which," Patrick said, stretching out and rubbing his hand over my arm, "did you do the test like you said?"
"Mmmm-hmmm," I replied, smiling. It had taken every bit of self control I had not to spill the beans early, but I wanted Patrick to ask, and I wanted him to be the first to know. "Congratulations, Daddy."
The expression that washed over his face was worth the wait, although I knew Sophie would need some convincing as to why I hadn't told her first. I love her, but Patrick did deserve to know first. Focusing on the man I would soon marry, I leaned in and kissed him again, pushing him lightly onto his back. "So you know what that means, of course."
"What?" he asked as he rolled over. I threw a leg over him, swiftly mounting him, even though he was still dressed in his suit pants and dress shirt. He'd actually gotten dressed up for the ribbon cutting ceremony, wearing the custom tailored Brooks Brothers suit I'd convinced him to purchase for political purposes. Although with what I had in mind, his new suit would need at least a dry cleaning if not a replacement by the time we were done that evening.
"It means, silly man, that you're going to have to make an honest woman out of me and marry me soon," I replied as my fingers worked at the buttons on his shirt. "After all, shotgun weddings don't go over well with the voting public."
"Wedding? For sure. Honest? Tabby my love, neither of us are ever going to be all that honest," Patrick laughed. He brought his right hand up to cup my breast through my own dress shirt, stroking with his thumb over the silk. I groaned as he found my nipple through my thin shirt and bra, teasing it until it was hard and poking out even through the two layers of fabric.
"Your lips better be able to finish what your fingers are starting," I growled, feeling warm pulses radiate through my body from my nipple before gathering between my legs. I had changed out of my work skirt into a pair of casual shorts that I kept in the office in a backpack in case I couldn't get home early and wanted to grab a workout downstairs, and was happily rubbing myself back and forth across the large, hard bulge that was growing between his legs.
I kept unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it aside when I finally reached the end, exposing his hard, muscular body. I traced the gryphon over his right side with a fingernail, grinning as he shuddered from the sensation. "You know, I was thinking, I'd like a gryphon myself," I murmured. "Maybe on my back? Or perhaps over my heart?"
"You don't need one, but if you want," Patrick said, bringing his left hand up to start working the buttons on my shirt. "I know where your heart is."
I leaned down and kissed him, ignoring my shirt as I pressed myself against the man I loved. He was right. I didn't need any ink to prove to myself or to him who my heart belonged to. I loved him, that was all that was needed. Patrick reached down and cupped my ass through my shorts, squeezing the soft skin and muscle while at the same time our lips danced and dueled with each other. He was raging hard inside his pants, lifting his hips and rubbing against me even though we were both wearing clothes still.
"Wait," I whispered, breaking our kiss. "Let's get these clothes off."
There's an art to undressing for a lover. So many people just tear their clothes off, like it was some sort of race to see who could expose their skin fastest. Maybe its just over anticipation of the actual sex, but for Patrick and I, we had months of learning how to entice and please each other without even making physical contact. We took our time, each bit of exposed skin coming after careful positioning and movements. We never got off our knees, yet we performed for each other. Patrick's movements were sinuous, showing each sexy swell of muscle while at the same time not posing. He wasn't a bodybuilder, but an Adonis, a perfectly put together man who displayed himself for the express purpose of pleasing me.