Reaching around me, his fingers found my clit, rubbing it while his other arm pulled my legs up to my chest. Underneath me he thrust, pounding me from beneath while my clit danced to his strokes. Within seconds I was groaning, my body awash with the relaxing heat of my first orgasm, Patrick holding me tight against him as I trembled and squeezed around him. "That's it," he said quietly. "I've got you."
When the sensation settled, I squirmed, wanting to turn over. Patrick let go and I quickly dismounted for only a moment before laying on my back. Of all the positions we could have, this one, the supposedly boring missionary, was what I needed. I wanted to feel myself beneath him, submitting to him and seeing his face as he and I came again.
Even though he had just filled me seconds before, Patrick's cock again was pushing inside me, our eyes focused on each other. I gave myself fully to him, my body his as he plunged into me over and over, his body flexing and powerful. Our moans faded as our hearts sped up, sweat stinging my eyes and glittering on Patrick's forehead like diamonds. His pale skin flushed, his green eyes burning with love and desire, the only sounds in the room being the harsh gasp of our breath and the slap of his hips against me. He pounded into me, filling me over and over, hard and fast.
Patrick's breath rasped as he tried to form words, and I knew what was rushing up on him. I was close too and I could only smile, my hands clutching at his back, my fingers hooking into claws as my body clenched around him. With the sensations Patrick caused in me, I'm sure he was happy I kept my fingernails relatively short. He had enough scratches from his training he didn't need more from sex.
The breath caught in my throat, my body already starting to convulse with my next orgasm. It was going to be big, and I was glad that Patrick was the man he was. I could see the slightest tremor at the corner of his sensuous mouth, and his own orgasm started, rolling through him until his cock exploded inside me. The feeling of him sent me over the edge, reality washing away as I held onto my rock, my Patrick.
Chapter Fifteen
Sophie - Twenty Three Years Later
I was in my best cocktail dress, coordinating the servants we'd hired for the night, which was a beautiful late January evening. The stars stood out, diamond pinpricks against the black velvet of the sky, and I shivered only a little bit as I greeted our guests. "Governor, it's good to see you again."
"Joanna Bylur, as always you put on a great event," the man greeted me. He wasn't the most sincere man in the world, but he was well meaning. He had been by Mount Zion multiple times, usually alone. Sadly for him, his wife had died the year before, and he was still mourning. He tried his best to cover it up with a good smile, even though it never quite reached all the way to his eyes. "How's the family?"
"Amazing sir," I replied, shaking his offered hand. "Matthew is still shocked by Patrick's offer."
"Chief of staff is a great position. And reading what I have about your husband, he sounds like the type of man who can help Patrick in any situation."
You have no idea, I thought before smiling. "Thank you. Enjoy the party, sir. Maybe next year we can have one for you?"
"We'll see," the governor said before heading inside. I turned to the next guest, smiling and shaking hands with the VIPs and those who I knew personally. I was the head of the house at Mount Zion, and it was important to make sure the house maintained its good reputation.
After the majority of the guests had arrived (these sorts of events always had a few late comers, but we had greeters and coat-check people to help with that) I made my way to the back, and launched into last minute instructions for the help. "First round of trays go out in three minutes. Remember to smile, and keep their glasses filled. If you see someone who you might recognize from the news start acting a little tipsy, don't give them another glass, and tell me. I'll handle it."
"Yes ma'am," some of the staff replied, causing me to shake my head in good humor. Was I really getting old enough that people called me ma'am? I guess I was. At least despite my job as head of the house, I still wasn't Alfred Pennyworth though.
While I pondered the passage of time, Mark came through the crowd. The years had been very, very kind to my husband, who still sported the lean physique that had turned me on when I saw him in that nightclub twenty three years prior. We (and I mean, Mark and I, not MJT or any other front corporation) had bought that building and had it torn down, replacing it with a daycare center ten years ago. It had been part of the second cycle of community investment, after the community centers.
"Hey babe, how's things here?" he asked me, taking my hand. There was just a touch of gray at his temples, but he still turned heads on women in their twenties, and not just those with Daddy issues either. I am one lucky woman. "Need any help?"