Nya

“Bet you’re sorry you insisted on coming now,” I said when Patrick pulled away from my parents’ house several hours later.

“Not at all. Your mother is charming, and your father is a straight-up guy. A nice way to spend an evening.”

I laughed but then sobered, looked at Patrick as he drove. “You think he’s a straight-up guy?”

There were a thousand different things I should’ve said, but I asked the question that filled my mind.

“Yeah, I do,” Patrick said.

“What did he say to you?”

“None of your business,” he replied.

I glared at him. “It’s my father, and you’re saying it’s none of my business?”

“Yep.”

“That is utter crap, Patrick,” I said.

“And yet the fact remains,” he replied.

I leaned back against the seat and crossed my arms, hating to sulk, knowing that I was being ridiculous, but the emotions leaving me unable to do anything else.

“Why don’t you think he’s a straight-up guy?” Patrick asked.

Leave it to him to throw salt on the wound.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.

“I don’t care. Why don’t you think he’s a straight-up guy?” he repeated.

I huffed, speaking despite myself. “Straight-up guys stays out of trouble. Are there for their families instead of going back and forth. I spent my eighth birthday in prison.”

Even thinking of it now I buzzed with the emotion, remembered all those years that we had lost, remembered coming home from school wondering if he was going to be there, remembered how excited I always was when he came home. How sad when he left again.

“So what? I’m supposed to be angry at him? Feel sorry for you? You need to get over yourself,” he said.

“What the hell?” I asked as I stared at him incredulously.

“The man had to make choices, so cut him some slack. You think he wanted it that way?”

“If he didn’t want it that way, he would have done something about it. Kept on the straight and narrow. Stayed the hell out of jail.”

“And let his family starve? Must be nice to live in such a black-and-white world, Nya. Not all of us get that luxury,” he said.

“You’re defending him?”

“You spent your eighth birthday in prison. I spent mine in a hospital. You know who put me there?”

“I—”

“I’m not looking for sympathy. Don’t want it. Just trying to make a point. Yeah your old man fucked up. But he’s a good person. And he cares about you. So get off your high horse.”

He went silent after that and so did I.

My mother had said almost the same thing, as had Jade. But hearing it from Patrick…

His words held a weight they shouldn’t have, but also left me wondering.

I was obviously enamored with Patrick. Had feelings for him that I didn’t understand but also couldn’t deny. And in a flash it hit me.

It was well past time I try to mend my relationship with my father, and I vowed to do just that as soon as I could.

I’d solved one problem, opened the possibility of another.

Tried to figure out how the hell I’d fallen for a mobster.

* * *

Patrick

“You okay, Nya?” I asked later that night.

She’d barely said a word, but I’d seen her glancing at me furtively, wondered what she thought.

I could have asked, but I didn’t. Besides, I could guess at it. Her entire life was in upheaval, and now even her parents were involved. Guilt gripped my stomach, a feeling that got stronger when I looked at her.

“Are you okay?” I repeated.

She’d turned so that she was tilted away from me, wouldn’t meet my eyes. I crossed the room, and though she still didn’t speak, she looked at me.

She didn’t turn away when I came to stand in front of her, didn’t flinch when I reached up to graze my thumb across her cheek. I did that again, the satiny softness of her skin making my fingertip vibrate.

Though her eyes still burned fire, she exhaled deeply when I dragged my fingers across her neck. Inhaled when I moved them down her chest, pausing long enough to feel one thud of her heart against my fingertips before I continued my exploration down, over the soft curve of her stomach, down to cup her warm sex.

I moved my hand back up again, stepped closer to her, so close that I could feel her breath against my neck.

I loved how tall she was and moved for the few inches necessary to bring my mouth close to hers. But I didn’t kiss her, not immediately.

Instead I stayed still, breathing as she breathed, hoping my closeness would provide her some measure of comfort, worried that it would do just the opposite.

I stayed there frozen, for one breath, two, a third. I expected her to move, expected her to do something, but she stayed as she was. When I looked into her eyes, I saw the fire still there, but it was a different sort.

Immediately, I was back on familiar ground.

I couldn’t make her life as it had been, couldn’t tame the fire that was burning around us, but the fire that I saw in her eyes was one I knew I could quench.

I tilted my face, bought my lips against hers, their fullness and softness against mine again making me want to kiss her harder, feel those lips everywhere on my body.

I ignored that impulse, kept my focus on her.

As I slid my tongue into her mouth I reached up to cup her breast, squeezed the globe, her ripeness and fullness more than filling my palm.

I broke the kiss, squeezed her firm tit in one hand as I moved my lips down her neck, down the ridge of her breasts. I gently closed my teeth around her puckered nipple, her skin burning through her bra and shirt.

I released the bud and then circled it with my tongue, wetting her shirt even more.

I could feel the intensity of her arousal in the tautness of her nipple but I wanted to draw this out, do whatever I could to leave her mindless. So I continued to tease, squeezing with one hand as I tortured her nipple through her clothes.

I had seen her passion, and now I felt it.

She didn’t reach for me, but her breath came in short bursts, her stance wavering slightly. I dropped my hand and pushed it under her shirt, traced up the soft skin of her belly, over her ribs to cup her breasts. She moaned, reached up to hold my arms, but then quickly dropped her hands.

It was so like everything else between us, her seeming to come to me instinctively, pushing that instinct away.

But much like the rest of our lives, I was happy to chase.

I pulled her shirt over her head, quickly removed her bra, and paused to look at the bountiful beauty of her breasts.

Unable to resist, I leaned forward, pulled her dark-tipped nipple into my mouth and sucked. She reacted again, this time speaking.

“Patrick—”

That sound, my name on her lips in that voice, one that was near pleading, was the sexiest thing I had ever heard.

I continued to suck at her breast, teasing her nipple with my tongue and teeth, and at the same time, I slid her pants down, held her full hips for a moment before tracing one hand over her thigh and settling it between her legs.

The wetness that greeted my fingertips only confirmed her need. I hunched over in front of her, my mouth on her breast, my fingers working at her pussy.

I kept my touch light, teasing her clit, tracing the length of her slit without entering her. The sound she made, a moan alternating with a keening cry only ratcheting my desire that much higher.

Desire I ignored.

This was about her, so I ignored my own throbbing erection and pushed her until she lay flat on the bed.

I looked down at her, her dark eyes, the glory of her full body. I wanted nothing more than to push inside of her, but I resisted the urge, instead kneeled in front of her.

I reached up to cup her breasts in my hands, kneading their fullness as I dropped kisses along her waist.

I could feel the heat of her pussy on my chin, let my lips trail down over her hair-covered mound, then lower.

I paused there, her pussy wet, warm against my lips.

And then I moved, nudging at her with my lips. She was delicious, made me insatiable, but even more, hearing her cries, feeling the tension in her body as I drove her toward climax made me want to give her so much more.

It wasn’t much, but knowing I had the power to give her this, for however long it lasted, made me happy.

“Patrick—”

Her voice came out a choked sigh, and she reached for my shoulders, curled her fingers in my hair.

She stilled, seemingly unsure as to whether to push me away or pull me closer.

She breathed out, then pulled me closer.

Her body tense, her fingers gripped tight, she pulled my face into her pussy, the wetness that leaked from her coating my face. I stayed there, breathing her in, tasting her as she screamed out her climax.

Continued to drink from her long after her shivers subsided.

She opened her eyes, looked at me, and then pulled me up. I went, feeling a sense of deep gratification when she wrapped her legs around my waist and kissed me deeply. The taste of her pussy and her mouth, her warm breath against my face, her legs tight around my body almost made me climax.

I held off, reminded myself that this was about her, kissed her until we were both breathless.

She broke the kiss, her eyes glittering as she snaked her hand between our bodies.

I stilled her, shook my head.

“What is it?” she asked, her eyes dreamy but her brow furrowed.

“I just wanted to give you that,” I said.

She was still for a moment, then nodded. I rolled to lie beside her, then shifted her until she lay on her side, wrapped my body around hers, and I held her until she slept.