Patchworked Hearts {SAMPLE}

Chapter 26

Pat chuckled lightly. "You have a big heart, Helena; that's to be expected." They stayed silent for several more minutes, before he pulled back and smiled down at her. "Shall we cook?"

Tracing a hand down his chest slowly, Helen leaned up and pressed a kiss to the clothed skin above his heart. "We shall," she said once she'd pulled back, and she knew her eyes reflected the same love that swirled in his own gaze.

***

"Does it hurt?" Helen asked a couple hours later, chewing on her lower lip as she stood at the side of Pat's bed by the man's legs, her hands slathered in the coconut oil she'd rubbed from the base of his calf up to his hip.

Pat, who was settled back on his elbows, watched her with an adoring smile, his well-defined abdomen on full display; of course, his abs were the least of Helen's worries—she'd about died when he'd stepped out of the bathroom clad only in a pair of boxer shorts.

"No, sweetheart," he was quick to reassure, "you're doing great. Both hands, light pressure on the way up, and little-to-no pressure on the way down."

Helen bobbed her head in acknowledgement and then got back to work, settling her hands on his skin and rubbing up and down his leg. Pat grunted as she hit his thigh, and Helen shot a quick glance to his face to make sure he was alright.

Her cheeks flooded with embarrassment when she saw the heady look in his eyes and the wicked smirk on his lips. Although they'd had plenty of horny-teenager-style make out sessions, she'd never quite seen this look on his face—it was one that spoke of primal hunger, and she swallowed audibly at the sight.

"Keep going," he intoned huskily, and Helen squeaked like a scared mouse before resuming her movements; she chose not to look up at him, unsure if she could handle the heat in his gaze and the devilish curl of his lips.

Her ministrations were slow and steady, even as her hands shook and her heart tried to beat clean out of her chest. They were shrouded in a sort of sensual silence for several more minutes, until Pat croaked, "Helena?"

Helen finished another stroke of his leg before looking up at him. "Ye—eep!" she squealed, caught off guard when Pat suddenly wrapped his hands around her waist and dragged her onto the bed, until she was straddling his hips, her face inches from his. Before she could even open her mouth to scold him, he'd surged forward and captured her lips with his own, one of his hands sliding down to her butt while the other moved to angle her head just right.

Hot damn, was the only conscious thought Helen could form as he ravished her mouth. She lost herself in the feel of him—the comfort of his presence and the heat of his actions—and she raised her hands up to grasp his head, her fingers scraping through his hair harshly.

Pat grunted and hitched her further up his body, tearing his lips off hers only to replace them at her neck, where the sleepshirt she'd been wearing had slid down just enough to reveal her collarbone. His kisses grew rougher, and Helen couldn't stop a moan when he nipped at the skin he found.

The noise was breathy and quiet, but Pat heard it and reeled back, his pupils blown so wide she almost couldn't see the blue around them. They looked at each other for a moment, their chests falling and rising rapidly, before Pat let a slow, proud grin crawl up his lips.

"Hi," he greeted quietly, dropping his head onto her chest and laughing lightly. "Sorry," he mumbled, the word muffled by her shirt. "I got ahead of myself."

Helen swallowed, letting her fingers trace a path down his scalp to his shoulders. "S'okay," she breathed. "I'm not complaining."

Pat huffed an amused snort, and then raised his head and nudged his nose with hers. "Yeah?"