Chapter Text
Set After Episode 7x02
Her hair, matted and damp, clung to her neck and face, each tendril a reminder of the long day. The air she inhaled seemed to scrape at her lungs, leaving her breaths quick and uneven, struggling to bring clarity to her muddled thoughts.
As she entered the room, he guided her gently by the small of her back. The familiar scent of citrus and vanilla, lingering from the diffuser on the coffee table, did little to comfort her. The room, though unmistakably home, felt alien, as if she were wandering through a dreamscape that she couldn’t quite claim as her own.
The soft click of the front door jolted through her, sending a sharp pain up her spine. She bent forward, gagging, but only a deep, shuddering sob emerged.
“Teresa.” His voice was low, tender, as if speaking louder might shatter her. She tried to steady herself, curling her toes in her small sneakers.
“What were you thinking?” she snapped, spinning to face him. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”
He remained calm, his gaze steady and a faint smile lingering on his lips, as if her anger was something expected.
“I know,” he replied, his hand resting at her waist.
He wasn’t engaging in a verbal sparring match; instead, he offered a resigned calm that frustrated her even more. She wanted him to argue, to defend himself.
“Answer me. What were you thinking?”
Even with a gun pressed against her, forcing her to confront her regrets, she had never felt such fury. The anger was overwhelming, a tight coil in her muscles, desperate for an outlet.
He nodded slowly, his shoulders carrying the burden. “I wasn’t thinking of anything but you.”
She leaned into him, her hand pressing firmly against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her touch. Her other hand reached up, brushing against his cheek with a feather-light touch, tracing the curve of his jawline. Emotions surged within her, a turbulent sea seeking an outlet, craving a physical conduit to ground her.
Their lips met, and she kissed him with a hunger that surprised even herself. His mouth tasted of salt, hinting at tears shed or emotions suppressed. She pressed closer, seeking solace in his strength concealed beneath his suited-veneer. Memories flickered in her mind – the first time she’d seen him naked. While it wasn't unexpected that he was in good shape, what caught her off guard were the meticulously defined muscles on his chest, their tautness and strength akin to sentinels standing guard.
Their kiss deepened, her tongue slipping past his lips in a dance of passion and need. Her fingers entwined in his hair, feeling the texture change from dampness at his temples to dryness at the ends. A slight tug at the roots elicited a response from him, his mouth opening to meet hers with equal fervor.
This was good.
She found what she craved in the heat of their embrace, in the shared intensity of their kiss.
This was what she needed.
This connection, this unspoken understanding between them, said more than any spoken affirmation could.
Her bedroom door swung open with a kick from her left foot, and they stumbled blindly towards the bed, their lips never breaking apart until she pushed him. He fell onto the bed, panting, his hair tousled and his jacket slipping from his shoulders.
She ripped the tank from her body, casting it away along with the scent of her fear. She felt his eyes tracing her chest beneath the black lace. Without a word, she moved to undo the button on her jeans, but his hands covered hers, halting her movements.
“Teresa, we should talk,” his voice sounded strained, lacking the conviction he may have aimed for.
“This first,” she replied, gliding her jeans down her legs.
His hands brushed her waist, over her hips, and paused at her thighs, his fingers kneading into her flesh. Leaning forward, he gently pulled her closer until her knees brushed against the mattress. His kiss ignited a fire in her stomach as he peppered her with three small pecks. She felt him inhale her scent, slow and deliberate, his shoulders rising and falling as he tipped his chin to look up at her
“You want to forget, and you think sex will do that.” Her heart pounded against her chest, the calm, soothing tone of his voice gently easing the frayed edges of her nerves.
“It will, won’t it?” she remarked, her voice teasing as she ran her fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp.
“I can make you forget.”
If those words had come from anyone else, she might have laughed at the cockiness. But with Patrick, she knew better. Sex with him had made her forget her own name once. He read her body like no one else, instinctively knowing when to quicken his pace and when to ease back, keeping her teetering on the edge until her vision blurred. He knew where to touch, where to kiss, where to bite. That last one had surprised her, a bite that sent her spiraling into an orgasm more intense than she’d ever thought possible.
“So, make me forget,” she whispered.
His lips pressed warmly against the sheer fabric of her panties. The thin weave did nothing to block the heat of his breath, and a shudder ran through her body.
When he pulled away, the distance left her aching, a deep, painful need settling in the pit of her stomach.
“I promise, tonight I’ll do everything you want. I’ll use my mouth, my fingers, my body, however you want me to.” A watery shadow darkened his eyes.
She bit her lip, tugging it into her mouth. “But?”
“But first, I’m going to run you a bath. I’ll sit beside you and read that book you’ve picked up and put down ten times this month. Then I’ll make you a cup of chamomile tea and rub your feet on the couch.”
As he stood, his hands slid over her body, pausing at her shoulders. “Lavender or vanilla?”
She managed a small smile. He was right, of course, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it. “Surprise me.”
|
His surprise came as a blend of both scents. It worked beautifully, calming and soothing her as she eased into the bath. She hadn’t felt truly clean since going undercover, and her bones sighed with relief as she sank deeper into the warm, satiny bubbles.
“You said no to me,” she said, her eyelids heavy, barely holding open.
“Technically, I said not yet.” His response came with a soft, genial laugh that coaxed a smile from her.
“I didn’t know you could do that.” She turned her head to look at him, noticing how his smile had spread into a wide, impish grin.
“I barely had it in me.” He brushed away a cluster of bubbles clinging to her cheek. “You know what you do to me, Teresa, especially when you’re all authoritarian.”
She blinked, her brow furrowing slightly. “No, I don’t.” She let out a laugh, not bothering to hold it back. Laughing felt good.
“Liar.” He said it proudly as he perched on the closed toilet seat, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jane.”
He stretched out his legs, taking up nearly half the floor space of her bathroom. His eyes closed gently, but his smile remained. “I love you, even when you’re being deliberately coy.”
His declaration didn’t surprise her; it was as if he found his own peace in saying it. She hadn’t said it back yet, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel it deep in her stomach, or that the same words weren’t silently written on her face.
He broke the silence with slow, deliberate words, stealing her thoughts away. “C’mon Lisbon, you know what you do to me.”
The bubbles shifted around her as she moved to the edge of the tub, resting her chin on her folded arms. “Why don’t you tell me,” she teased, a grin spreading across her face. “Refresh my memory, Jane.”
His eyes blinked open, studying her closely before he leaned over and brushed a smear of dirt from her temple. “You make me feel alive. Before you, life felt hollow, empty.” He paused, tracing a soft line down the water-beaded skin of her arm. “I was walking and breathing, but I wasn’t living.” The last of his words were muffled as he whispered them against her damp cheek. “Knowing what every inch of you tastes like,” he hummed, his breath igniting a burst of goosebumps down her throat. “Knowing how your body takes mine,” he kissed her chin, trailing his lips toward her ear, “knowing how well I fit inside you.” His lips closed around her earlobe, giving it a gentle tug.
Her eyes fluttered shut, the intensity of his words sending a flush across her skin and leaving her lips dry.
She hadn't anticipated how smoothly their relationship would slide into intimacy. It felt almost as if they had mastered the dance long before that kiss in the cramped TSA back room. It was instinctive, effortless. Falling into bed with him so soon after the declaration and the phone call to Pike hadn’t been part of her plan. Yet, one kiss had seamlessly led to another. His hands had gripped her firmly and their breaths had mingled in a way that felt not just natural but inevitable.
“Please, Patrick.” Her voice was faint, almost foreign to her own ears. She felt his hand gently cup her chin, and she sank into the comfort and strength of his touch.
She’d never allowed herself such safety before, but with him, her defenses melted away. His promise of “after” was sweet but left a bitter taste. Her fingers itched to touch him, and her core ached to feel complete with him.
The water rocked gently as she shifted, placing a foot on the edge of the tub. Bubbles cascaded down its ivory surface. His gaze softened as she pointed her pearly-painted toes at him. It goes unspoken, but she never paints them red anymore.
“Forget the book and the couch; rub my feet here,” she pouted, her eyes pleading.
His eyes crinkled at the edges, a whimsical smile settling on his lips. She relished the surprise of him—the moments when he was quietly thoughtful, loudly obnoxious, or wonderfully charming. Each facet of his personality drew her in, pulling a piece of herself out to meet his.
“Are you trying to speed things up?”
She shrugged, her head resting against the cool beige tiles. “And if I am?”
He eased the jacket from his shoulders, folded it with careful precision, and set it aside on her vanity. “Some might consider that cheating.” With deliberate movements, he rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms, a twist of muscle and fine, golden hair. “Are you cheating Lisbon?” His words carried a playful lilt as he cradled her foot in both hands.
She sighed as his thumbs pressed firmly into the arch of her foot. “The Charlatan is calling me a cheat?”
The steady pressure on her sole made her shoulders sink deeper into the soothing water, the steam and fragrances swirling around her like a comforting embrace.
“I did the only thing I could think of, Teresa. I couldn’t just…” He cut off abruptly, the falter in his voice more telling than any explanation.
The unsaid words hung in the air, and she felt a pang of understanding. In his place, she would have made the same choice, and perhaps even a small part of her would have felt safer in death beside him. She shut her eyes tightly, a tear escaping down her cheek.
“I thought that was it, that was the end.” It hurt her to admit it and the words cut like thorns.
His hands moved gently over her toes, his thumbs pressing into the soft pads beneath. “I know, so did I.” As if sensing her unspoken fears, he added, “At least I would have been with you.”
The room fell into a delicate silence, soothing like a cool breeze on a hot night.
“Can I have a few minutes to wash up while you make the tea?”
He nodded slowly as he rose from his seat. Sometimes he seemed almost childlike, carefree, but in moments like these, his size and presence were unmistakably imposing. Standing over her, his brows knitted and shoulders relaxed, he felt both larger and reassuringly safe. He always felt safe.
“Of course.” He bent down to kiss her forehead. The gesture was tender, yet the lingering touch made it feel more intimate than innocent.
He left, closing the door halfway behind him. Alone now, she focused on her uneven breaths, the subtle vanilla scent of her skin filling the space.
|
Her skin still felt damp as she emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later. An oversized towel, a gift from Jane, swamped her frame, and her freshly washed hair tumbled in loose curls over her shoulders.
The warm aroma drew her towards the kitchen, and as she rounded the corner into the small living room, she took it all in with a deep breath. Dozens of candles dotted the flat surfaces, casting a soft amber glow. Scents mingled - citrus and flowers - but the dominant aroma of warm butter and pastries enveloped her senses. Smooth jazz played softly on the stereo, its melody barely rising above the rhythm of her own heartbeat.
“Warm croissant and tea,” he said, his French accent adding a charming lilt that made her smile. She considered dropping the towel to gauge how long his focus would remain on the food, but the tempting smell reminded her of her hunger and how long it had been since she’d eaten anything other than artery-clogging prison slop.
“I also got you a salad, it’s in the fridge if you prefer.”
Her laughter bubbled up, genuine and warm, filling her chest with a lightness she hadn’t felt in a while. “How long was I in the bathroom?”
“Oh,” he said, patting the cushion next to him. “I picked this up earlier this morning. I knew you’d be coming home eventually and wanted to make sure you had something nice after your time in the clinker.”
She sank into the seat beside him, the towel creeping up past her knees. “That’s incredibly thoughtful, Jane.”
He shrugged, his smile softening. “You are my girlfriend after all.”
The way he lingered on the word “girlfriend” made it clear how much he cherished it.
She managed a few bites of croissant and sips of the aromatic tea, but neither eased the real hunger gnawing at her insides. It felt like a beast pacing back and forth, setting her skin ablaze from within. She craved his touch, his mouth, his entire being - him.
She wanted Patrick Jane.
She longed for the glint in his eyes as he watched her unravel. She yearned for the way his fingers gripped her wrist, or pinned her arms above her head as he teased her with his mouth. She imagined the pressure of his hips against her, the rumble in his throat as she tightened around him.
“I know you said later, but…” She trailed her fingers down her neck, feeling the heat.
“Lie back, Teresa.”
She complied, her head resting on the arm of the chair. He adjusted her with a pillow for support and slowly lifted the hem of the towel-dress to her waist.
He positioned her legs without resistance, one foot lightly touching the ground, the other bent at the knee against the back of the couch. His fingers traced slow, concentric circles on her thigh, drawing the breath from her lungs.
“One orgasm now.” He leaned down to kiss the inside of her knee, the warmth from her core spread outward before it was quickly replaced by a molten heat, bubbling and building pressure low in her pelvis.
“Just the one?” She arched a brow, catching the flicker of his gaze as it traveled up her body.
“What’s the record?”
She smiled, her lips curving higher on one side. “Four.”
He nodded, glancing at the clock across the room, as if calculating. “One now, more later.” His voice deepened, almost as if he were challenging her. Her body responded with a rolling throb, starting in her chest and cascading down between her legs. She should have been mad at how easily he could manipulate her body with a simple shift in his timbre, but the fact that he did so much of the preparatory work for her was nothing short of amazing.
Manipulate away.
The tension in her muscles melted away as he kissed a trail up the inside of her leg, folding himself to reach her.
A soft, pleasurable hum vibrated through her core as he moaned his approval. “I love the way you respond to me.”
When his finger brushed through her folds, a gasp escaped her lips, unbidden. She didn't attempt to stifle it; he had told her during their first time that he loved the sounds she made, so she had learned to let them flow freely.
Her hips tipped instinctively, seeking the deeper friction his fingertips provided. His touch wasn’t calloused but deliberate and slightly rough at the pads, as if he were turning the pages of a book with purpose.
“Eager minx.” The words seemed to drift directly to her clit, his breath teasing it with every utterance.
“Hush. Don’t tease me.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.” His fingers spread her open, and then a new sensation, wet and warm, enveloped her as his tongue traced her delicate skin.
“Fuck!” The exclamation burst from her lips, her eyes widening as she clung to the corded edge of the pillow beneath her.
“Such language.” He teased, each syllable accompanied by a light flick of his tongue.
His hand slid up to her waist, anchoring her to the soft canvas of the couch. She closed her eyes, knowing she would never be able to feel the brushed faux suede against her skin again without reliving this moment exactly.
He circled her coiled bud with slow, deliberate motions, varying the pressure from a gentle breeze to the fierce intensity of a tornado, each sensation perfectly attuned to her. Her breath came in ragged bursts, trapped in her throat, making every sound she emitted feel moaned and feverish.
Her toes curled as the tightness in her core pulsed down her legs. He drew her in with his mouth, rolling her clit between his lips. Two of his fingers slipped inside her, prompting her to push against them before he quelled her movements with the steady stroke of his thumb on her waist.
The air in her lungs felt stagnant as her nails scraped through his hair. His moans heated her sex, driving her release closer with each pump of his fingers.
In and out.
The rhythm built like a crescendo, an overture swelling with intensity.
In and out.
Her lips parted, but only a splintered breath escaped. “Patrick.” His name felt reassuring on her lips as his tongue traced another path through her before she came undone.
The sensation hit like an avalanche, burying all other thoughts. Tiny ripples of pleasure spread from the base of her neck to the tips of her toes, leaving her feeling perfectly limp and utterly spent.
He sat up, carefully folding the towel back over her, then guided her feet to his lap, brushing his fingertips back and forth, echoing the final waves of her climax.
“I should hate how good you are at that,” she said, propping herself on her elbows.
He slowly licked her glistening essence from his lips, savoring the taste. “Have I ruined all other men for you?”
She playfully kicked out at him, and he caught her foot. She felt his smile as he pressed a kiss to her ankle. “I'll take that as a yes.”
“You’re cocky.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
She smirked, her eyes locking with his.
His lips made their mark on her ankle once more before his breath stilled and his gaze returned to hers. “That’s okay, Lisbon. You’ve happily ruined all other women for me.”
“Hush.” She lightly smacked his arm, but her hand lingered, the warmth of his skin grounding her. “You could have gotten yourself killed today, Patrick.”
He shrugged as if she’d mentioned something trivial, like forgetting to order lunch. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”
Her brows knitted together, lips pursed. “It would have mattered to me.”
The smile he gave her was genuine, spreading from the corners of his lips to the edges of his eyes. “I know, but in that scenario, you could have died too.”
She opened her mouth, searching for a retort, but nothing came. He leaned in and kissed her before she could find the words.
“Did you know in Colombia, they use marigolds, or Tagetes erecta,” he smiled, emphasizing the word, “to decorate tombs? The bright color represents joy, like the sun guiding souls to salvation. It’s also believed the smell attracts the souls of the dead.”
She watched him as he tilted his head back, focusing on a spot on the ceiling.
“Fascinating, but you're avoiding the issue.” She knew this tactic of his well - using random facts to deflect from topics he didn’t want to confront. It was one of the few things about Patrick that wasn’t a mystery to her.
His hands continued to caress her feet, warm and deliberate, lulling her into a relaxed haze, her breath syncing with his gentle touch.
“You’re right,” he admitted, turning to face her fully, his gaze intense and focused. That attention was both addictive and unsettling, and she shifted slightly under its weight. “All this talk of death, Lisbon.” He lifted one of her feet and kissed the top, a tender gesture that made her heart flutter.
She moved closer, her fingers coiling around one of the soft curls behind his ear. She sensed there was more he wasn’t saying, words left unspoken in the space between them. But she also knew pushing him to reveal them would be futile. He would share when he was ready, in his own time.
“Okay, you’re right. Let’s just go to bed. That prison mattress did nothing for my back.” She instinctively touched the shoulder still marked by O’Laughlin’s bullet, watching as Jane winced, his shoulders tensing before he quickly masked it with a faded smile.
“Turn around, I’ll do your shoulders.”
For a moment, she considered arguing, stubbornness was a habit born from years of toughing it out, keeping a brave face for her brothers. But the idea of his hands on her shoulders, mollifying and teetering on the edge of something more, was too tempting to resist.
“Mm, please.” She turned, positioning her back toward him.
With a feather-light touch, he swept her damp hair over one shoulder and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “You smell like lavender.”
She nestled closer, her hips pushing back against his thigh. “It’s my body lotion. Do you like it?”
He gently fingered a loose curl, leaning in to inhale her scent. His breath hitched slightly before he whispered into the curve of her neck, his voice warm and intimate. “I love it.”
Her fingers twisted the knot of her towel, letting it spill open and pool around her waist.
His hands moved to her shoulders, the pressure just enough to send shivers cascading down her arms.
“Happily ruined,” he whispered, kissing each syllable along her shoulder.
She turned slightly, brushing her cheek against his nose. “Let’s break that record, shall we?”
|
It wasn’t a nightmare that stirred her awake, those were rare for him. But she could feel him trembling behind her, his breath uneven, as if fighting off some invisible threat. Moving carefully under the weight of his arm, she turned to face him, brushing the back of her hand across his forehead. It was burning hot, damp with sweat.
“Patrick,” she whispered, not daring to raise her voice.
Her fingers grazed his cheek, rough with a few days' worth of stubble. The dim hallway light cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his screwed-shut eyes and the tight line of his lips. “Patrick, it’s okay,” she murmured, hoping to reach him through whatever dark place he was trapped in.
She tried to assuage him in those moments, though a deep fear gnawed at her, fear that she could do nothing more to chase away the demons that haunted him. During the day, he chose happiness, seeking out beauty in the mundane, savoring simple pleasures like the taste of a ripe strawberry or the feel of rain on his face. He clung to those childlike joys, using them as a shield against the darkness. But at night, that shield crumbled. The night was too cruel, too unforgiving, allowing the scars he bore to break free and torment him when his defenses were down.
He woke with a sudden, ragged gasp, as if clawing his way out.
“Hey, it’s okay.” She cupped his head in her hands, trying to guide him back to the present, hoping his eyes would quickly focus and he’d find his way back to her.
“Lisbon?” His voice was laced with confusion and protracted fear.
“I’m here.” She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, just a brush, something to anchor him to the reality they shared.
“Sorry, I—” he began, but his words faltered as he tried to steady his breathing.
“No need to apologize. It’s okay.”
The first time she’d found him like this, it had terrified her, bringing back memories of the moment she discovered him convulsing on the floor after drinking the poisoned tea. He’d been so apologetic afterward, explaining that his sleep was unpredictable - sometimes peaceful, other times overrun with darkness that consumed his subconscious. There was no middle ground.
He rolled onto his back, withdrawing his arm as he shifted away. She listened to the deep, deliberate breaths he took, each one an attempt to calm his mind. “Did I do anything?” he asked, his voice tinged with anxious trepidation.
He asked it every time, as if bracing himself for an answer he dreaded. She didn’t know exactly what he feared, but she could sense his worry that he might hurt her during one of his terrors. It was why he insisted she wake him when they started, and why she had kept her promise, no matter how wrong it felt to do so.
She ghosted a kiss across his forehead, smoothing out the worried lines etched there. “No, never.”
His exhale was heavy, part relief, part uncertainty. The word “never” was meant to be reassuring, but she knew he was haunted by the thought that one day it might not hold true.
His hair was damp where her fingers brushed it back, and she could feel the tension slowly leaving his body under her touch. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He’d say no, as he usually did, but that didn’t stop her from asking each time.
Instead of answering, he propped himself up on his elbow, bringing his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath warm her lips. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in and captured her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. The force of it pushed her head into the pillow, and she kissed him back with equal fervor, desperate to absorb even a fraction of the pain that weighed so heavily on his soul.
When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers in the quiet of the night. “Am I a monster, for what I did?”
She answered with a trio of kisses, each one soft and reassuring, the last lingering a moment longer. “No.” Her fingers traced the curve of his brow as she nestled herself closer, her naked body pressing against his arm. “You’re not. He was the monster, not you.” She refused to speak his name in these intimate moments, unwilling to give him any power in the sanctity of their bed. His memory might invade their nights, but she wouldn’t summon it herself.
“Sometimes, to catch the monster, you become one.” His voice was thick with burden.
She shifted, sitting up and letting the sheets fall away as her nails traced slow, deliberate paths down the hard lines of his chest. “Then we’re all monsters.”
Her words hung in the air as she straddled him, her body casting a shadow across his as the hall light filtered through the room. The musky scent of him filled her senses as she leaned down, her lips leaving a trail of kisses through the thin line of hair that bisected his chest.
His hands found her, gliding through her hair, tracing the contours of her shoulders, down her arms. As she lifted herself slightly, his knuckles brushed against her breasts, sending a tingle through her.
She pulled the blankets up around her shoulders, cocooning them both as she lay down fully on top of him, her cheek resting against his chest. She listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, the reassuring thump of his heart beneath her ear. His body warmed beneath her, and she felt the firm length of his erection growing between her legs, saying what he hadn't.
His fingers tightened in her hair, anchoring her to him as his other hand traced the curve of her waist, possessive and reassuring.
“I’m with you, Patrick,” she whispered, feeling the tremor in his chest as he breathed, his need for her palpable.
In an instant, he moved, swift but not surprising, rolling them over so that she was beneath him. He guided her leg up to his hip, his tip pressing insistently at her entrance, already warm and ready. Patrick usually savored the slow build, the lingering touches and gentle kisses that teased them both to the brink; but tonight, in the quiet of the room, with only the faint hum of distant traffic and their mingled breaths filling the space, they needed something else. They needed something raw and immediate, a way to abandon all other thoughts, focusing only on the pulsing need between them. A conduit.
“Teresa?”
His voice was thick, a question she already knew lining his tongue.
“Yes.”
She answered him with a breath as she tilted her hips, inviting him in.
She felt the first stretch as he thrust forward, taking her in one swift motion, the fullness of him making her gasp, nails digging into his sides with the force of it. That was a mark he’d carry tomorrow as a silent reminder of them. He paused, as he often did to let her body adjust, before she pressed her heel into the small of his back and urged him deeper. He obliged, sinking into her, slow and deliberate, until she'd taken him completely.
The tension in his shoulders was palpable as he hovered above her, his scent – all things salty, raw, and earthy – filled her senses as she ran her tongue along the groove of his clavicle. He groaned, a low, guttural sound that sent shivers through her centre. She rolled her hips in slow, deliberate circles, tightening around him, and he responded, picking up the pace.
In and out.
He thrust with purpose; starting slow before building in intensity.
In and out .
She bit down on the edge of his shoulder and her teeth left faint crescents in his skin.
In and out, he responded by quickening his pace.
The rhythm was relentless, pushing her closer to the edge with every thrust. Her free hand braced against the bedhead, fingers digging into the twill fabric as he lifted her leg higher, nearly to his shoulder, driving himself deeper. She cried out, the sound a raw, unfiltered expression of pleasure as his name flew from her lips in broken gasps.
The tightness in her core snapped, and she let go, her body trembling around him as waves of release pulsed through her. He wasn’t far behind, his rhythm faltering, then breaking into two final, sharp thrusts as he spilled into her. His grip on her thigh tightened for a moment before his thumb began to trace gentle patterns across her skin, soothing her as the last ripples of pleasure ebbed away, leaving her breathless and spent.
Wordlessly, he kissed the bridge of her nose, then shifted beside her, pulling her into his arms with a protective, almost desperate hold. She smiled into the darkness, feeling the warmth of his breath on her neck and the steadiness of his heartbeat beneath her hand. No words were necessary, his embrace said it all.
As her breathing slowed to mimic his, she heard his soft, muffled confession, “I love you, Teresa.”
The exhaustion in his voice was undeniable, each word lightly slurred.
She brushed back his damp hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“Good night, Patrick,” she whispered, lips warm against his skin.
She only hoped his demons would leave him in peace the rest of the night.
||aesthetic||
