were incredible.
Patrick and I were our old selves again. Playful, constantly touching, kissing whenever possible, laughing all the time…
It felt like the Patrick and Nic I used to know. We were reconnecting after finally being given the time we needed.
I didn’t see much of Hawke at all. He started his job at the mailing company, working third shift to start. He was gone the last few nights and slept most of the day, or left the house and was out with Kid or some girls. I honestly didn’t know. I tried not to think about it, knowing I shouldn’t.
Our coffee meetings were nonexistent the past few mornings. I’m not sure if that had to do with the fact that Patrick was off work and he just wanted to avoid being around us together or what. Maybe I was being bold for even thinking I had that effect on him. Maybe he was just sick of being around me. A part of me worried, but I was still up early each morning with a sliver of hope he’d greet me with that easygoing smile.
Patrick was really putting effort into making me feel loved. He took me out to dinner and wined and dined me. He bought me flowers; he bought me a new sweater; he held my hand and opened doors. It was surprisingly overwhelming in the best way.
I selfishly hadn’t told him what happened between Hawke and I. Why? Because I was afraid. I was afraid of what the repercussions of that would mean. He’d leave me and never forgive me for my infidelities. I’d be homeless. On my own. He’d tell his family and everyone they knew through the church. Everyone in this town would know I was the whore that broke poor Patrick’s heart. Everyone would hate me. Everything I’d known the last four years of my life would liquify before me. I wouldn’t know where to turn.
I’d decided to bear my guilt, at least until I could process my next steps. Guilt is a funny thing, though. It’s like a heavy cloud that follows you around. Sometimes, if you allow it, it floods you completely, leaving you feeling wet, drenched, and not worthy of the sun. I was working hard not to let my cloud flood me, but the shadowed space I’d become used to wasn’t going anywhere.
Tonight we’ve decided to stay in, watch movies, order a pizza, and be lazy. It’s our last night together before he leaves for another two days. I got our slices on a couple plates in the kitchen when Hawke suddenly walks through the door.
“Hey, what are you doing off already?” Patrick asks him from the couch.
He moves into the kitchen, not looking towards me at all, but opens the cupboard above the fridge, grabbing the bottle of whiskey. I see a sliver of tatted skin under his shirt, right above his low-hanging jeans, and I immediately flush and look away. The sight only further reminds me of my hands dragging along that skin.
He opens the bottle and swallows at least five shots worth of the dark liquid. He pulls the bottle down, looking over at Patrick while wiping his bottom lip with the back of his hand. “I quit.”
“You just started,” Patrick retorts, turning around from the couch.
“Yep, and now, just ended.” He takes another pull.
I look at him questionably, wanting him to see my eyes, to know I’m here for him, but he never looks my way. He’s avoiding me, and I understand it but also kind of hate it.
Patrick gets up and joins us in the kitchen now. “You do know you need to keep a job to—”
“Don’t you fucking tell me what I need to do,” Hawke snaps, pointing a finger into his chest.
Something strange is happening. The energy in the room has shifted. I stand there with wide eyes, watching their exchange.
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do. But you know that if you don’t keep that job your Parole Officer will come asking about it and I’ll have to be honest,” Patrick explains calmly, a hint of authority in his tone that makes me narrow my eyes at him.
Hawke glares at him, tightening his jaw and clenching his fist at his side. His breathing increases and he looks like a bull ready to charge, but something’s holding him back.
Why would Patrick rat him out like that? Aren’t they supposed to be friends? Granted, Hawke isn’t exactly holding up his end of the friendship when it comes to me.
“Hey, hey…we don’t need to say anything yet. Let’s just let him figure it out,” I say, walking between them, trying to intervene. “I’m sure he has a backup plan.”
I look at Hawke with brows raised, and his eyes finally connect with mine. His face softens a bit as he takes a breath and lets it out.
“Yeah, I’ll have it figured out,” he says, cooling off.
He stares at me for a moment, trying to communicate without words. I have a feeling if Patrick wasn’t here, he’d tell me what was wrong, but because he is, he’s trapped and can’t be who he wants to be around me. He can’t open up.
“Good. Problem solved. Now let’s eat and watch this movie.” Patrick smiles, grabbing his plate of pizza. “Join us.”
Hawke stands there, clenching his jaw with narrowed eyes as Patrick walks back over to the couch.
“You alright?” I ask quietly.
He blinks his eyes, shaking his head slightly, then snaps his head to look at me. “Never been better.”
“Wanna talk about it?” I ask, moving in closer.
I hate the feeling that he’s going through something and has no one to vent to.
“No,” he responds blandly.
He brushes past me while I sigh. I’m not going to push him, but I’m definitely curious about just happened. I hate to imagine him keeping even more buried deep inside him with no one to open up to.
He heads to his room, slamming the door as I chew on my bottom lip, releasing another regretful sigh. I join Patrick on the oversized couch, finishing our pizza slices. After we eat, I hit the lights, turning the movie on, and hop back beside Patrick. He tickles my waist, making me playfully smack him, before pulling me into him, kissing that spot on my neck he loves so much.
I don’t know what Patrick is thinking, but he pulls me further between his legs, my back to his front, putting the blanket over us as his hands explore beneath it.
I swallow nervously as his hand slowly moves down my shoulder and underneath my arm. His hand slides under, drifting over my rib cage before cupping my breast. I suck in a breath at the contact as his thumb brushes over my nipple.
I adjust myself in the seat, and Patrick adjusts himself as well. I can feel him hard against my back. He’s enjoying this little situation, that’s quite clear, and he’s getting bolder.
Patrick’s hands start becoming extremely friendly as the fingers of his other hand slip over my stomach, finding their way into the waistband of my leggings. He can’t seriously be thinking about doing this right now. This is so unlike him. Anything outside of the bedroom has typically never happened. Missionary beneath the sheets is enough to do him in.
His fingers slip under, sliding down until his hand is cupping all of me. I lick my lips, trying to calm my heart rate while looking down at the blanket. He begins slowly moving his middle finger up the length of me, making me shudder.
Just as he touches me in my most sensitive place, I hear Hawke’s door open. I suck in a breath as he comes out into the kitchen in some new off-green sweatpants sans shirt, and decides now is the best time to come hang out with us. It’s like he has a Cole-is-wet radar.
He plops down on the other end of the sectional with a pissed-off look about him.
I hold Patrick’s hand to stop his motions, feeling how inappropriate this is, but he shakes me off.
Hawke glares over at us, and we connect eyes for a moment. I dart my eyes away immediately, but he keeps staring. Why now? Why did he decide to come out here? Luckily, from the position we’re in, Patrick can’t see him behind the back of my head.
I shudder slightly, wincing my eyes as Patrick moves his fingers again. I blink my eyes open to Hawke, who’s still looking in my direction, totally captivated by my weird behavior.
He lifts his head a bit, narrowing his eyes while watching, chewing casually on his thumb. My eyelids flutter and my mouth drops open a tad as Patrick’s fingers start circling my clit.
I’m stuck. Caught in one of the most awkward moments in my life and I can’t seem to do anything to change it because I don’t want to make a scene. It would be so obvious what we’re doing. The fact that Patrick is continuing this, knowing he is right there on the couch across from us, is crazy to me.
Patrick is unaware of where my eyes are, but they are glued to Hawke’s. His jaw flexes as Patrick pushes a finger into me. I let out a small breathy moan as Hawke’s eyes narrow dangerously as he’s figuring it out.
He knows what’s happening and I can’t decipher if he likes what he sees or if he’s bothered by it. He licks his lips, adjusting in his seat a bit, then tips his head back against the couch and stares at me dangerously. His tongue slips out of his mouth, toying with his lip ring as Patrick adds another finger.
I bite my bottom lip as he begins fingering me on the couch. The sensation of his hand against my clit while Hawke’s eyes burn through me has me on the edge of orgasm. I’m so close to letting go. My eyes never separate from his, so he has to know I’m thinking about him. He’s just watching it all unfold.
This is so wrong. I’m enjoying the feeling of Patrick while imagining it’s Hawke. I think of our uninhibited sex, the way he used his mouth on my body, finding those erogenous zones that he knew would get me off while pummeling into me with his massive cock, again and again, making sure I came before him. Even at my release, he relentlessly took me past the edge, falling recklessly into a tailspin of sexual pleasure until he came along with me.
I’m close now, remembering it all, and dripping wet as Patrick continues playing with me. My mouth drops open again as my eyes seal tightly together and I fall into my orgasm, shuddering silently through it.
Hawke stares at me with his lips parted. He’s looking at me all crazy, impressed, but with a boldness about him, a cockiness in his eyes. I hate how much I like it. I hate that he knows it was all him. This is so beyond fucked up. The look quickly changes as Patrick withdraws his hand and nudges me a little to get up. I look at him, confused, before he excuses himself to go to the bathroom.
I hear the sink turn on and my heart drops to my stomach as a frown takes over my face.
Hawke’s face distorts as he looks towards the bathroom, clearly confused. Yeah, guess washing up after touching your partner isn’t normal. Just another stab to the ol’ heart.
My emotions are all over the place. I’m feeling amazing, while feeling embarrassed. I’m feeling confused by my emotional response to all of this, while somehow feeling this rush of excitement and lust by this odd voyeuristic moment. Patrick and I are in a good place. We are supposed to be happy, especially after these past few days, but now I’m feeling anything but. I feel hurt, and now, to top it all off, I feel dirty.
As if it finally clicks, Hawke shakes his head, looking completely disturbed. He looks from me to the bathroom door, then back again. A sorrowful look encompasses him before an angry one takes over. He leans forward towards where I’m sitting and touches my chin, running his thumb gently over my bottom lip.
“I would’ve licked them clean,” he whispers into my ear, before backing into his position on the couch again. “Fuck him,” he mumbles.
How, even after I’ve finished, do his words make me tingle between my legs? Just the thought of him sucking me off his fingers makes me feel a yearning in the pit of my stomach. I should hate him for saying fuck him about Patrick in front of me, but it only makes me feel justified in knowing how messed up it is that he feels the need to clean himself after doing anything sexual with me. At the same time, I’m horrified and totally ashamed.
I glare at him. My anger towards Patrick is now radiating off me, redirecting towards Hawke. I hate the fact that I feel this way about him even after trying not to, hating that he seems to be the only one to get me there, hating that Patrick can’t seem to do it for me anymore since knowing Hawke. Hawke makes everything more complicated.
“Why didn’t you just stay in your room?!” I whisper through gritted teeth, misdirecting my anger towards him.
He cocks his head, giving me that dangerous smirk yet again. “Because if I don’t get to be the one to make you come, I at least want to see your face while you’re thinking about me.”
“You arrogant prick.”
How dare he. Assuming I’d only be thinking about him to get off. I can’t stand how right he is.
Hawke gets up, stalking closer to my side of the couch, sporting a cocky grin before dipping down to my ear. “You should be thanking me.”
“Just go,” I say with a scowl, looking past him at the TV behind his head.
He scoffs, then makes his way back towards his room.
Patrick rejoins me, smiling like he just accomplished the impossible, probably because he did. This is the first time I’ve ever climaxed with him. But he doesn’t deserve the credit, he doesn’t deserve the pompous look about him right now. I hate the idea that he thinks he did that alone. He didn’t.
It was all Hawke.
It’s always Hawke.
