The Problem with Paddy (Shrew & Company) by Holley Trent

face reddened and he sat up to rest his elbows on his knees.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “It’s all right. For some reason, I think you’re usually a little more discreet with your ogling.”
    “That’s a skill most teenaged boys learn in short order, so you’re right.”
    She actually didn’t mind him looking. Liked it a little. And why not? Patrick O’Dwyer was gorgeous, industrious, intelligent, and like her—seemed to have a low bullshit tolerance. That meant hers, too. Being around him was refreshing.
    Arousing.
    He was the one man she might actually consider surrendering control to…at least for a little while. How would that feel? She wanted to find out.
    As if on their own accord, her fingers found the base of his spine and made a gentle press of the ridges there, drawing his gaze to her face again. His eyes had widened, but whatever thoughts he had, he kept to himself.
    She let her fingers dance up his strong back, making lazy, tickling circles that made him suck in air when she reached the middle, then continued to the top where his neck met shoulders. Her hand seized the back of his shirt collar and gave it a playful pull.
    He set his empty bottle on the nightstand and turned his brooding gaze to her.
    She pulled again. “Patrick?”
    “Yes?”
    “This is me giving you permission.”
    That statement made him turn slightly to the right, putting his collar out of reach of her hand, but allowed him straight-on eye contact.
    Amazing eyes. Old soul.
    “Permission?”
    She nodded. “Yes. I’m not generally so accommodating. I want you to know that.”
    “I read that vibe.”
    “Good.” Now she pushed up onto her elbows and tried to impart her consent with her expression, her gaze. Did she really need words for that?
    Or would a touch do?
    Slowly, she reached out and trailed the back of her hand along the stubble on his jaw, his chin, and dragged one finger along the crease between his soft lips.
    He took her hand in his, kissed it front and back, and glided his mouth over the pulse point over her wrist, licking it with hot tongue and growling out his impatience as he pushed her cuff up her arm. “Why are you wearing so many clothes?”
    “Same could be said for you, Paddy.”
    “You asking me to strip?”
    A grin pulled her cheeks and she knew even without seeing it that it was probably quite evil looking. “It’d be nice if I weren’t the first one naked for a change.”
    “I see.” He dropped her hand, with some reluctance, and immediately clutched the bottom of his shirt.
    Please don’t disappoint me.
    He didn’t. The chest beneath that shirt was decorated not just with colorful, thoughtful tattoos, but with hard-earned muscles.
    Her cheeks burned as he stood before her, his knees skimming hers through their pants, as he manipulated the fly of his jeans. Black fabric peeked through the gape when he let down the zipper, and suddenly she felt very young. Very inexperienced, though that wasn’t it. He certainly wasn’t her first, second, or even third, but this felt brand new, and the novelty of it—the heightened anticipation, was making her head swim.
    She gulped and clamped her teeth together, hoping doing so would quash the quivering of her lips. “Slow down, lover. I want to see what I’m getting.”
    “I can go slow, sweetheart.” He dropped his jeans so all that was left were snug boxer briefs that left very little to the imagination.
    Paddy O’Dwyer was hung.
    The rock hard muscles of his abdomen shifted as he lifted one leg, then the other, out of his jeans and nudged them aside with his foot. He insinuated himself between her thighs at the bed’s edge and leaned her back once more. His hands pressed onto the bed on either side of her head as he hovered close. “Slow is fine, but how do I know you’re not going to get me naked and then change your mind? That doesn’t seem fair.”
    She swallowed, his cock’s proximity to her making her aroused sex clench, yearning to be filled.