Crushing On The Billionaire (Part 3) by Lola Silverman

that was begging for the most immediate attention.
    “I don’t think…this is safe driving,” I managed to say as his fingers found their prize.
    “Let me worry about the driving.”
    What would’ve been a torturous drive without the extra attention…was still torturous. I squirmed, hoping that no one could see the expressions of ecstasy on my face as we drove on, following every single traffic rule. Patrick didn’t so much as go one mile per hour above the speed limit, taking his sweet time with me.
    By the time we reached the house, I was a mewling mess, desperate for release from my torture. Patrick was eager, too, apparently, now hurrying from his side of the car to mine. He scooped me up unceremoniously, not caring that my ass hung out from my dress.
    “Patrick!” I yelped, yanking at the hemline.
    “I like it when you say my name like that,” he said, shutting the car door with his foot before toting me to the house.
    “What about…what about Shawn?”
    “Loren, the only thing you have to worry about right now is coming. Does that sound good?”
    I was beyond words at this point, and could only nod.
    It was all he could do to get me up to his bedroom and toss me on the bed before entering me in one swift movement. I was so ready for it, crying out at the first thrust, wanting it immensely. I’d never craved something so badly in my life.
    We moved together, and it was pure poetry. I tried to stifle my cries, worried about Shawn possibly being in the house, but then I reached a point where I couldn’t be quieted.
    I came so hard and so loudly that I could feel myself going hoarse. Patrick was right there with me, groaning as he reached that same precipice as I had and let himself tumble on over.
    We held onto each other still, Patrick still buried deep in my body. He felt good there, right.
    “I was too loud,” I whispered finally, as we gently disengaged from each other.
    “Shawn’s not here,” Patrick said. “He told me to go to your show, and to make damn sure I didn’t leave it without you.”
    “What?” I was dumbfounded.
    “He’s persistent, my son,” Patrick said, shaking his head and grinning. “He’s been after me for almost a month, demanding that I fix whatever was broken between us.”
    “I can’t believe him.”
    “He’s bound and determined to make amends. Let him. It makes him feel better, and hell, it worked, didn’t it?”
    “I guess so.” When would Shawn stop amazing me? The love had been there between Patrick and me, but we’d each needed an extra push. Shawn was a good friend—perhaps the best friend I’d ever have.
    “Where do you want to go?” Patrick asked suddenly, twirling my hair around his finger.
    “Go?”
    “What do you want to do with your life?”
    I laughed at him. “Can’t a girl graduate first? Do I have to have a plan right away?”
    “I’m just saying,” he said, kissing my forehead. “You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to. You could live here. We could go wherever you wanted. Do anything you wanted.”
    “Excuse me,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m not looking for charity, here.”
    “I’m not offering it. I’m serious, Loren. I love you, and I will do anything for you.”
    “Anything?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Well, I have a surprise.”
    Patrick sat up and looked uneasy. I had to hide a smile behind my hand. “What is it?”
    “A travel magazine has asked me to submit an idea for an assignment that they’d like to send me on,” I told him. “It was particularly interested in my work with the homeless on display at the gallery.” Mere had submitted some samples of my work early on, without telling me, to some connections she had made over the years, and this had been her parting gift to me for being a “great photographer.”
    Patrick frowned. “And where are you thinking about going?”
    “Latin America. Southeast Asia. South Africa. The world.”
    “It sounds like it will be