Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 81

I think he rips a button in his haste.

But he's bare for me, this broad-chested beast in all his wild, divine glory.

My hands slide down his abs—how are they even harder than I remember?—and then my mouth.

"Woman, go to town," he urges. "Fucking touch me wherever you please. I'm all yours tonight."

The edge in his voice gives me courage. So does the way he caresses my face. I kiss a trail down his neck to his beltline, and soon those hot little kisses become licks.

He groans like thunder.

Wow. I never knew how much I missed that sound.

"I like this dress, it looks damn good on you," he says, right before he shears it open. The material splits, seams tearing loudly, and for once I'm not thinking about money. "But I like it better gone. Don't worry, I'll buy you a new one."

"Holy shit. Um, I've never had a man physically rip off my clothes before."

"You've never been with a man, then. Present company excluded."

I. Am. Dead.

No, I don't bother telling him my experience with men has been stunted and hilariously nonexistent since my last encounter. I've spent my twenties in a sexual desert that rivals the remoteness outside.

Juggling a job and a kid as a single mom doesn't leave much time for dating, much less hooking up with guys who can cause you more trouble.

He throws what's left of my dress to one side and slides back off the bed, standing like an angry god as he looks me up and down.

Oh, I'm so tempted to cover myself in the face of perfection—the stretch marks on my belly, the fact that my boobs aren't half as perky as they were last time. But he shakes his head and swats my uneasy arm away from my chest.

"Don't."

I never thought a single word could be so loaded.

"But I'm not… I'm not as young or hot as you remember," I whisper. "Bullshit, Lady Bug. I dreamed about you," he rumbles, moving back

on the bed and pushing me down under him. "You know how many nights I thought about seeing you again? How many times I fucking came in my hand, remembering how we burned?"

Holy shit.

I tremble.

There's no faking the sincerity in his voice.

The feral glint in his eye would make any red-blooded woman weak, and I'm no exception. I'm so drenched I can barely think.

With one hand, he slides a finger inside me. Just one.

And it's enough.

My walls convulse and that fireball in my core goes off.

"Patton!" His name grinds out in this torn whisper as he wrings every last drop of sin from my skin.

Even with the whole world spinning, I force my eyes open, watching as he pushes my legs over his shoulders and devours me completely.

Watching the vicious pride in his eyes as he makes me ride his face to the bitter end.

Watching with my legs still shaking and his finger raised as he holds it up and sucks.

"Fucking decadent," he tells me, and then he's kissing me again. He makes me taste myself on his lips.

It's frantic then, this feeling of falling, of not knowing where we'll land, of desperately trying to find every inch of pleasure together before we do.

When I have my wits again, I rip off his pants just as fast as he disposed of my dress. He fists my hair as I grind against him until he growls and shoves my legs open.

Just when I think he's about to take what's his—what's always been his alone—his weight shifts until he holds back, dragging his cock against my entrance.