Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 99

It's no surprise, then, to wake up with my head halfway off the pillow, his arm draped over my waist, and my legs twined in his.

I sleepily regain consciousness before shifting until my back presses against his bare chest.

God, how is he always so warm?

It feels too good on these late winter mornings.

His heat soaks into me. I bite my lip when I feel his hard-on. The movement makes him stir and his embrace tightens.

"Patton?" I whisper. I grind against him, this time deliberately, feeling him harden to his full glory.

My eyes flick to the charger clock on his nightstand.

Oof. We won't have long before Arlo wakes—if we have any time at all —and there's a little something I'd like to finish before then. "It's morning. Wakey-wakey," I whisper.

"I'm up." His hand creeps up my shirt and cups my breast before I can say another word. "You really think I'd miss my favorite wake-up call?"

"Would you? I'm not wearing panties." I feel his chest swell as he inhales.

"Goddammit. Have I ever told you how hot you are?" He reaches around me, trailing warm fingers along my stomach and dipping down, skating across my thighs and drawing circles on my hips.

My legs open, encouraging his fingers to find their way home.

"So eager." He chuckles, the sound low and dark in my ear. "You're going to spoil my fun."

"Oh, the things I have in mind won't spoil anything." Finally, he reaches the sweet spot between my legs.

I gasp at the contact when his thumb grazes my clit.

"Not so loud." I swear I can feel his smile as he nips my ear.

As he slides his fingers through my slickness, I arch my back and twist my hips, just enough so his cock nudges my entrance.

The hand on my breast hesitates for a second as I roll and wiggle myself onto him.

Oh, just the tip.

I need to feel him.

It barely lasts before he sucks my throat, adding his teeth.

"You tease," he groans, taking my hips and sliding me the rest of the way down.

Heaven.

He fills me, stretching my walls in the best way.

The eye-rolling moan that slips out of me tastes like pure melted honey. We've fucked so many ways by now, but this is one of my favorites.

Softly.

Quietly.

Nothing between our slick, steaming flesh except the want boiling the air.

That's the awe of having sex like this. We flipping own each other.

You can call me ignorant and inexperienced when I'm definitely both. But I never saw it that way before—sex was just a physical act to satisfy a need, like scratching an itch.

And yes, sex like that is fine.

But this is different, swirling with emotions that tug my heart. Every time he touches me, I'm lost in the moment.

Happily lost with him.

And when I twist around to meet his gaze, dark with desire and that heady purple mark he's left on my neck that I know I'll need to cover up, I know he sees the same thing mirrored back.

Right now, nothing exists but us.

And he's still not done. The man is part machine.

His fingers tighten on my hips. His other hand works my clit, rubbing, slowly tracing circles meant to rile me up for another round.

"Again? So soon?"

"Woman, I'm still hard as a brick. I could stay in bed with you all day," he growls. Another half confession.

Seems like that's how we speak these days.

These careful, half-formed thoughts and near confessions and little hints that come out loudest when we're most unfiltered. What we don't say is that this insanity is more than we ever could've dreamed.