Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
After all, what kid wouldn’t want to spend more time in the ‘Pat Cave’? I can’t stop laughing at the goofy nickname Patton came up with for his place.
Pretty ironic when the place isn’t that cavernous when people are there.
It’s modern and warm and infinitely more than anything I deserve. The place would make my parents eat their materialistic hearts out.
But it’s not the house that has me spinning.
It’s the plain, cold fact that I can’t get enough of Patton Rory.
The craving feels like a force of nature, this weird emotional magnetism that only gets stronger with every visit. The more I get used to being around him, the more time I want to spend with him.
The fewer nights I want to sleep alone.
The best mornings are the ones where I wake up in his arms.
Well, sort of.
My butt always seems to be magically glued to his dick every time. It only takes a few minutes to feel him go other places.
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.
It’s a claiming, tender and intense, yet so different from the drunken excitement of our first time or the heated wildness of other romps. Here, in the moment, joined by our bodies, we’re one.
He nips my neck again—not hard enough to draw blood, but with just enough evil intensity. Shock mingles with the pleasure building in my core.
“Never forget you’re mine,” he rumbles, coiling my hair in his fist.
I think it’s a substitute for the three little words neither of us are ready to say.
“Yours,” I whisper, hearing his breath go ragged as his thrusts quicken.
“Say it again.”
For a hot minute, I can’t.
Especially when he does that thing where his thrusts jackhammer, quickening abruptly as he brings me so close.
“Yours, yours.” My breath hitches. “Patton, please.”
“Good girl,” he rasps.
Then his palm crashes against my ass and I’m gone.
Coming!
He pulls me in, just in time to stifle the messy hitched noises pouring out of me as my pussy convulses around his punishing cock.
He makes me come so hard I’m thrown back to Zion Peak, to our very first night, where my eyes glowed with so many stars.
And he just plunges deeper, harder, bringing rough strokes that break reality.
He finishes with a gritty curse as he fills me with come.
My whole mind whites out, pleasure arcing through my nerves like live wires until I short-circuit and slowly drift down from the high.
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.