Page 131 of One Big Little Secret

Delirious.

I don’t know I’m cradling him until I am as the rhythm dies in breathless rutting strokes, as my pussy milks him, as he empties his soul into me.

“Holy. Shit,” I whisper, just as he collapses on top of me.

The smiling kiss he plants on my forehead feels oddly sweet as he rolls off, sprawling out and making the bed feel so much smaller.

Holy shit is right. What now, Lemmy?

What happens now that you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life a second time?

I don’t know. He might be twisted up with the same horrible regret behind that smug mask.

Honestly, I can never seem to read all the different sides to Patton. He’s absolute chaos, so multifaceted the light only reflects off of him and lets me see one edge at a time.

Right now, I’d give just about anything to read him, but I’m scared what I’ll find if I dig too far.

Instead, I cuddle up with him in the vibrating silence, listening to our breathing and feeling the slow, steady hum of our hearts.

It feels wrong to speak.

But at least that familiar silence isn’t scary. Not when it’s so dangerously comforting.

And this time as I drift off to sleep, unlike on the riverboat, I know he’ll still be there when I wake up.

16

BET THE FARM (PATTON)

There’s a black cat in my bed and she might be the luckiest little creature alive.

I am fucking blessed.

Soft morning light streams through the curtains and illuminates her sleeping face. I’ve been awake for a while now, staring at her in awe.

We’re both still naked, though she’s wrapped the blankets around herself in a snug nest.

Usually, this is the time to sneak away.

It’s either a forgettable moment best left behind me or I have urgent business to get on with. But leaving, that’s missing from my mind.

Shit, I’dgladlythrow away an entire workweek if it means adding a few more hours to this morning, stretching out time like the gold sunrays spilling across her mahogany hair.

She’s more relaxed in her sleep than I’ve ever seen. Her forehead lacks the lines that gather there so often, her mouth soft and her face worry free.

It’s a crime this isn’t her normal face.

I want her to feel peaceful.

Just about as much as I want to wake up beside her every morning without a care in the world—or a goddamned looming disaster.

Yes, I know. Everything about this is wrong.

The trouble is, it feels too right.

And she stirs, wiggling free from her cocoon of covers. When she opens her eyes and sees me lying beside her, panic flashes on her face.

Thankfully, brief. A startled second, a twitch of her lips before it fades behind the impassive wall she throws up.

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