Page 160 of One Big Little Secret

“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.

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.

That our red thread of fate already feels like a knot—and pulling it apart would mean brutally slashing the cord, dropping us on our heads.

It’s a terrifying thought, but so is how hard and fast I’ve fallen.

“Arlo will be up soon,” I whisper.

“Humor a man.”

Smiling, I close my eyes and lean back into him, enjoying the feeling of his hand splayed across my belly. “Good morning to you, too.”

“The best,” he agrees, reluctantly moving his hand away.

We lay together until the morning sun streams through the blinds. It’s getting brighter and earlier with spring closing in.

A second later, a not-so-distantthudtells me Arlo’s awake.

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