Written with You (The Regret Duet #2) - Aly Martinez Page 0,69

way his cock began to thicken between us wasn’t fooling me.

I guided his hand up to my breast, dipping his fingers beneath the fabric of my bra. “What about now?”

He roughly plucked my nipple. “Go to sleep. Space and separation, remember?”

“Right. Of course. Sorry,” I replied. Though I suspected the apology didn’t hold much repentance as I’d said it while circling my ass over his cock.

“Jesus Christ,” he cursed.

“What about now?”

“No.”

Another circle. “Now?”

“Woman.”

“Man,” I parroted. Yes, with another torturous circle of my hips.

The whiskers on his chin brushed my shoulder as he shook his head. “Willow, stop. Seriously, babe. Not now.”

The rejection didn’t sting as much as the ache between my legs throbbed.

I knew he wanted me. The proof was all but stabbing me in the back.

He was just trying to do what was right.

It was commendable. Truly. Even if it did suck. A lot.

“Fiiiiiine,” I huffed, kicking one leg free of the blanket, trying and failing to get comfortable with the heat still licking across my skin. I must have adjusted my pillow a dozen times, flipping it from one side to the other, searching for the coolness. My hair slapped him in the face numerous times, but he didn’t move or voice any objections.

It took a while, but I finally settled. The drama and emotion from the day overtook my wanton body. Sleeping in the bed with Caven wasn’t exactly torture. Well, I mean, it was. But it was also a nice change of pace from years of sleeping alone.

Consciousness had just started to leave me, carrying me to the blissful twilight halfway between sleep and cognizance, when I heard him. He was counting so softly that I couldn’t be sure if he was saying numbers or just ticking off the seconds.

There was a distinct ten before I felt him stand up.

Without him there to support me, I rolled to my back. “Caven?”

He didn’t answer. At least not with words. I heard the rustling of fabric, and before I had the chance to open my eyes, my shorts and panties were stripped down my legs.

I smiled, victorious. It fell in the next heartbeat when his finger blazed a path through my wetness, going directly to my clit.

“Oh, God,” I cried.

He tugged the front of my bra down, popping my breast free, and in the same fluid movement as two of his fingers entered me, his warm mouth sealed over my nipple.

I arched off the bed, and desire came roaring back into my system like a thunderstorm. My every nerve ending fired off bolts of lightning while the waves of my impending release surged just short of the shore.

I threaded my fingers into the top of his hair, moving with him as he shifted his attention from one breast to the other.

“Caven,” I breathed, the sound so erotic for no other reason than it was his name.

His head suddenly popped up. “Fuck. I need you, Willow. So much.”

“Yes,” I breathed, wrapping my arms around his neck to drag him down.

He captured my mouth, his tongue snaking out to duel with mine in an ebb and flow of a breathless urgency. His hand disappeared between my legs again, the backs of his knuckles igniting more sparks as he guided himself to my opening.

He paused for a second and I swear the wait was agonizing.

“Willow,” he asked, the question clear.

I couldn’t have kids, but there was more to unprotected sex with someone than the chance of pregnancy. “I trust you. I’ve always trusted you, Caven.”

A masculine rumble vibrated his chest and his blue eyes lit in the moonlight as he sank in deep. Stretching and claiming, he seated himself, giving my body time to adjust. Time I did not want.

I rolled my hips, urging him forward in a plea he did not miss or deny.

It was Caven. Almost everything about him was gentle, from the way his lips trailed up my neck to how his hands roamed my breasts.

But there was nothing gentle or controlled about the way his every thrust sped up. Heat and power radiated through him. The muscles on his back rippled beneath my fingers, and every so often, I’d glance down at that one misshapen ab that was all him and beautiful because of it.

“Fuck, you are incredible,” he murmured when he momentarily stilled and I rode him from the bottom. His hand went to my scar, not covering it because it was an ugly reminder, but holding it as though he could absorb it as his