Smirking, I moved to brush my nose along her jaw. “I wouldn’t go that far, Duchess.”
Reagan—September 3, 2010
MY EYELIDS SLOWLY blinked open, and for a second my body froze. The feel of a heavy arm draped over my waist, a body pressed against my back, and a nose barely grazing the back of my neck wasn’t something I’d ever had before. Even with Austin. And once the initial shock of having someone in my bed wore off, and trying to wake up enough to figure out who it was before I started screaming that there was some creeper in my bed, I lay there trying to memorize the way this felt.
I’d never felt as safe, wanted, or perfectly happy as I did in that moment.
When I remembered last night, a smile tugged at my lips and I curled my body deeper into Coen’s arms. His fingers tightened against my stomach, and his nose rubbed against the back of my neck before his lips gently followed.
My smile widened and I moved my hands behind me to run them over his buzzed head. “Good morning.”
“Mo—wait, what time is it?” his gruff voice asked.
“Uh, about 5:30?”
Coen was silent for so long that I rolled over so I was now on his chest, and looking into his wide eyes.
“What’s wrong—I thought we’d agreed you were staying . . . ?”
“It’s five thirty?”
I just nodded. I didn’t understand why he was looking at me like he was. Like I’d just given him the most amazing gift. If anything, I thought he’d be mad I’d woken him up so early.
“Coen . . .”
He huffed and he flashed a quick smile. “I slept,” he replied, and shrugged.
“Uh, yeah?”
Shaking his head quickly, he smiled at me and cupped my face in his hands before kissing me thoroughly. “That was the best sleep I’ve had in . . . in years.”
I smiled against his lips and kissed him again. “Really?”
“Yeah, Reagan. Really.”
I kind of wanted to say something like “best sleep ever,” but just then Coen began teasing my tongue with his own, and all thoughts of actual conversation died.
Positioning myself better so I was fully on top of him, I spread my legs slowly until my knees were pressed against the mattress and I was straddling him. Coen growled into my mouth when his hardening cock pressed against my core, and I rocked myself against him—craving the feel of him.
“Reagan,” he said my name in warning. “You’re loud.”
I smiled. “And you know how to shut me up.”
The sound of approval in his chest had my insides heating faster. Gripping my hips, he moved me up and slowly slid me back down his length as he asked, “How long until Parker wakes up?”
I whimpered, and it took Coen asking me again before I finally responded. “An hour,” I said breathily.
“Perfect.”
I SMILED AGAINST Coen’s kiss almost an hour later as he passed me to pick his shirt up off the floor and pull it over his head. My eyes followed the shirt as it covered up his lean muscles and tattoos, and I frowned now that he was fully clothed.
“Keep looking at me like that, Duchess, and I’m taking you back to bed,” he said huskily, his eyes never once meeting mine.
After last night, and then again in the bed and shower this morning, there should be no way I could even think about that. Just once with him, after six and a half years without anyone, had left me aching in the most amazing way. But even still, a heat started deep in my stomach and my arms were covered in goose bumps as a shiver worked its way up my spine.
Coen looked over at me before doing a double take. A smirk tugged at his lips as he walked over to me to brush a kiss against my neck. “Your son is going to wake up. As much as I want to spend all day with you . . . in you . . . it’s time to get dressed.”
From the deep laugh that burst from his chest when he moved away, I’m pretty sure I was pouting like a three-year-old. Picking up the shirt I’d dropped as I’d watched him dress, I put it on and thought of something for the first time since I’d asked Coen to stay the night.