Page 161 of Revv

Eventually, his breathing begins to slow beneath me, one hand dragging lazily over my back before settling across my stomach again, and somehow, that touch feels more intimate than everything that came before it.

We stay like that for a long time, tangled together, the only sound the ragged synchronization of our breathing.

“Ay, cállate,” I mutter, hiding my face in his neck.

He laughs quietly and pulls me back down against his chest. But his hand stays on my stomach. No joke this time.

No teasing. Just his palm resting there while our breathing slowly settles.

And somewhere between the dirty talk and the fantasy we were supposedly only playing with, Revel stopped sounding like he was pretending.

Chapter Sixteen

Cece

Morning in Miami has zero fucking mercy.

Sunlight cuts through the gap in the hotel curtains and lands directly across my face, warm and bright enough that pretending to still be asleep stops being an option. Somewhere beyond the glass, traffic moves steadily along the street, a horn sounds in the distance, and the air conditioner rattles like it’s fighting for its life against another ninety-degree day.

When I open my eyes. I immediately remember last night and immediately close them again.

Our daughter.

Ay, Dios mío.

Beside me, Revel is still asleep on his stomach, one arm shoved beneath the pillow and the sheet hanging low across his hips. His hair is too short to really suffer from bedhead, just slightly flattened along one side, and the morning light catches across the tattoos covering his shoulders and running down both arms.

He looks ridiculously peaceful for someone who spent last night saying the most unhinged shit anyone has ever said to me during sex.

Fantasy vacation sex.

That’s what I’m calling it.

We’re in Miami. There’s a hotel involved. We’ve done tourist shit, spent too much money, eaten nothing remotely nutritious and jumped out of a fucking plane.

Close enough.

Whatever happened last night stays here.

Including the part where my stupid body apparently found the entire imaginary-baby situation significantly hotter than my brain would like to acknowledge.

I slide toward the edge of the mattress.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

His voice is rough with sleep.

I glance back. One blue eye is open.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything.”

“Bullshit.”

I grab his shirt off the floor and pull it over my head. “Go back to sleep.”

His gaze drops lazily over me as I stand, and that stupid little smile starts.

I head toward the bathroom and shut the door before he gets the chance to say anything else.