Bonus Scene Hunter #2
After a few deep inhales, I feel more centered.
When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me intently. I give him a quick nod, confirming that I’m okay and that I want to keep going.
He licks his lips and strokes the dark stubble on his jawline, assessing me.
“Lie back and hold your legs open for me. I need to focus all my attention on your sopping cunt.”
I do as he says, settling into the plush pillows and lifting my knees to my chest. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to comfortably do this, but I love how exposed and wanton it feels.
“Such a needy little hole,” Spence muses, rising to his knees and removing his pants. He shifts closer, hovering over me with a domineering presence. I melt at the sight of him. He’s completely hard, his impressive length making the walls of my pussy quiver in anticipation.
“So, so needy,” he taunts, shifting closer.
Saliva pools in my mouth.
“So empty too?”
That one’s more of a question.
“Please,” I whimper, shamelessly clenching around nothing as he drags the head of his cock against my slit.
“Please what?” he rasps, lightly slapping his fat mushroom head against my clit.
“Please, Sir,” I cry out, already so close I’m shaking.
Pregnancy hormones are something else.
There’s no denying the visceral reaction Spence inspires in me. But right now, I think he could simply look at me, tell me to come, and I’d gush around nothing as I let go on his command.
“Pull on those pretty tits, Firecracker. I’m going to guide you all the way to the very edge before entering your empty, slutty channel.”
I whine, but I know better than to argue.
In Spence I trust.
Always.
My hands drift to my overly sensitive nipples. I pinch them and tug like he instructed, anticipation coiling tight as I hold my breath, desperate for his next move.
“Breathe,” he commands.
When I exhale, pain and pleasure slam into me, and the sound of skin slapping skin echoes through the room.
“Beautiful,” he praises.
I tug harder, prying my thighs as wide as they’ll go, giving him as much access as possible.
“More, Sir,” I beg, my voice reedy to my own ears. “Please do it again.”
I want to be good for him.
His perfect, needy, cum-hungry slut.
He smirks, a wicked gleam of satisfaction dancing in his eyes. “Is this what you want?”
He slaps his cock against my clit again.
Searing white sparks of pleasure burst behind my eyelids.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Look at you,” he goads. “Begging for what only I can give you.”
“Please, Sir. Please.”
He hits me again. And again and again and again.
Tears stream down my face as he builds me higher. They’re tears of hope and tears of joy. Tears of gratitude and tears of perpetual love.
Because no matter where life takes us or what happens within the confines of our family, I know what Spence and I share is sacred.
The others may treasure me, but Spence has and always will take care of me in an entirely different way. A way that makes every cell in my body light up and remind me I’m alive.
“Look at me,” he grits out, the command punctuated by ragged breaths.
I open my eyes and am instantly locked in on the intense, irrevocable desire in his gaze.
“You’re going to move your hands down to your glistening cunt.”
I mindlessly comply.
“You’re going to pull apart your pussy lips for me, holding yourself as wide as you can possibly go.”
I do as he says, and even though he’s not physically touching me, I feel him everywhere.
“You’re going to present me with that gaping, needy hole, offering me the perfect container for my cum. Are you ready, Firecracker?”
“Ready,” I whisper, knowing he’ll want verbal confirmation.
Tension grips my calves and thighs as he maintains eye contact, pulling on his cock with such fervor I feel myself building up right alongside him.
He’s right there.
I’m right there.
We’re right there.
Hot ropes of cum coat my fingers and labia, trickling between my folds as I desperately try to hold myself open.
“Good girl,” Spence praises, jerking himself hard, his eyes laser-focused on my center. “Hold yourself open for me, love. Just like that. Fuck. You’re the perfect vessel. You were made for me to use and please. Look how pretty you are, covered in cum. My perfect fucking girl.”
On the last word, he slams into me, finds my clit with his thumb, and rubs me so hard I implode within seconds.
I cry out, all the tension and pleasure exploding into a release that ricochets beyond the walls of my consciousness.
There’s no ending.
No beginning.
Just him and me and this and us.
My body trembles as I ride out my orgasm.
Strong hands glide up my sides and cradle my neck as warm lips pepper me with kisses and praise.
“Perfect. Stunning. A sight to fucking behold.”
Once my core stops spasming, I clench around him, desperate to keep him right there inside me.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes, nuzzling into my neck while holding himself up with his forearms.
Sated calmness washes over me like a warm blanket.
I peer up at him, fresh tears welling in my eyes.
“What is it?” he asks softly, concern etched on his face.
“I didn’t even know I needed that,” I confess.
My orgasm was so strong, so physical and visceral. I rejoiced in letting go in the most primal way. And somehow, Spence knew that was exactly what I needed.
“Thank you,” I add, blinking rapidly to quell the tears.
It doesn’t work.
Cradling my face in both hands, Spence kisses my forehead once, then sets to work kissing away each of my tears before pulling back to look me in the eye.
“Trust that I’ll always give you what you need, Firecracker. It’s my honor and my privilege to anticipate your deepest desires.”
“What if what I want and need changes?” I ask.
Not because what just happened wasn’t perfect.
But because everything is about to change. Our family and our day-to-day life and my personal sense of self… it’s all going to shift once the baby is here.
He smooths back the hair from my forehead, then places another kiss on my crown.
“I plan to love you for a lifetime, Hunter St. Clair. It stands to reason we’ll both change through the years.
If ever there comes a time when our dynamic doesn’t serve either of us, we’ll pivot.
I’ll honor any and every move you make, as long as you allow me to stay by your side. ”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “But don’t think you’re ever leaving my side.” I loop my arms around his neck, one finger finding the subdermal tracker he allowed me to implant at his nape last month. “You’ll never escape me now, Sir,” I tease.
He smirks. “That’s quite possibly the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He kisses me again, deeply and with so much tenderness, my heart swells until it aches.
I love him. I love him so damn much.
“Sleep,” he encourages.
I shake my head, not wanting to miss out on a single moment of this stolen time we’ve found.
Two steps ahead per usual, he frowns, nudging his nose against mine.
“If I promise to stay, will you sleep?”
Nodding, I exhale a contended sigh. Within minutes I drift off in his arms.
When I wake next, I dart out one hand from beneath the covers.
I don’t have to search far.
Spence captures my hand and brings it to his lips.
“How long was I out?” I ask through a yawn.
“A few hours. I stayed, as promised.”
Concern twists in my gut.
“Did you have to work today?” It’s a silly question. He’s a billionaire with his hand in at least a dozen businesses at any given time.
Spence wraps one arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. “I was exactly where I needed to be today.”
I cuddle into his side, yawning once more, shaking off some of the sleepiness.
“I was thinking…” he hedges.
Brows raised, I assess him. He sounds nervous. Spence is never nervous.
“You were thinking?”
He clears his throat. “We should go on a trip. A vacation before the baby arrives often referred to as a ‘babymoon.’”
He says the last word like it physically pains him.
“Who taught you that word?” I ask, grinning.
He pulls a face, feigning mild offense. “No one had to teach me. I read about it on one of the pregnancy blogs. The second trimester is the recommended timeframe. The risk of miscarriage has greatly decreased, and your energy should renew in earnest.”
“Okay, baby expert,” I tease with a poke.
“Don’t let Sione hear you call me that.” He snickers. Then, more seriously, he adds, “Or Garrett, for that matter.”
I snuggle closer, my thoughts drifting to my other guys. I haven’t seen them yet today. I’m sure Spence has done his due diligence and has let them know I’m fine, but I miss them.
“Think about it, love,” he encourages. “Money is no object. I’ll take you anywhere. We should really consider this while you’re fit to travel.”
I’m certain I already know the answer, but I still can’t help but ask, “The babymoon would include all of us, right?”
Spence’s scoff is all the assurance I need. His resounding defense is the cherry on top. “Of course it would include all of us. What sort of question is that?”
I can’t hide my smile. I love how well he loves our cohort.
Another idea takes root.
“Maybe Joey and her guys could come, too.” I’m quick to add, “On the trip. They would stay in a separate room or house. It might make planning a bit more complicated. Kendrick has to report to training camp the last week of July—”
Spence silences me with a kiss. “Brilliant idea. I’ll alert Kylian to our potential plans and gauge his response.” He rises out of bed then, smoothing out his pants and rebuttoning his Oxford. “Can I bring you some food? Your water bottle’s empty, so I’ll fill that as well.”
I stretch my arms wide and shake my head. “I’m getting up. Thank you, though.”
His phone chimes in his hand.
“The Walsh Cohort is in, pending a group discussion on their end.”
I press my lips together to hold back a snicker. At least a few members of the Walsh Cohort would be adamantly against the use of Kylian’s last name as their group title.
“He sent me a dynamic calendar link outlining their full availability over the next three months. Although it appears he’s unavailable every Sunday morning in perpetuity, so I’ll need to confirm how we work around that obligation.”
Oh, Joey. You’re a lucky gal.
“There’s also a note here that it would be best to avoid any destination with sand.” Spence balks, then glances up at me. “He can’t possibly be serious. So on principal, all tropical locales are out? Bloody high-maintenance Americans…”
He trails off as he heads toward the door, then pauses and turns back to me.
“I love you,” he tells me plainly, sincerity and earnestness coating each word.
“I love you, too,” I say back, so overwhelmed by his personal brand of care I can barely get the words out before fresh tears well in my eyes.