Chapter 22 #3
“Was he?” The question slips out before I can stop it, raw and vulnerable. “Because sometimes I think he was right. Sometimes I think I’m too much. Too ambitious, too intense, too...”
“Too what?”
“Too everything.”
Hunter stares at me for a moment, then reaches out to touch my foot gently. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to say it. Just... don’t sit here alone with it.”
His quiet comfort is everything. I look at his mouth, his hands, the soft place at his throat where I want to press my lips. When he moves like he’s going to get up, probably to give me space, I make another choice.
I tug him closer and kiss him again.
He murmurs, “I’m going to ruin you. You realize that, right? Make it so no other man can ever please you.”
I groan. “Hunter, your mouth. The things that come out of it are disgusting.”
His chuckle vibrates through me. “You love my filthy mouth.”
He bends down so far to reach me. Sometimes, I swear that kissing him feels like I am climbing a mountain, and my legs are not ready for the hike.
This time, our kiss is different. Slower, more intentional. Like we have all the time in the world instead of three months and a contract between us.
“Juliet,” he murmurs against my lips, but I can hear the surrender in his voice.
“I know that our situation feels complicated,” I whisper. “I know this thing ends. But right now, I don’t want to think about that.”
We’re back to pulling at clothes, but it’s less frantic now. More like exploration than desperation. When his mouth finds my breast, I arch into him, shocked by how sensitive I am, how every touch sends electricity straight through me.
“God, you’re responsive,” he breathes against my skin.
I should feel embarrassed, but I’m not. Not with him looking at me like I’m a gift he can’t believe he gets to unwrap.
“Only for you,” I groan. “Only you make me feel this way, Huxley.”
I move against him again, seeking friction, and he reaches his hand between our bodies.
I gasp as he pulls up my skirt and presses his fingers against the spreading damp spot on the front of my panties.
It’s exactly where I need him most. The touch is electric and I gasp, my hips jerking involuntarily.
“You’re so wet,” he marvels, his fingers moving in slow circles. “Fuck, Juliet.”
I try to pull away, embarrassed by my body’s obvious response, but he catches my wrist.
“Don’t,” he says urgently. “Don’t hide from me. Let me make you feel good.”
There’s something desperate in his voice, like he needs this as much as I do. “It’s all I want,” he continues. “To be useful. To matter.”
The vulnerability of those words undoes me completely. This giant man in front of me, begging to take care of me, is so different from the arrogant asshole I thought I knew.
I stay, sucking in a breath and nodding quickly.
Circling my clit, he touches me like he means it. As if he’s memorizing every response, every sound I make.
When his mouth finds me, the sensation is so sharp and unexpected my knees almost give out. “Yes,” I moan. “Harder. Right there, oh goddd.”
Heat floods my body in a dizzy rush. His lips close around me, hot and wet.
The scrape of his tongue sends a pulse of pleasure straight through my spine.
Every nerve feels lit from the inside, so sensitive I can hardly stand still.
My hands find his hair, twisting in the strands, holding on like he might vanish if I let go.
He moves with a slow, consuming purpose.
Every stroke is unhurried but devastating.
His tongue teases, then presses, falling into perfect rhythm with the slow circles of his fingers.
My breath becomes ragged. Each touch opened me in ways I did not know I could be opened.
My thighs tremble around his shoulders. He holds me steady, murmuring something I can’t quite hear.
The words leave my mouth like a chant. “Oh my God, yes. Fuck me with your mouth, Huxley. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
It builds within me, a wave gathering force.
I feel like I might break apart if I try to hold it in.
My hips shift without my permission, chasing the exact angle he’s found.
I need it. I can’t stop. His grip tightens around my thigh, keeping me exactly where he wants me.
The sounds he makes against me are low and hungry, curling deep in my belly.
I bite down on a gasp and fail. The sound spills out anyway.
When release finally tears through me, it’s raw and consuming. My whole body jerks against his mouth. Every muscle tightens. Pleasure rips through me in waves that feel endless.
“Fuck, Hunter! Yes. Oh, fuck, yes, yes.” My voice is loud and unrestrained. Heat rises in my cheeks even as I surrender to it. He doesn’t pull away. He stays with me, steady and unrelenting, riding out each aftershock until I’m shivering from the intensity.
By the time I slump forward, I’m spent and shaking.
My chest rises and falls in quick bursts.
My hands slide from his hair to his shoulders, clinging without thought.
He eases back just enough to look up at me.
His lips are glistening. His eyes are dark and intense.
The way he looks at me makes it clear he’s not just touching my body. He’s memorizing me. Every part of me.
When my breathing finally slows, I reach for him, wanting to return the favor. But he gently catches my hands.
“Not tonight,” he says quietly. “Tonight is just for you.”
“But you...” I gesture vaguely at the obvious evidence of his arousal.
“I’m fine.”
I study his face, seeing the tension there, the careful control. “You’re holding back.”
He doesn’t deny it. “I know you’re scared.”
I nod, because I am. Terrified of what this means, of how it changes everything.
“I’m scared too,” he admits.
The silence that follows is heavy but full of meaning. We’re both acknowledging something we can’t take back, something that makes this fake relationship feel a lot more real than either of us expected.
Before I can make the mistake of asking for more, asking for promises he can’t make, I gather what’s left of my dignity and head toward my room.
“Goodnight, Hux.”
“Goodnight, Monroe.”
I close my bedroom door behind me and lean against it, my whole body still shaking from what we shared. From what we almost shared.
Three months, I remind myself. This ends in three months.
But as I lie in bed, replaying every touch, every word, every look, I can’t shake the feeling that three months will not be nearly enough.