Chapter 25 #2
She laughs, but it dissolves into another moan as I move down, kissing her sternum, her ribs, the delicate skin of her stomach. I stop at her bellybutton and swirl my tongue around it, feeling her shudder.
When I get to her hip bones, I pause, hands planted on her thighs to hold her in place.
“Want me to stop?” I tease.
“Don’t stop,” she pants. “Please.”
I spread her legs and look down at her pussy, just to torture her.
She’s soaking, folds slick and glistening.
I drag my fingers through her wetness, circling her clit, then spreading her wider so I can see everything.
She tries to close her legs but I hold her open, loving the way it makes her blush.
“Look at you,” I marvel. “You’re pussy is a goddamn masterpiece. So fucking wet and ready for me.”
“Oh god.” She moans as I lick her inner thigh. “You’re killing me, Huxley.”
I lower my mouth and lick, starting slow, just the tip of my tongue flicking at her clit. She jerks, every muscle going tight. I hold her down, licking harder, then sucking her clit between my lips and letting it go with a pop.
“Fuck—” she gasps, hips rolling, trying to chase the sensation.
I bring my hand up, pressing two fingers against her entrance, teasing just a little before sliding them inside. She’s hot and so fucking tight I have to work my way in, curling my fingers to find the spot that will drive her insane.
The second I touch her g-spot, she goes rigid, back arching off the mattress.
“That’s it,” I murmur. I work her clit with my tongue for a moment. “Let go, Monroe. Come for me like a good fucking girl.”
She does. Her whole body clenches. She comes hard, noise raw and guttural. I keep going, licking and stroking, not stopping even as she trembles beneath my hands.
She pants. I look up at her. “You like me telling you that you’ve been good, don’t you?”
Juliet sucks in a breath, turning pink, and nods slowly. I reward her by humming against her flesh, burying my face against her hot pussy. She groans and bucks her hips, unable to move her arms.
She’s not just tolerating my being a fucking caveman. She likes this. That stirs something deep inside me.
I grin, fingers still moving inside her, and go back down. This time I fuck her channel with my tongue, spearing in and out, savoring the taste of her. She claws at the sheets, hands bound and trembling, making desperate little noises.
“Mmm. You taste so fucking good, Firecracker.”
The second orgasm hits her even harder. She screams, actually screams, and I’m pretty sure my neighbors are going to hate me forever.
Fuck them. They’re not Juliet Monroe, with the glorious, golden pussy. I want to live in this moment for fucking ever.
Her legs go limp, but I’m not done. I give her a minute, kissing her inner thighs, then start again, this time with just my mouth. I circle her clit, slow and steady, and her whole body shakes.
“Hunter—” she warns, voice already breaking.
“Tell me to stop,” I say. I kiss her clit, my face messy, unable to smell anything but delicate citrus and heady sex. “Say firecracker.”
She doesn’t stop me, just moans again. I forge ahead, focusing solely on her clit this time. She’s already trembling, quaking, after the first two rounds. She slides her hands into my hair and whines.
“I can’t.” Her breath comes in gasps. “Hux, I–”
I just hum against her, the vibrations passing from my mouth to her glistening clit. She contorts and bucks against my mouth. I glance up and see Juliet with her mouth open, eyes clenched shut, a groan rattling from her chest.
This is what I want. What I need. She’s so fucking sexy right now when she’s unable to pull her shields into place.
“Are you going to come again?” I ask.
She nods, feverish, eyes clenched hard. “I’m so close.”
“I want to hear it.” I rear back, spit on her clit, and murmur, “I want to hear my name on your lips when you come for me like a good fucking girl.”
As soon as I dive back in, my lips encircling and sucking on her clit, she shakes violently, falling apart.
Her third orgasm rips through her like a live wire, back arching, thighs crushing my head.
I keep licking, determined to wring every drop of pleasure out of her.
Only when she collapses fully, hair plastered to her face, breathing like she just ran a marathon, do I finally let up.
I crawl up her body and untie her wrists, massaging the marks left by her straining at the knotted camisole. She looks at me, eyes glazed, lips parted, like she’s forgotten how to speak.
“Are you alive?” I prompt.
She nods, limp as a rag doll, and then giggles, high and delirious.
“That was…” she says, but can’t finish the sentence.
I kiss her, long and deep, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She moans into my mouth, greedy for it. When I break away, she chases my lips, hands scrabbling for any part of me she can reach.
She tries to slide her hand down to my cock, but I stop her.
“No,” I say, voice going dark. “You’re not in charge right now.”
She grins, then pouts, batting her eyelashes. “So what happens now?”
I kneel over her, cock in my hand, already leaking pre-come. She watches, transfixed, as I stroke myself. I brace one hand against the headboard and jerk my cock, slow and rough, never looking away from her face. My piercing catches the light and I bite my lip.
It increases the pleasure for both of us. Or it will as soon as I fuck her. That’ll have to happen soon.
She watches me with huge, blown pupils, chest still heaving. Looking at her naked body, still flushed from orgasm, makes me groan. Her citrus and musk scent is in my nose and I huff a breath, trying to get more of it.
My cock throbs, my balls tensing already. I’m on the precipice. When I come, I shoot all over her stomach, hot and messy, painting her skin with it. I watch the realization hit her. She enjoys being marked up, loves knowing she did this to me.
I smear my cum across her belly, rubbing it into her skin with my palm. She groans, writhing a little. I dip my fingers into the mess and bring them to her lips. She opens, tongue flicking out, tasting me without hesitation.
“Good girl,” I whisper. “That’s perfect, Monroe.”
She glows, eyes closing. I flop down beside her and gather her in my arms. She’s soft and melty, all the fight gone out of her, and I like it more than I should.
We’re supposed to be enemies. But enemies don’t do what we just did so very well. Unless hate sex counts… that could be something.
We lie together, trying to catch our breath, defenseless for just these few moments.
She moves a little, and her arm catches my cum, which is still smeared across her stomach.
Seeing her discomfort, I roll out of bed, grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom, and return to wipe her clean.
She lets me, quiet and content, eyes watching me with something that looks a hell of a lot like trust.
What do I do to earn that? And how do I keep it?
When she’s cleaned up, I tuck her under the covers and slide in next to her. She says nothing, just curls into me, her hand pressed over my heart.
She’s glowing in the soft light, with a faint smile on her lips, like she’s holding onto a secret. But I’m already in my head, already withdrawing, already pretending like it didn’t mean everything.
Because it meant everything. And that’s the problem.
Not only did Juliet just let me dominate her. But she liked it. She asked for it. What am I supposed to do with the information that my fake fiancée might be just as kinky as me?
“You okay?” she asks quietly.
“Yeah. Fine.”
It’s a lie and we both know it. But she doesn’t push, just watches me with those dark eyes like she’s trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.
I should feel satisfied. Mission accomplished, fake relationship believably consummated, whatever.
Instead, I feel exposed. Stripped bare in a way that has nothing to do with the fact that we’re both naked.
The silence stretches between us until it becomes unbearable.
“Why don’t you ever talk about your mom?” she asks suddenly.
The question hits me like a punch to the gut. Of all the things she could have asked, that’s the one I’m least prepared for.
“What do you mean?”
“You talk about your brothers sometimes. But never your mom.”
I sit up, running both hands through my hair. This conversation is dangerous territory, but something about the way she’s looking at me makes it impossible to deflect.
“There’s not much to say.”
“Hunter.”
My name in her voice like that, gentle but insistent, breaks something loose in my chest. I roll onto my side facing Juliet and prop my hand on my head.
“She used to manage my money. She stopped being just my mom then; she was my agent too. When I got drafted, she had me convinced that she would look out for me. Keep it in the family, she said. Trust the people who love you.”
Juliet doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t fill the silence with platitudes or advice. She just listens. I pick my next words carefully.
“Mom stole from me. Millions over years. She set up accounts I didn’t know about, moved money around, told me the investments were performing badly, when really she was just taking it.
” The words taste bitter in my mouth. “When it all came out, she didn’t even deny it. Just blamed me for making it easy.”
“Jesus, Hunter.”
“Yeah.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Best part? She told me I was ungrateful. She said everything she did was for the family. It sounded like stealing from me was some kind of sacrifice that she made. It all got twisted and turned and convoluted.”
I can feel Juliet watching me, processing this information. She’s probably wondering what kind of person lets their own mother rob them blind. My not seeing it coming and that it went on for years, unchecked, still shames me on the deepest level.
There’s a reason I never talk about my mom.
“I’m sorry,” she says finally.
“Don’t be. I should have known better.”