Chapter 26 #2
“Maybe we wait,” I say finally. “Give it a chance to blow over first. Something else might happen in the next few hours that sucks the oxygen away from the story.”
Hunter grins, a real one this time. “Good call, Firecracker.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t start with the nicknames again.”
He laughs, the sound low and unguarded. I feel the sound low in my stomach, for a second remembering the events of yesterday. The way his mouth felt on my skin, the way his hands gripped my thighs like he never wanted to let go.
I think about telling him. Genuinely, I do. I imagine saying the words.
Hey, I saw what Patrick said about me, and it gutted me. I need you to tell me I’m not cold or impossible to love. I want you to say that I’m not just a placeholder for the real thing.
But I don’t. I can’t. I don’t have the guts to ask my worst enemy to comfort me.
Instead, I finish my coffee and busy myself cleaning the kitchen, wiping flour from the counter and stacking the dirty bowls in the sink. Hunter watches for a moment, then stands and moves behind me, crowding me against the counter.
He rests a hand on my hip, the touch light but grounding.
I turn around, and he’s there. From here, it’s impossible to miss the stormy gray of his eyes, the faint pink scar under his left cheekbone, the place where his hair refuses to behave no matter how often he brushes it down.
“Jesus,” I whisper, startled.
He grins. “You always get this flustered around me, Monroe?”
I roll my eyes, but my heart rate spikes anyway. “Only when you sneak up on me. Do you want another cookie?”
He ignores the cookies. “Do you want another orgasm?”
My hands tighten on the edge of the counter. My face goes instantly hot, blood rushing in all the places he made it rush last night.
“You liked it,” he says, voice velvet-rough. “When I made you come.”
I can’t look at him, so I stare at the kitchen tile. I want to deny it, joke, or brush him off, but everyone can see the truth on my face.
“I liked it,” I admit, the words small and hot.
“Just liked it?” He moves closer. I swear I feel heat radiating off his skin. His hand is heavy on the counter beside mine, boxing me in. “Because I can’t stop thinking about it. You. The sounds you made. The way you looked at me when I made you come all over my face.”
I’m speechless. For once in my over-scheduled, over-articulated life, I have nothing to say.
He leans down, his breath hot at my ear. “I bet you’re already wet, thinking about it.”
My pulse jumps. He’s right. It’s humiliating how fast my body betrays me. My nipples harden, my lower body knots, and heat gathers between my thighs. God, I’m so easy. I toss back my head, staring up at him, a challenge.
“Is that what you wanted to ask me?” I shoot back, desperate to reclaim an inch of high ground.
“No,” he says. “I wanted to see if you’d beg for it.”
He kisses me before I can answer. Not gently. There’s nothing gentle about Hunter Huxley when he wants something. It’s open-mouthed, greedy, and it steals the oxygen right out of my lungs. I kiss him back, frantic, my hands on his bare skin, scrabbling to pull him closer.
He makes a sound deep in his chest, almost a growl.
In the next second he’s lifting me onto the counter, cookies rattling behind me as he crowds my knees apart and slots himself between my thighs.
He’s already hard, pressing against me through both our layers of clothing, and my body answers before my brain can catch up.
It’s chaos. His mouth on my neck, his teeth grazing my jaw, my hands clawing under his shirt to feel the perfect abs I’ve been dying to touch since the day I saw them glisten with sweat at training camp. My legs wrap around him, heels digging into his back. He palms my ass, squeezing, and I gasp.
“We’re supposed to be fake dating,” I gasp, biting down on the word fake like it’s the last defense I have.
He bites my shoulder in retaliation, just enough to leave a mark. “This doesn’t feel fake.”
It doesn’t. It feels terrifyingly, deliciously real. I slide my hands lower, under the waistband of his sweats, finding skin, muscle, the ridge of his cock straining under thin cotton.
“You’re perfect,” he growls, staring at my tits like he’s seeing something rare and precious. “I want you. Right now.”
I want him too. But I’m terrified of how much it means. I think about what Patrick said about how I’m exhausting to love.
Distracted by Hunter nibbling at my neck, I wonder if this is all just a fever dream that will end poorly.
He senses the hesitation. His hands soften, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers. “Use your safe word, Monroe.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to stop.”
I grind against him, rubbing myself on his cock, desperate for friction. He moans, hands everywhere. Tugging my hair, gripping my hips, squeezing my tits like he can’t get enough.
He never asks for permission. He just takes it. Every time he takes, he gives back double. He kisses me until my lips are swollen, then drags his mouth down my neck, biting and sucking, leaving a trail of heat behind.
“In the bedroom,” he commands, picking me up as he carries me through the apartment. He grunts as he sets me down on the mattress.
I claw at his sweatpants, yanking them down just enough to free his cock. His cock is massive, bigger than any I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or afraid. And his piercing… I can’t wait to find out exactly how that feels inside me.
Orgasmic, I’m willing to bet. My pussy gets wetter every fucking time I think about him filling me and stretching me out.
Hunter slides my panties off, the movement slow and deliberate. He takes a second to look at me, splayed out on his bed, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, breasts high and proud. The admiration in his eyes makes me feel like art.
His mouth is hot and hungry. He licks up the inside of my leg, then bites down hard enough to leave a mark.
I yelp, the sound ricocheting off the bedroom walls, but he doesn’t stop.
He spreads my legs with both hands, rough and urgent.
His tongue finds my clit, circling, flicking, then sucking it into his mouth with the precision of a man who has spent years perfecting this exact skill.
I don’t want to think about how fucking good he is at this.
Grabbing the back of his head, I anchor myself so I don’t float out of my body. I can feel him smirking against my skin when I try to squirm away. He just pins my hips down and goes harder.
“Oh my god,” I gasp. I make an inarticulate noise of pleasure.
He looks up at me, eyes full of pride and predatory intent, and then grips my thighs hand enough to leave a mark. “Say my name.”
“Hunter,” I pant. I say it again when he plunges his tongue inside me. “Hunter, oh god, don’t stop.”
He grins, stubble scratching my thighs. He drives me over the edge with a final, devastating flick. I come so hard I nearly black out, the world narrowing to nothing but the vibration of his tongue, the press of his hands, and endless, throbbing, mindless pleasure.
He chuckles as I descend back to earth from whatever plane he sent me to. “Ready to use your safe word, Monroe?”
“Not a fucking chance,” I rasp. “Not even close.”
“Good, because I want to thrust my cock so deep into your pussy that it kills us both.”
Before I can come up with a suitable answer to his ridiculous words, he flips me onto my stomach, yanks my hips up, and bumps his cock up against my pussy lips. My lower muscles clench in anticipation.
“God damn,” he mutters. “You’re so pretty here.”
I breathe out a shaky breath. I feel his fingers spreading my pussy, exploring my wetness. “You’re so wet for me, Monroe. Your body knows that I’m going to need extra lubrication, huh?”
“Just shut up and fuck me, Huxley,” I order. I’m glad I’m facing the mattress because my cheeks are scarlet.
“Yes, ma’am.” There’s a moment of hesitation where I feel him slip from the bed and grab something from his bedside drawer. A condom, I realize, when I hear the scratching crinkle of Hunter ripping open the wrapper.
I should’ve thought of that. Hunter’s got me so fucking worked up that I can’t think straight. He rolls it on, spits on his cock, lines it up with my aching pussy, and buries himself inside me in one savage thrust.
My mouth opens in a silent scream. His cock is so big that it hurts.
It’s too much. It’s not enough. I want to cry from how good he feels, from how unprepared I am to be taken this way. I’m stretched from the inside out by his enormous cock, my walls trembling, my pussy twitching.
“Good girl,” he coaxes. “You’re fucking strangling my cock, Firecracker. Relax for me.”
At the sound of his praise, my cheeks heat. I bite my lip, craning my neck to look back at him. He makes eye contact with me, grabbing my hips, his eyes sparkling with a dark light. I lick my lips and try to relax.
As soon as Hunter moves in earnest, he doesn’t go gentle for even one moment. He fucks me with single-minded ferocity, every stroke threatening to split me in two. The breath leaves me with each thrust.
“You’re so wet for me, Monroe. Did I do this to you?”
My pussy clenches at that. “Yes,” I whisper. “Fuck yes, Hux.”
My eyes roll up into my head. It’s nearly violent, and yet… It’s the hottest thing anyone has ever done to me.
And make no mistake, Hunter is doing this to me. He’s Chopin and I’m his piano, helpless as he plays his “Revolutionary” étude.
“Fuck, you’re so tight. So perfect for me,” he mutters.
His hands roam my body, up my ribs, over my back, tangled in my hair, like he’s mapping every inch, claiming it. He leans forward, weight braced on my shoulders, and pounds into me until the bed frame actually breaks, the entire structure collapsing with a groan and a spectacular crash.
I shriek, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Oh my god, you animal.”