5. Skye #2
"These hips." He presses open-mouthed kisses along the dip of my waist. "Made for my hands. Your body was made to take me deep. And these thighs." He bites gently at the inner flesh. "I love your thick, powerful thighs, makes me want to wrap them around my head while I feast."
He finally lowers his head between my spread legs. The first broad swipe of his tongue drags slowly through my pussy from the entrance up to my swollen clit. My hips jerk hard. He grips my thighs, holding me pinned open.
He licks again. Deeper, with his tongue flat then pointed, circling my clit with steady pressure as his lips seal around it. He sucks with wet, rhythmic pulls, obscene sounds mixing with my ragged breathing. Each pull sends jolts through my core. My pussy walls flutter, aching to be filled.
He brings two thick fingers to nudge at my entrance, then slides them inside the wetness, smooth and deep, stretching me. They curl insistently against that sacred spot inside, stroking firmly and steadily. Every pulse matches the suction of his mouth.
"Such a good girl." He murmurs the words against my clit. Vibration shoots through me. "You’re taking my fingers so well, your pussy clenching so tight around them. You taste so fucking feminine. I could live right here."
Tension coils tighter inside me, molten and relentless. My thighs quiver against his shoulders.
"Hunter—" The name comes out broken.
He growls against my flesh, letting his fingers drive faster and deeper. His tongue flicks quickly and precisely over my clit as the suction intensifies. I cry out with a sound I hardly recognize.
"That’s it. Let me hear how much you love this. Your curves are shaking for me, tits bouncing with every breath. Come on my tongue, babe. Flood my mouth. I want to feel your pretty pussy pulse while I’m licking you."
Pleasure climbs impossibly high. My breath locks in my lungs.
The release crashes over me. My back arches off the cushions, thighs locking around his head.
A raw cry rips free as intense waves surge through every muscle.
My inner pussy walls clamp down on his fingers and pulse hard, release, pulse again.
He keeps stroking my entrance and licking my clit as he works me through every spasm.
He’s gentler now but unrelenting. My thighs tremble violently, and sensitivity overwhelms me.
I push at his shoulders with a soft, breathless moan.
He places one last slow kiss directly over my pulsing clit. Then another on each inner thigh. When he pulls away, his lips and chin are wet with my arousal. His eyes lift to my eyes, pleased.
"Come here." The words are a soft command.
I reach for him, loose-armed, with my body melted into the cushions.
He stretches out on the couch and pulls me into a cuddle.
He reaches for the blanket draped over the couch back and wraps it around my bare shoulders, cocooning me in warmth.
His hand strokes slow patterns up and down my spine, grounding and soothing, and I let myself sink into the safety of his embrace.
"Okay?" His voice rumbles beneath my ear where it rests against his ribs.
"More than okay." Tracing lazy patterns on his skin, I follow the lines of muscle and the scatter of hair across his torso. "That was..."
"Just the beginning." He anchors his hand under my chin to lift my gaze. His mouth presses against mine, the contact slow and steady. This isn’t a question; it's a declaration of intent in the way he tastes me. "Rest a little. Then we'll get back to work."
"We should get back now. The deadline—"
"Can wait another thirty minutes." His arms seem to lock around me, holding me in place when I try to move. "Let me hold you. Let yourself have this."
I wait for defensiveness to rise. It doesn't. His certainty feels like shelter.
I stop fighting the urge to curl closer and nestle into him.
His hand continues stroking arcs along my back, and my breathing gradually matches his rhythm.
The panic that usually drives me forward quiets under the steady rise and fall of his ribs, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I simply let myself be held.
After a while, he shifts, reaching for something on the side table, and returns with a protein bar I didn't finish earlier. He leans on an elbow and hands it to me.
"Eat."
"I'm fine—"
His thumb brushes across my lower lip, cutting off the automatic deflection before it fully forms. "Eat. You need to refuel."
He breaks off tiny bites for me. The intimacy of being fed, of letting him tend to me like this, feels more vulnerable than being naked did. I take each piece he offers, and he watches attentively until the bar is gone and he's satisfied I've had enough.
"Better?"
"Yeah." My voice sounds too soft, already drowsy with contentment.
He reaches for the blanket again and tucks it more securely around my shoulders, making sure no cold air can reach my skin, then kisses the top of my head. The small acts of service, the food, the blanket, the way he's holding me like I'm something precious settle into my bones like a gift.
"Hunter?"
"Yeah."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." His hand finds mine beneath the blankets, fingers lacing through and holding on. "Now rest. I've got you."
Closing my eyes, I let myself believe him. I let myself trust that when I wake he'll still be here, that this isn't temporary, that I’m allowed to choose something real and permanent instead of just another deadline to survive.
The last thought that drifts through my mind before sleep pulls me under is simple and certain: I'm not doing this alone anymore.
And I realize alone will never happen again.