33. Ella #2
He killed the engine, and before I could think, he was on me. His lips were claiming me, fucking my mouth, and his hands were everywhere, ruthless and shaking like he’d been holding back for years, not minutes.
“Inside,” he growled against my lips. An order, not a suggestion.
I barely remembered the stairs. One second, there was hardwood under my soles; the next, the bedroom door slammed against the wall, and rough hands were ripping my shirt over my head.
My skirt hit the floor. His gym shorts were gone in a blink, and then I was naked, pinned against the wall by a man who looked one breath away from going feral.
“Hunter—”
A moan forced its way out of my throat as he ducked his head to lick and bite at my neck. He loved marking me, and I could feel the blood rush to the spot where he was sucking like a man possessed.
“On the bed.” His voice was rough, husky. “Now.”
I scrambled onto the mattress, my heart hammering like it was trying to claw its way out. My skin buzzed, every nerve wired to him as he followed, dragging open the nightstand like a man possessed, pulling out a bottle we’d never used before.
There was a dark, feral look in his eyes. It was as if he’d been waiting for this moment, and now it had become a reality, nothing on earth could stop him.
He knelt behind me, his cock bobbing and leaking. My pussy clenched just looking at him, arousal dripping down my thighs from how brutally turned on I was after sucking him off in the truck.
“I want to fuck your tight little ass, and you’ll let me, won’t you?” His voice shook with need as he slicked lube over his fingers. The cold made me jolt, but his hand on my hip held me steady. “Yeah, I know you will. My girl is gonna let me claim all of her.”
“Hunter …” My breath hitched as the first finger pressed against my asshole, slow and careful but so unrelenting I thought I’d combust.
“You trust me?” he asked, low and raw, like my answer mattered more than oxygen.
“Yes,” I whispered, no hesitation, because there was never a world where I didn’t.
The first finger slid in with a stretch burning just enough to make my toes curl, his other hand soothing down my spine, his mouth at my shoulder whispering filth and worship in equal measure.
“Good girl … relax for me. You’re so fucking tight.”
A second finger joined the first, and I moaned, loud and huskily, rocking back without thinking. A groan rumbled through his chest.
“Fuck! Don’t do that unless you want me to lose it.”
I wanted him to lose it. I wanted to feel him lose it inside me.
When he finally pulled his fingers free, I looked back at him, watching his hand pumping down his length once, hard, and he was ready.
Throbbing, flushed, lube-slicked, and terrifying in the best fucking way.
“Ride me, baby,” he said, his voice nothing but gravel and hunger.
He flopped back against the headboard, legs spread wide like a throne built for sin. His cock stood rigid against his stomach, daring me to take it.
I stared, my chest heaving. He gave me five seconds before his hand shot out, gripping my wrist, dragging me over him with a grunt.
“Reverse,” he ordered roughly. “I want to watch this ass take me.”
My pulse detonated. I turned to straddle him backwards, knees braced against the mattress as my hands came to rest on the ink adorning his thighs.
His hands settled on the curve of my hips, guiding me until the fat head of his cock pressed against me.
“Breathe, Ella,” he rasped, coating me in more lube and working it in with slow, circular motions so sensual my whole body quivered. “Just the tip first … easy …”
The stretch was brutal, white-hot, tearing a cry from my throat as the crown breached me. A guttural string of curses escaped him, while his grip bruised my hips, as if it was taking him all of his willpower to not slam me down on his length.
“That’s it. Fuck. Taking me so good. You’re so goddamn perfect .”
I moaned, pushing down farther until I could feel him everywhere, splitting me wide open in ways I didn’t think I could handle. My body shook, sweat dripping down my spine, but the high — the rush of being so full, so claimed — was addictive .
“Move.” The hoarsely uttered word wasn’t a suggestion.
I started slowly, lifting until just the tip stretched me before sinking back, over and over, until pain blurred into filthy, dizzying pleasure.
My clit throbbed, desperate and neglected, and when his hand slipped around to rub me, I shattered. My cry was loud and raw, my entire body shaking as I clenched around him like a vice.
Hunter snapped.
Calloused hands gripping my hips like manacles, he drove up into me, brutal and claiming, his breath ragged, curses spilling from his lips until he roared my name and came deep in my ass.
We collapsed in a tangle of sweat and limbs, my body wrecked, my throat raw, and his arms locked around me like letting go wasn’t an option.
His lips brushed my shoulder tenderly.
“Told you I’d claim all of you,” he whispered with reverence.
Once we’d cleaned up and showered, I lay sprawled across him, his big hands working slow, deep circles into my back and sneaking the occasional handful of my ass.
My body hummed, satisfied in the knowledge it was his.
“You’re gonna go pro and leave me here eating peanut butter out of the jar while I figure out if I want to hit balls for a living,” I muttered playfully.
His thumbs pressed harder into the dips of my lower back, making me gasp.
“If you want to play professionally,” he said like it wasn’t a big deal at all, “I’ll make it happen.”
“Oh yeah? You gonna bribe the WTA?”
“Already checked top coaches in Florida and California,” he shot back, as if it were obvious. “If you need a place to train, we’ll figure it out.”
My laugh faltered. “You’re not even drafted yet.”
“I will be.” His words had a quiet fierceness to them, heavy with meaning. Then his sharp, piercing gaze met mine. “But you? You’re the real variable. I just want to make sure you don’t shrink your dreams to fit next to mine.”
I hesitated, my voice small. “What if I don’t know what those dreams are yet?”
Something in his gaze softened, but the intensity never left. “Then I’ll wait. I’ll support you. Tennis, whatever the fuck you want. I’ve got you. You figure it out at your pace, and I’ll make sure nothing gets in your way.”
Relief coiled in my chest, softening the tight anxiety I hadn’t been aware I was carrying. My heartbeat slowed a little. This was what I needed to hear. I could stumble and explore without judgment or pressure, knowing he had my back.
My brain short-circuited. This wasn’t control; this was commitment on his own terrifying, obsessive scale.
I lifted my head to peer up at his face before asking softly, “You really think about all this?”
“Not just think. I plan. Because I’m not going anywhere you’re not.” He said it like it was a fact. Undeniable . “I don’t care where the draft sends me. I’ll build you a place that feels right for you. You just … need to be there. With me.”
He wasn’t promising what he couldn’t control, but he’d control everything he could. Maybe this was love in his language.