8. Hunter
Eight
Hunter
B rooke is in my cabin, wearing my clothes, stretched out on my bed with flushed cheeks and mussed hair. Somebody pinch me. She looks like a goddess in the last rays of sunshine, with chestnut strands of her damp, glossy hair catching the light. So beautiful and curvy and sweet.
“I’ve never—um.” She bites her lip in that adorable way that she has, blushing fiercely as I crawl over her. My palms push into the patchwork quilt on either side of her head, and I keep myself lifted up. Giving her plenty of space, even though every instinct in my animal brain cries out for me to press down against her. “I’ve never done this before.”
My heartbeat stutters. I shake my head like maybe I heard her wrong. “Never?”
“Shut up,” Brooke mumbles. Grabbing two fistfuls of my shirt, she yanks me down so I’m all but lying on top of her, the worst of my weight propped on my elbows. She’s soft and warm beneath me, and her damp hair smells like my shampoo. “Don’t be weird about this.”
Impossible.
“You’re so fucking perfect, Brooke.”
She laughs weakly, looping her arms around my neck. “Stop.”
“I don’t mean the virgin thing. I mean in general.”
She presses her hot, blushing face against my throat. “Hunter, seriously.”
Reaching back, I hook each of her legs around my waist. “What, you don’t like compliments?”
“Nope.”
“Well, that’s too bad. Because you’re gonna be hearing a lot of them from now on.”
Every day, Brooke is gonna hear how pretty she is, how smart and funny, how perfectly our bodies fit together. How sexy her curves are. How I love the kooky, offbeat way her brain works sometimes.
And what better time to tell her those things than when I have her full attention? Like when my cock is buried deep inside her, making her moan.
Now that her legs are wrapped around my waist, now that we’re pressed tight together, Brooke’s panting and squirming like a champion. She whimpers and tips her head back when I duck down to kiss her neck; her thighs flex around my waist and her body rocks up to grind against mine.
“So perfect.” Even through the layers of our clothes, I can feel the heat of her. The damp, welcoming warmth between her legs. “So good. You were made for this, weren’t you, sweetheart? And you’ve waited long enough.”
We’ve barely gotten started, only kissed and rocked our bodies together, but already Brooke is glassy-eyed with arousal. She nods eagerly, biting her lip against a gasp.
Even then, I take my time.
Hey, I’ve been dreaming of this moment for three goddamn years. Ever since that parking lot. You’d better believe I’m gonna drag it out, savoring every last detail.
“Are you warm enough?” I ask first between kisses, the bed covers wrinkling as we rock and roll together from side to side. The temperature plummets overnight in the mountains, and Brooke’s hair is still damp. The last thing I want is for her to catch a cold.
But Brooke snorts, lunging up to kiss me harder. “Are you kidding?” she says when she finally drops back, breathless and wry. “I’m burning up, Hunter. It’s a thousand degrees in here.”
So it is.
Alright, then.
“Tell me what you want.” My voice is guttural, my hands roaming shamelessly over her soft, warm body. Mostly over the clothes, but sneaking beneath the t-shirt here and there to stroke at the bare, heated skin of Brooke’s waist. “Even more important, tell me what you don’t want. And if you want to stop at any time, just say.”
“Duh.” Brooke catches my wrist as it starts to sneak back out of the t-shirt, then guides my hand all the way up to her bare chest. And there it is: a handful of glorious proof that Brooke is very much a grown woman. More than a handful.
“Christ.”
Her nipple stiffens beneath my thumb, and Brooke arches up into my touch. Presses herself more firmly into my hand.
Arousal stabs through my abdomen, and I need her so fucking badly it hurts. My blood rushes; my skin shivers. Hell, even my teeth ache from the need coursing through my body.
“You’re going to kill me, woman.”
Brooke’s grin is adorably lopsided. “That would be a shame. I’d like to do this at least once before we both explode.”
Outside the cabin windows, the sky darkens steadily as the sun sinks below the treeline. There are more stars now, a huge glittery cosmos of them, briefly interrupted by a dark shape swooping past the window. An owl.
There’s a whole world out there, a whole universe, but right now nothing really exists for me except the woman laid beneath me on my bed.
We kiss for a long time. Hands roam. Clothes are tugged aside, then shed altogether piece by piece, until finally the two of us are bare and lit only by starlight and the warm glow of the nightstand lamp. It would be cold if we weren’t tangled together.
My beard has left faint pink patches on Brooke’s breasts and throat, and I’m far too fucking pleased when I push up and take note of it.
“Maybe I should start shaving again.” My callused fingertip traces the outline of one pink area, brushing against Brooke’s nipple and drawing out a gasp.
“Oh, please don’t.” She squirms, batting away my hand, then snatching it back and making me grip her properly this time. “I love the beard. And it’s soft, not scratchy.”
“Yeah?” There’s only one true test for that, so I start kissing my way down the hills and valleys of Brooke’s body. She jerks and whimpers with each new touch, so responsive that it makes my cock throb. If I get any harder, I’m gonna accidentally drill through this bed to the floorboards. “Let’s test it for real.”
Her thighs part for me so sweetly as I crawl down her. There’s no resistance, no self consciousness, no doubt. And when I finally settle between Brooke’s legs, my body sprawled over the patchwork quilt, there she is: pink and glossy with arousal, with short, dark hair surrounding her slit. The promised land.
“Maybe I should start shaving too,” Brooke mutters from where she’s propped up on her elbows to watch.
“Not on my account, sweetheart.” The air down here is extra humid, scented with her musk. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs. “You’re fucking perfect here too. Damn, that looks good. I could eat you for dinner.”
Her laugh makes my heart slam against my ribs. “Cannibalism is a crime, Hunter.”
“You don’t say? That’s too bad.”
And maybe I can’t really eat Brooke up like the big, bad wolf.
But I lower my head and give it a good try.