Chapter 10 Sierra
SIERRA
“You’ve been teasing me all night,” Hunter says, his voice low and dangerous, his arms crossed as he leans against the kitchen counter.
We’d worked up an appetite—again—so after he complained one too many times about being hungry for real food, I dragged us out of bed and into the kitchen. I’m busy making sandwiches while he pouts beside me.
I raise an eyebrow. “Teasing you? How do you figure?”
He waves a hand, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “For one, you’re standing there in nothing but my flannel.”
“Okay, and thirty minutes ago that flannel was on the floor while you were inside me. That’s hardly teasing. I’d say that’s scoring.”
His jaw clenches, and he bites down on his lip, trying to hold onto that menacing look.
But I know better. I’m not focusing on those three little words he let slip out—and I’m not about to say them back just because he did.
No, I know Hunter better than that. He needs to hear them on my time, not as a repeat of his.
“I was just minding my business,” I continue, still teasing, as I put the lid back on the mayo jar and slide his plate down the counter. “And you were all, ‘I have to fuck you again.’”
“Sierra,” he warns, and I love it. My heart kicks as he stalks toward me like a predator closing in on its prey. “Your mouth is going to get you in trouble.”
“Am I lying?” I ask innocently, though I can’t stop the laugh of excitement that bubbles out of me.
He stops in front of me, his large hand sliding up my thigh, fingertips skimming just under the hem of the flannel. “You like pushing me, don’t you?” he murmurs, kissing the corner of my mouth. “You like being the storm inside this place.”
“I thought you were hungry.”
Hunter’s grip tightens. Then, in one swift motion, he lifts me and turns, laying me out on the kitchen table and dragging me toward the edge.
“I am,” he growls.
He yanks the flannel open, revealing my bare chest. I let out a squeal, but he’s already lowering his head, taking my nipple into his mouth and sucking hard until I whimper.
“Hunter—” I breathe.
“I’ve got you,” he rasps, sliding his hands down to cup my ass. “You’re not getting up from this table until I’ve had my fill.”
I shiver at his tone. “Then you’d better start now.”
He growls something low and primal before dropping to his knees and whispering against my pussy, “You’re mine. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours—Hunter—I’m yours—”
With just a few licks, I shatter around his mouth, his tongue lapping up every drop he pulls from me.
He stands and lifts me into his arms, carrying me bridal style back to the bedroom—sandwiches forgotten—and tucks us both into bed.
His dick is still hard, pressed against my thigh, but he doesn’t push for more.
That act on the table was the declaration he wanted to make.
He needed to hear me say I’m his. He wanted to show both his strength and his restraint—proving that together, we make the best pair.