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“I don’t give a fuck,” he says, pinching my nipples tighter, making me gasp and my inner walls swell around my tampon. “I still want to be balls deep in you. If you want my cock, it’s at your service, and your pleasure is going to come first.”
“It always does with you.” I cling to him as he lifts me into his arms, guiding my legs around his hips. “You’re not all bad.”
“Thank you,” he says. “I hope you still feel the same way after I make you wait for your first orgasm. You deserve a little punishment for meeting me at the door with a bad attitude and this sexy fucking top.”
I smile against his lips as he carries me toward the master bath. “Okay. But just a little. And you love this top. You want meto keep it and wear it every time you get home from a business trip.”
“I want you to keep it,” he says. “And I want to take pictures of you in nothing but this, with your nipples dark and hard for me beneath the fabric.”
I moan my approval of this plan as we kiss again, hungry and eager.
Minutes later, we’re both naked in his obscenely large shower, steam rising around us as he fingers me, not seeming the slightest bit bothered by the blood on his hand or the way I whimper and pout when he keeps me on the edge a little too long.
In fact, when I finally do get to come on his hand, he praises me like I’ve just finished a marathon.
“Good girl, so fucking good,” he breaths against my forehead as he holds me up with one hand and continues to make my knees even weaker with the other. “You’re so fucking sexy when you come for me. I love making you lose control. I love the way your pussy locks around my fingers like it’s never going to let go.”
“Please, need you,” I say, digging my nails into his shoulders. “Now.”
This time, he doesn’t make me wait or beg, he simply lifts me up and glides into me as he pushes me back against the tile, under the hot spray. We both groan as he fills me, twin sounds of relief that assure something primal inside of me that this is real.
That it’s real, and I’m not alone in craving him like a drug.
“Missed this,” he growls, setting a rhythm that makes me see stars. “Missed you.”
I come apart around him, crying out his name as he follows me over the edge, his cock pulsing deep inside me as I cling to him with all the strength left in my well-loved body.
Not well-loved,the inner voice reminds me.He doesn’t love you, but he did say he missed you. That’s something.
It is, but is it enough to make me want to stay and go any further down this road? Even if I leave right now, it’s going to hurt. But if I wait another month, two, maybe six or more?
Well, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to bounce back from that kind of loss the way I’ve always bounced back after relationships have ended before. This thing with Hunter is…intense.
We stay joined for long moments afterward, the water starting to cool as we catch our breath.
Finally, he pulls back, meeting my no-doubt conflicted gaze with a troubled expression of his own. “I think we need to talk.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Me, too.” I swallow, fighting another wave of emotion. “But maybe it can wait until morning? I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’d really love to just cuddle in bed with you, eat some popcorn while you eat sushi, and go to sleep on your chest.” I refrain from saying “one last time,” but just barely. “If that’s all right?”
He tucks a wet strand of hair behind my ear. “That’s very all right. Get dressed in something other than my tank top, something that I can’t see through, and I’ll deliver popcorn to you in bed. Butter or olive oil?”
“Butter, obviously,” I say as he pulls out and sets me down on my feet. “What do I look like, some kind of monster who’s worried about my heart health?”
“You look like a woman who’s been well-fucked and needs to do a little clean up,” he says, casting a pointed glance at the red trailing down both my thighs. He winks as he reaches for the shower door. “But you’d better hurry. That water’s getting cold.”
“And who’s fault is that?” I call after him as I reach for the soap. “If you hadn’t made me wait for the first one, the water would still be warm.”
I’m pretty sure I hear him chuckle, but the water’s too loud to know for sure.
But he’s definitely smiling as I join him in bed ten minutes later, where he’s already laid out dinner trays with our snacks on them, just like in a fancy hotel. And he has The Wizard of Oz pulled up on the television, making my chest ache with bittersweet happiness.
“Oh my God, I love this movie,” I say as I climb onto the mattress. “I rewatch it every Halloween.”
“It’s one of my comfort movies,” he says, making me laugh. “What?” he demands as I giggle some more. “I’m not allowed to have comfort movies?”
“No, it’s just cute,” I say, selecting a perfectly buttery kernel. “It’s good to know even very bad men with hearts made of stone need comfort, too, every now and then.” I toss the popcorn between my lips, moaning with appreciation. “Wow, that’s fucking amazing. What kind of butter is that?”
“Truffle butter and a hint of citrus salt,” he says.