Page 8 of Crossed Paths (The Ramblers of St. Claire #2)

I kneel before her, my hands gripping her thighs, my mouth hovering just above her core. I can feel her heat, her scent, and I’m aching to taste her. “Tell me what you want, Alex,” I demand, my voice rough with need. “Tell me what you need.”

She bites her lip, her eyes flicking down to where my mouth is inches from her pussy. “I want you to taste me, Hunter. I want your mouth on me.”

Her words send a jolt of desire straight to my cock, but I don’t rush.

I press a kiss to her inner thigh, teasing her, before pulling her knickers to one side and finally parting her folds with my tongue.

She’s wet, so wet, and I groan at the taste of her, the sweetness of her arousal.

I lap at her, slow and deliberate, savouring every moan, every shiver, every desperate sound that escapes her lips.

“Hunter, please,” she begs, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. “I need more.”

I smirk against her skin and get up kissing her on the lips.

“No, don’t stop,” she begs impatiently. I walk her backwards to the bed. I want to take my time, and for that, I need her to comfortable.

“Lay down,” I nod towards the bed. There is a hint of a blush on her cheeks as she steps out of her knickers and slides back on the mattress.

“Legs wide, Alex. Let me see how wet you are for me,” I growl.

Her eyes lock with mine and then she spreads for me. Fuck! I take a deep breath before sliding over her and latching on. I can’t torture her any longer because it is torture for me as well.

I suck her clit between my lips whilst simultaneously sliding my fingers into her, curling to find the spot that makes her gasp. “Impatient, aren’t we?” I tease, my tongue flicking her clit as I pump my fingers in and out of her.

“Fuck, yes,” she pants, her body arching off the bed. “Don’t stop, don’t—”

Her words are cut off by a sharp cry as she comes, her walls clenching around my fingers, her juices spilling onto my tongue. I drink her in, milking her orgasm until she’s trembling.

“Your turn,” she says, her voice breathless but determined.

She pulls me to her and turns us until I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands moving to my belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease.

My cock is hard, throbbing, and she wastes no time in pulling it free, her fingers wrapping around the base as she leans down, her lips brushing the head.

“Alex,” I groan, my hands tangling in her hair as she takes me into her mouth, her tongue swirling, her lips tight around me. I often wondered what it would feel like, but no dream comes even close to the real thing.

“Stop, Alex,” I manage, pulling her up, kissing her deeply, tasting myself on her lips. “I want to be inside you.”

She nods, her eyes dark with desire, and I stand, pulling her with me, guiding her to the bed. She lies back, her legs spreading, and I position myself at her entrance, teasing her with the tip of my cock. “Ready?” I ask, my voice low.

“Fuck me, Hunter,” she demands, her hands gripping my shoulders. “Now.”

I don’t need to be told twice. I thrust into her, slow and deep, filling her completely, and she gasps, her nails digging into my skin. “You feel so good,” I murmur, my forehead pressing against hers, our breaths mingling.

“Move,” she whispers, her hips lifting to meet mine .

I pull out slowly, savouring the tightness of her, before slamming back in, setting a rhythm that has her moaning, her body moving with mine. The room is filled with the sound of our skin slapping together, our breaths coming in ragged gasps, her name on my lips with every thrust.

“Hunter, harder,” she begs, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer.

I oblige, pounding into her with abandon, my hands gripping her hips to hold her steady. Her walls clench around me, her pussy milking my cock, and I know I’m not going to last much longer. “Come with me,” I growl, my voice hoarse. “Come on my cock.”

Her eyes flutter closed, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as she shatters around me, her orgasm pulling me over the edge. I thrust into her one last time, my release spilling into her, my name on her lips as she trembles beneath me.

We collapse onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and breath, our bodies still joined, still humming with the aftershocks of what just passed between us.

I pull her closer, needing to feel every inch of her, needing to make sure this is real.

My lips find the crown of her head and linger there.

She sighs, content, curling into me like she belongs there, and God, she does.

She fits into my arms like they were made to hold her.

My fingers move without thought, tracing idle shapes across the bare skin of her back, memorising the dips, the warmth, the quiet rhythm of her breath.

Every part of me is aching to stay here, wide awake, just watching her.

I’ve waited so long for this. For her. For this moment where nothing else matters and she’s mine. Finally mine.

I fight the pull of sleep like it’s the enemy because I don’t want to miss a second of her like this.

I want to burn it into me, her weight against me, the faint scent of her hair, the sound of her whisper-soft breaths.

I try to hold my eyes open, to resist the heavy drag of peace settling over me.

But she’s too much. Or maybe too little, too gentle, too soft, too perfect.

Being here, with her in my arms, feels like exhaling after holding my breath for years.

And slowly, helplessly, I feel myself slipping.

My body sinks into the mattress, into her, into the kind of quiet I didn’t think I’d ever get to feel.

My last thought before darkness pulls me under is that if this is what sleep feels like with her beside me, wrapped around me, then maybe I don’t need to fight it anymore.