Page 27

27

FAITH

I love feeling the full weight of Hunter against me as he presses his lips to mine—slow, warm, devastating. His body is like a furnace, heat radiating from every inch of him. The only thing I’m wearing now are the blue lace panties he sent me.

He pulls back just enough to murmur, “Get up.”

I blink at him, breath catching. “What?”

He sits back on his heels, his abs flexing in the golden slant of afternoon light. His voice is low, gravelly. “Strip for me. I want you to see how hard you make me.”

A jolt of arousal tightens through me. “Strip? All I’ve got on are these.” I run my palms over the fabric of my panties.

Hunter grins. “Exactly.”

I rise from the bed slowly, pulse pounding in my neck, my chest. I pause for half a beat before sliding my thumbs into the waistband of the panties. I feel his eyes on me—sharp, hungry.

I step out of the lace and stand naked at the foot of the bed, letting him look. Letting myself be seen.

Hunter wraps his hand around the base of his cock, stroking himself with his eyes locked on mine. “Jesus, Faith…” he groans. “You’re even more perfect in the daylight.”

My thighs press together instinctively. Heat floods through me—between my legs, across my chest, blooming up my throat. My skin tightens with awareness, my nipples aching as his gaze rakes over me.

“You’re not the only one with a fantasy,” he says, breath heavy. “Guess you’re mine, too.”

Watching him—this massive, muscled man, strong and always in control—touch himself for me ? It’s erotic in a way I didn’t know I craved. There’s power in it, and hunger, and something almost sacred. Like we’re offering pieces of ourselves we’ve kept hidden too long.

I reach between my thighs without thinking, fingers grazing the slick heat already gathered there.

His eyes darken. “Touch yourself. I want to watch.”

I slide my fingers slowly over my clit, never looking away. And I swear, his jaw clenches like he’s in pain from how badly he wants me.

“So hot how you do it, baby,” he groans.

I move back toward the bed, climbing onto the mattress with careful steps. The sheets are cool against my heated skin, and I position myself in the center—knees slightly bent, legs parted just enough to tease, but not enough to give anything away.

Hunter’s eyes track every movement like a hawk. He’s still standing at the foot of the bed, hand wrapped around himself, that massive frame lit up in all the right ways by the afternoon light slipping in through the blinds.

I lie back, pressing my shoulders to the sheets, and slowly—so slowly—drag my fingers down the center of my chest. I make a show of it, not because I’m trying to be performative, but because I want to make him lose control. I want to know I can.

“Mmm.” He groans, stroking himself with his eyes locked on me. His voice is tight, full of restraint.

My breath catches. Heat blooms between my legs as my eyes roam his body—hard muscles, deep lines, that delicious V of his hips that points right to the place I can’t stop staring at.

He’s absolutely gorgeous. And the way he’s looking at me right now?

Like I’m something he’s about to pray to.

“You said you wanted me to see how hard I make you,” I whisper, dragging my hand over the curve of my hip.

“Well?” he says, his voice a little ragged. “You seeing clearly?”

“Crystal,” I murmur, and then I bite my bottom lip, letting my thighs fall open just a bit more.

He groans, low and feral.

“Fuck, Faith,” he says. “You’re going to ruin me.”

God, I hope so.

He prowls toward me like he already owns every inch of my body.

But he doesn’t touch me. Not yet.

Instead, he hovers over me, positioning me where he needs me. He brushes the head of his cock just barely against my entrance. Just a whisper of a touch—and it makes me gasp, my hips arching toward him on instinct.

“Ohhh my God,” I whisper.

Hunter just smirks, holding himself steady with one arm beside my head, the other hand still wrapped around his cock as he drags the tip down, slow and torturous, gliding along my slick folds but never pushing in.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice gravel and heat. “You want to feel me bare, baby?”

I nod too fast. Too desperate.

“Yes,” I breathe.

He teases me with another shallow glide, not even entering me—just nudging, dragging, tormenting me with the promise of what’s to come.

“You ever felt someone bare before, Faith?” he asks, eyes burning into mine.

I bite my lip and shake my head. “No. I’ve never...never done that.”

He stills. His expression shifts—something dark and reverent tightening in his gaze.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You have no idea what that’s doing to me.”

“Then stop teasing and do something about it,” I say, hips lifting again. “Please.”

He chuckles, dipping his head to press a kiss just beneath my ear.

“Oh, I will,” he growls. “But you’re going to feel this, baby. Every inch. Every second.”

Then he drags the head of his cock down one more time, a little deeper now—but still not entering me.

“You wet enough for me yet?” he whispers.

“I’ve been wet for you,” I pant. “Since the second you walked through that door.”

He groans again—like it physically costs him not to take me.

And still, he holds back.

Just the tip.

Just a promise.

And it’s driving me insane.

I’m on the edge of madness. Of begging. Of screaming. Every nerve is strung tight as piano wire, trembling beneath the weight of want.

Then he shifts.

His hips press forward, and this time?

He slides in.

Thick. Hot. Bare.

I gasp—no, moan —my body stretching, pulsing around him as he fills me with slow, deliberate pressure.

“Oh God, ” I cry out, clawing at the sheets, my thighs trembling. “I’m so full.”

“I’m about half, baby. Relax. I know you can be a good girl for me and take it.”

He holds perfectly still, buried halfway inside me, and my body is already trembling like a live wire, stretched to its limit.

Half?

That alone makes my breath hitch, my back arching involuntarily beneath him.

“I’m so full,” I whisper again, voice trembling, brain hardly functional with how wide and deep he’s already reaching.

“I know,” he growls, voice like dark velvet in my ear. “And I’ve got more for you. You can take it, can’t you?”

My fingers curl into the sheets. I nod, even as a whimper escapes me.

“Yes… please. Give it to me.”

He groans low—like it’s taking everything in him not to lose control right then—and sinks in the rest of the way with one smooth, unrelenting thrust.

My entire body arches, mouth dropping open in a silent cry as he fills me— completely.

I feel stretched, possessed, claimed—like he’s staking his territory inside me.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls, voice sharp, breath ragged. He pulls back slow, almost torturously, then slams into me again, harder. “So goddamn wet for me. Still hate me, Luna?”

I gasp, the sound caught somewhere between a moan and a curse.

“Is that a no?” he taunts, thrusting again. “You gonna scream how much you hate me while you’re creaming on my cock?”

“Fuck you,” I pant, clawing at the sheets, desperate, angry, aching for more.

He grits out a laugh, low and dangerous. “You are.”

Another thrust—deep, punishing.

“You’re fucking me like you mean it,” he murmurs against my ear. “Like you need it. Hate me all you want, baby—but your pussy’s obsessed.”

I cry out, thighs trembling, and he grabs my hair, wrapping it around his fist, tugging my head back just enough to hear him clearly when he growls, “Say my name.”

“Hunter—” I gasp.

“Louder.”

“Hunter,” I moan, raw and broken open, the name dragged from me like a confession.

“Yeah,” he breathes, snapping his hips harder into mine. “You remember that when you’re alone, aching. When no one else can fuck you like this.”

His hand slides between my legs, fingers finding my clit and circling it with ruthless precision. My head falls back, my moan turns ragged, animal. He knows exactly what he’s doing—what I need—and he’s going to make damn sure I break for him.

“This what you wanted, baby?” he says, hips snapping into mine. “To be stretched wide and filled raw?”

I cry out, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

“Yeah, you like that. My good little goddess,” he growls, biting down gently on my shoulder. “You were made for this.”

My orgasm rises like a riptide, fast and violent, crashing through me as I cry out his name again, shattering around him, gasping for air as he keeps moving inside me, giving me all of it.

But he doesn’t stop.

“Oh, you’re not done,” he murmurs, voice wild and hot at my ear. “I’ve still got so much more for you, baby.”

Before I can catch my breath, he pulls out—slowly, deliberately—and I whimper from the sudden emptiness.

Then his hands grip my hips and flip me like I weigh nothing, guiding me onto all fours.

I gasp as the air hits my flushed skin, as the new position stretches me in a whole new way.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he growls, kneeling behind me. One palm smooths over the curve of my ass, then dips lower, spreading me open as he settles back against me.

I hear him groan, like the sight alone is almost too much for him to take.

“This is mine,” he says roughly, his voice low and hungry. “Every inch of you.”

I moan, arching back toward him, greedy for more.

He slides the head of his cock along my slick folds—teasing, maddening—until I’m shaking from the effort of not begging. But I don’t have to. He knows. He always knows.

With one hard thrust, he’s back inside me, deeper this time, hitting that spot that makes my eyes roll back.

“Oh fuck, ” I cry out, fingers digging into the sheets as he grips my hips and fucks me with the kind of power that scrambles thought, turns moans into pleas.

“You feel that?” he pants, pounding into me, skin slapping skin. “This is what it means to be ruined, baby. And you love it, don’t you?”

“Yes—God, yes!”

His hand comes around, fingers finding my clit again, circling, pressing, wrecking me all over.

“I want you to come for me again,” he demands. “I want to feel you tighten while I’m buried inside you.”

I don’t stand a chance.

My body breaks again, violently, every muscle contracting as my orgasm hits hard and fast. I scream his name—no shame, no restraint—as I collapse forward onto the sheets, breathless and twitching.

Behind me, his rhythm falters. He groans deep, feral, close.

“Luna. Faith,” he pants, voice wrecked. “I’m so fucking close. Where do you want it, baby? I’m gonna blow.”

He pulls out and I roll over, chest heaving, still trembling as I meet his dark, hungry gaze. “My tits,” I whisper. “I want to see you.”

His breath punches out of him. “Fuck.”

He’s thick and slick and throbbing, pumping himself as he straddles my thighs. One hand grips the base of his cock, the other braced against the headboard. His eyes burn into mine, locked there like he’s trying to brand this moment into both of us.

And then it happens.

He comes in thick, hot streams across my chest—long ropes of it painting my bare breasts, glistening on my flushed skin. His head tips back as a ragged moan tears from his throat, muscles flexed, abs tight, the most erotic, goddamn perfect thing I’ve ever seen.

I can’t look away.

My legs are still spread. My chest is rising and falling like I’ve just run a marathon. But I feel powerful. Wanted. Worshipped.

He finally meets my eyes again, still panting.

And I can’t help it—I smile, the words tumbling out of my mouth.

“That was so incredibly hot.”