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MY FAVORITE POEM IN the entire world is “Kubla Khan.” In college, when I was taking a Romantic poetry class, I used to read the poems out loud to myself in my dorm room. Occasionally, I would wake up in the middle of the night, turn on the flashlight I kept near my bed, get out my poetry anthology, and read “Kubla Khan” to myself in a mostly dark room.
That’s the way to really experience the poem, if anyone is wondering.
I love the way the description of the pleasure dome builds in rhythm until there’s practically a poetic orgasm on the page as the fountain explodes.
Read the poem again when you get the chance and be sure to look for the orgasm.
That’s how I feel at the moment. Like I’m at the climax of “Kubla Khan” and all the delicious, sensuous building of anticipation has finally burst into visceral fruition as Hunter kisses me right there in the shower.
I’m so full of excitement and befuddlement that I can’t even begin to concentrate on what I’m doing. I know I reach up to cling to his shoulders. My fingers are slippery against his wet skin. And I know my lips part slightly because his tongue ends up in my mouth.
And I know my body is pulsing in response to the kiss, his hands, the press of his body against mine.
But other than that, I’m aware of no details. Just Hunter kissing me.
Hunter kissing me.
He pulls away eventually, his blue eyes hot and watchful and slightly amused. “So what d’you think?”
“About what?”
“About the kiss?”
I rub my sensitized lips. “It’s pretty good.”
“Pretty good?”
“Yes, pretty good. What do you expect me to say?”
“I expect better than pretty good, especially since it looks like your knees are about to buckle.”
I gasp. “They’re not about to buckle.”
This is a manifest untruth. I have to hold on to his arm to keep my balance.
“Tell me the truth,” he says, tilting his head toward mine again. The water is pounding down on his back, little drops bouncing off his skin in a hot mist. “It was better than pretty good.”
His mouth is tilting up at the corners, his expression irresistible. I’m having trouble not smiling back at him.
I exert a massive effort and keep a straight face. “There’s no call to look so smug and pleased with yourself.”
He blinks wetly. “Why the hell not? My wife is naked in the shower with me, and we’re gonna have sex for the first time. Damn right I’m pleased.”
Okay. I’ll admit it. The fact that he says this—and particularly that he calls me his wife—pushes all my buttons.
My good buttons.
All my buttons.
I swallow hard.
But there’s an implicit challenge here, and I’m not going to fold to his sexiness just because he wants me to.
Just because I want to too.
So I arch my eyebrows. “If we’re going to have sex, then you’re going to have to use some soap. You got really sweaty this morning.”
“And we’ll get even sweatier in just a minute. That’s what makes it fun.”
Shit. My whole body gives an excited clench.
I’m afraid he sees it, but I make a valiant effort to keep my composure. “Even so.” I pass him the cucumber-scented bodywash I use. It’s the only soap in the shower, so I assume he’s been using it too. “I’m not having sex with a guy who stinks.”
He doesn’t actually smell bad. Even before he stepped under the shower spray, he smelled like the outdoors, not like body odor. But at least this shift in conversation has kept my knees from buckling.
With a naughty quirk of his mouth, he squirts some of the bodywash out onto his hand and sets the bottle back on the built-in shelf.
Then, instead of starting to lather himself up, he swipes his soapy hands up and down my abdomen.
I give a silly little squeal. “I meant you!”
“If you want me soaped up, you’ll have to do it yourself.” He’s teasing. I can see the warm laughter in his eyes, even through the steamy air. But his hands are still moving up and down over my body, sliding over my belly, my arms, my sides, and then up to my breasts.
I make a hissing sound as the heel of his hand skims over one of my nipples, triggering way too many sensations for me to hide the pleasure.
He grunts softly, clearly pleased by my reaction. He puts more soap on his hand and starts lathering me up again, spending a lot of time on my breasts. So much that I’m aching almost painfully between my legs when he finally pulls me under the spray to rinse off.
I try to think of something clever to say but can’t. It’s all I can do not to ooze into a puddle of lust and slide right down the drain.
Hunter is still smiling, and when he finally lowers his hands, I manage to glare at him.
“What?” he asks, feigning innocence.
I happen to glance down and notice that he’s fully aroused. I might not have done a good job hiding my arousal, but he can’t hide his at all.
It’s thrilling. Ridiculously thrilling.
I suddenly know exactly what to do.
Grabbing the bodywash, I squeeze out a good amount, and then I slide my palms up and down his chest.
His eyes narrow as I soap up his arms, shoulders, and underarms, turning him around to get his back. His body is all hard muscle, firm flesh, and a scattering of coarse, dark hair. I really like the feel of it under my hands. I go even lower until I reach his tight stomach, and I hear him suck in a breath.
His erection is now only a couple of inches away from my fingers, hanging thick and heavy. He’s big like he’s big all over, and the sight of him is tantalizing. His body has gotten very tight.
He doesn’t say a word as I slowly reach toward his erection. I pause, just a whisper away from touching him.
“Please,” he breathes.
That one word. The sexiest thing ever.
There’s no way in hell I can resist. I wrap my fingers around him, sliding them up and down the length of his shaft.
His hips jerk visibly, and he braces one hand against the shower wall. He’s so tight he’s almost shaking with it, and I can’t believe all this hot tension is because of me, because of how I’m touching him.
It turns me on just as much as when he was touching me.
I explore his body for a minute or two, pushing him back under the shower spray to get the soap off.
Before I’ve gotten my fill of touching him, he reaches over without warning and turns off the water.
“Hey!”
His eyes are heavy, smoldering with unmistakable hunger. “If you kept that up, it was going to be over long before you want it to be.”
I gulp. “So you think you’re clean enough?”
He takes a step toward me, trapping me against the shower wall. “I’m as clean as I’m gonna get.”
Then he kisses me again, and I forget everything I was doing just a moment before because his slick, hot body and his agile lips and tongue are the only things in the world I’m aware of.
I have no idea how long the kiss lasts. Just that nothing has ever felt so good. Eventually, however, he opens the shower curtain and reaches for a towel to wrap around my body. Then he wraps another one around his waist.
“I think the bed will be more convenient,” he says.
“Definitely.” I step out of the shower and pause at a random flicker of thought.
It’s so silly I brush it away.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, his head tilting as he focuses on my face.
“Nothing.”
“What did you think about just now?”
“It’s nothing. Let’s go to bed. We’ve waited long enough.” I start to walk out of the bathroom.
He stops me. “Tell me.”
“It’s really nothing.” I sigh. “It’s just... In all these books I read, the guy will lift the girl up while they’re kissing, and she’ll wrap her legs around him and he’ll carry her like that to bed. I always wondered...” I give my head a little shake. “It’s silly.”
A little smile is hovering at the corners of his mouth. “What kinds of books are you reading?”
“All kinds.”
He chuckles and steps over to me. “You read way too much. I’m going to be running in circles trying fulfill all these fantasies, aren’t I?”
My back stiffens. “You’re the one who offered to—”
“I know I offered. I’m not complaining.” He takes my hands and places them on his shoulders, and then he slides his hands down my back until they’re cupping my bottom.
“If I’m too heavy—”
He scowls. “You think I’m some sort of weakling?”
“No! Of course not. I was just saying we don’t have to—” I break off with a huff as he starts to lift me.
It’s not actually as smooth as I always daydreamed about.
I help by bracing myself on his shoulders, and he’s definitely strong enough to lift me. But I feel awkward and disoriented, being lifted this way, and I have to try twice before I get my legs wrapped around his middle the way I’m supposed to.
The second time, I catch his erection in my attempt, and he jerks and grunts loudly at the impact.
“Sorry,” I gasp, clinging to him now with my arms and my legs. He’s got me securely, but I feel weirdly helpless, out of control.
“I’m fine,” he mutters.
“This is weird,” I admit, readjusting my arms so they’re wrapped around his neck. “It’s always really smooth and sexy in books.”
I feel him start to shake. “Maybe it takes practice.”
“Haven’t you done it before?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
He’s still shaking, and it’s worrying me. I pull back to peer at his face.
Then I gasp, “Stop laughing!”
“I’m not laughing.”
“Yes, you are! You’re laughing your head off at me.”
“Not at you.”
“You have no idea how many times I’ve read this. It’s always sounded really hot, and none of the characters have any problems getting in position, and no one ever accidentally jars the poor guy’s dick.”
He’s still laughing silently as he starts to walk out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. “Maybe I’m just bigger than all the guys in the books you read.”
“Not likely. Some of the books give exact measurements, you know. You wouldn’t believe the immensity of what some of these guys are hiding in their pants.”
He’s reached the bed, and he leans forward to deposit me on the mattress. I’ve still got the towel mostly wrapped around me, which is a relief. “Are you complaining about what’s in my pants?”
My eyes lower automatically to his groin as he drops his towel. “No,” I tell him. “I’m not complaining at all. That looks like just the right immensity for me.”
He smiles and reaches down to pull away my towel.
I’m hit with a wave of self-consciousness and try to grab the towel from his hand, but he tosses it on the floor and moves over me. “Why do you need that towel?”
“I don’t need it. I’m just more comfortable... I’m not used to people peering at my nakedness.”
“Peering at your nakedness is the best thing I’ve done in a long time.”
He seems to mean it. His eyes aren’t just hot. They’re appreciative, almost awed, as they rake up and down my body from my face to my thighs and back up to linger on my breasts.
“My body isn’t that great.” I’m not sure why I say it. I’m not entirely confident about my body, but I’m not usually worried about it unduly. My body usually does what I want it to do, and it looks fine when I’m wearing clothes.
But it’s different. It feels different. With Hunter being the one to gaze at me this way.
It feels like I want to be gorgeous for him, and I’m not really sure if I am.
“Way better than great,” he murmurs thickly.
“Don’t exaggerate.”
“I’m not.” He reaches out to trace the line of my breasts with his fingertips. “You have no idea how hot you are.”
“Really?”
He meets my eyes. “I’ve never lied to you, Sam. I’m not going to start now.”
He means it. I can see the truth in his face.
He actually thinks I’m hot.
A wave of pleasure washes over me, and I smile up at him like a fool.
He stares at me for several more seconds—my face this time—and then leans down with a throaty sound that’s almost a groan, and he kisses me.
Despite the distractions, I’m still incredibly aroused, and all my excitement returns in a rush as his tongue slides into my mouth.
His beard is scratchy and tantalizing against my skin, and his body is heavy.
I love the feel of him—all his hot tension and rough textures and delicious hardness. His bigness. I’ve never felt anything like him, and right now it all seems to be mine.
Mine to touch. Mine to kiss. Mine to rub against.
He huffs into my mouth when I raise my hips to grind against his arousal.
It’s a long time before he pulls out of the kiss. He’s panting as he stares down at me. “I’m gonna do anything you want, angel. Anything you read about that you want to try. We can get to it all. But it’s been a really long time for me, so I hope you don’t mind if this time we just—”
“Damn it, Hunter,” I interrupt, unsettled by his earnestness. “I’m about to die here, and I don’t need you to jump through any hoops. If you’ll just go ahead and fuck me, I’ll be very happy.”
He lets out a breath, his face relaxing. “Thank God. I’m not sure how long I’d be able to last.”
“Have you not had sex since you got out of prison?”
He shakes his head. “Since I went to prison. More than two years.”
I know I shouldn’t be pleased about this piece of information, but I am. “It’s been a while for me too.”
“Then let’s not wait any longer.”
“Sounds good to me.”
I feel a little nervous now for no good reason. But he’s already parting my legs, bending up one of my knees, getting himself into position.
“You ready for me?” he asks, moving his fingers to feel me intimately.
I’m wet. Very wet. There’s no question about me being ready for him.
“You are,” he murmurs, that smug little smile returning to his face.
“Hey, I’m not the one who’s been hard as a rock since he stepped into the shower, so there’s no cause to gloat.”
His smile broadens. “No gloating from me.”
I can feel my heartbeat in my chest, my ears, my groin, and he uses his hand to align himself at my entrance. I take a deep breath as he starts to push in.
He pushes my knee toward my chest as he eases forward, and his face twists as my body accommodates to his length. I arch up off the bed at the tight penetration and reach up to clutch at his shoulders.
“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes when he’s fully inside me. “Oh fuck.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself. He’s so big, so full, so deep, so there.
He suddenly rears up. “Shit! I never asked if you wanted me to use a condom.”
“It’s fine,” I say, moving my hands to his hips so he can’t pull out. “I would have said something if I’d wanted you to. I’m on birth control, and both of us got checkups before we married. We’re fine going without.”
He relaxes and closes his eyes again. “Sorry. I’m really out of practice.”
“You seem to be doing pretty well, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He relaxes even more. “Good.”
I adjust my legs, spreading my thighs a little farther apart. In the process, I squeeze around him, making him grunt.
I like the response so much I do it again.
“Shit, angel, you’re really gonna kill me.”
“Then you better get moving.” For good measure, I squeeze around him again.
“Shit!” He’s reared up again, his eyes suddenly hot as fire.
That seems to have done it. He holds on to my knee again and starts to fuck me hard.
When I say hard, I don’t mean painfully rough. I mean exactly right. His motion is fast and steady and vigorous, and it shakes my body deliciously as he moves inside me.
I hold on as best I can and rock my hips to meet his thrusts.
He’s bracing himself on straightened arms, and he keeps his eyes open. He’s watching me. I know it. His eyes move from my flushed face to my jiggling breasts to my groin, where he’s moving in and out of me. And the fire in his eyes blazes even hotter, as if he likes what he sees.
His expression gets me going almost as much as his motion. I never really expected to come from intercourse—particularly not the first time with a man—but the friction is unbearably good. Not just inside me but indirectly on my clit and from the shameless shaking of my breasts, my whole body. It’s raw and hard and uninhibited, and I’m suddenly aware that this is me.
Me.
Sam Greyson.
Letting Hunter fuck me this way. Primal. Animalistic.
He’s grunting low in his throat, and I love the sound of it. Then I realize I’m making sounds too. Not exactly grunts but definitely not ladylike whimpers. Just a repeated sound like, “Eh.” Over and over again as he takes me.
When my pleasure takes a sudden surge forward, I make a mewling sound and reach up to grab for the headboard.
Hunter obviously reads the signs correctly. “Yeah. Yeah. That’s right. You’re gonna come hard.”
I’m biting my lip now so I don’t make any more embarrassing sounds and clutch the hard wood of the headboard. “Yeah. Gonna come.”
He’s got my knee pushed forward so much now it’s almost meeting my shoulder. My position is helpless, completely undignified and as sexy as hell.
He’s moving even faster, harder now. “Fuck. You’re so hot. So good. Let me see it. Give it to me.”
I can’t hold my head still. I toss it on the pillow. “Oh God, Hunter. Need to come. So bad.”
“Give it to me, angel.” His voice is as rough as his motion, and it pushes me over the edge.
I give a little sob as I come apart, shaking and gasping and contracting hard around him.
He lets out a bellow, much louder than me, and then he’s coming too. I feel his release all through his body, delicious shudders ripping through him, and then I feel him coming inside me as his hips jerk against me.
“Shit.” He’s breathing hard as his body starts to relax. “Oh shit.”
“Yeah.” I’m out of breath too, and a pleased satisfaction has started to wash over me.
“Shit,” he says again, ducking his head for a moment against my neck.
I love the feel of his body now too. It’s even hotter than before, but it’s not all tight and urgent. It’s softening, relaxing, like he’s gotten what he needs, like he’s released all his tension.
It’s how I feel too.
It takes a while for him to catch his breath, but when he does, he pulls out and rolls off me to collapse on his side of the bed.
I’m sprawled out, barely able to move, but I kind of miss the feel of him on top of me.
I liked the weight of him.
I feel strangely empty now.
When I glance over at him, his eyes are on my face.
I smile. “That was... not bad.”
“Not bad?”
“Yeah. Not at all bad.”
He shakes his head. “Tell the truth.”
“It was good,” I admit. “Really good.”
“Yeah.”
We’re silent for a long time.
It’s still early afternoon, and I’m lying on top of the covers on my bed, naked with wet hair.
And I just had sex with Hunter Ness for the first time.
And he’s not saying anything.
My sisters always tell me I overthink things, and I know they’re right a lot of the time. But it’s not really something I can help.
My mind just thinks. It’s what it does. Even when it should be basking in replete satisfaction, it’s thinking.
Thinking.
Considering.
Drawing conclusions.
Wondering suddenly if Hunter feels weird. If he feels like what we did was payback for my giving him a job and a place to live.
What if he feels like the sex is payment for services rendered.
My stomach twists sickeningly. Surely he doesn’t think that. I tried to make it clear it wasn’t anything like that. And he seemed to really enjoy the sex.
But guys aren’t like women. Maybe they always enjoy sex, even weird marriage-of-convenience sex.
Maybe he’s feeling used.
The thought festers and doesn’t go away. Finally, I roll off the bed, groaning as my body revolts against the motion. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” I say when Hunter gives me a questioning look.
It’s true.
But I also want to get away for a minute.
I grab the towel from the floor and wrap it around me, and then I stop at my dresser to get some clothes to put on before I head to the bathroom.
I pee, clean myself up, and then put on yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt.
I feel better then. More like myself.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror and tell myself not to be stupid.
Hunter does feel somewhat obliged because of what I’ve done for him, but he wouldn’t have fucked me if he hadn’t wanted to.
He had wanted to.
He was definitely aroused, and he definitely found a satisfying release.
He’s never been interested in me sexually, but he has always liked me.
He wanted to have sex just now. It wasn’t just a duty.
It doesn’t have to be special to him. If he enjoys it, then I’ll be fine.
I can have a good time.
I’m not—I’m not, I’m not—going to overthink it.
I nod resolutely before I return to the bedroom. Hunter is still sprawled out on the bed completely naked. He’s not nearly as self-conscious as I am about his body.
He’s watching me closely as I climb onto the bed.
“You going to put any clothes on?” I ask, pleased when my voice is light and casual.
“Maybe. When I can move.” It sounds like he should be teasing, but he’s not. There’s no smile. Not on his lips and not in his eyes.
My heart clenches hard. “Maybe...”
He waits. Watches me.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have done that.” I don’t like the sound of the words, but if we’re going to decide that what we just did was a mistake, then I want to get out ahead of it.
There’s no way in hell I’m going to let him feel sorry for me.
His expression doesn’t change, and his eyes never leave my face. “You think so?”
“I don’t know. It was good, but...” I take a shaky breath.
He’s regretting it, which means I’m regretting it now too.
“We were always just friends,” I say at last.
“We’re married now.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I shoot him a quick glance, but he’s just got that same quiet, watchful look on his face, and I don’t know how to read it.
What the hell is happening to me?
I’m supposed to be smart.
I’ve always been smart.
It’s the only thing I’ve ever really had going for me.
I can do better than this.
I clear my throat. “It was good.”
“You said that before.”
“I know. I guess I’m just feeling kind of... confused. Can we... can play things by ear?”
“Of course. Anything you want.”
I check his expression, but I can’t read anything.
Not anything.
Usually I can read him better than this.
“Are you...” I pause and restart. “Are you okay with everything?”
“Of course.”
For just a moment, I want to shake him until answers spill out of him.
I don’t, of course.
I’m not a break-the-slate-over-the-boy’s-head kind of girl.
I’m the pretend-everything-is-just-fine kind of girl.
A phone buzzes then, and I reach to pick mine up from the nightstand, but it’s not mine.
It’s Hunter’s.
He’s evidently gotten a text because he taps out a reply and then sits up. “I’ve got to head out for a while if that’s okay.”
“Sure. It’s fine. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just something I need to do.”
He sounds normal, casual, but my stomach twists as he walks naked to the bathroom.
I stare at his tight butt, his strong back. I see faint red marks on his skin running in lines across his shoulder blades.
From me, I realize.
The marks are from me.
I scratched up his back in my eagerness. I don’t even remember doing it.
I blush, all alone in the room.
When Hunter appears again, he’s fully dressed, including his shoes. “I’ll just be a couple of hours.”
“Sure.” I smile at him. “No problem.”
He stands still, looking at me for a minute.
Then he gives his head a quick shake and walks out of the room. I hear him leaving the apartment.
I flop back against the pillow and close my eyes.
What the hell?
That was ridiculous.
We’ve never been awkward with each other like that before.
The sex was... amazing. And everything was fine with us until it was over.
I’m sure it was all my fault.
After a minute of stewing, I reach for a phone and send a text to my sisters.
I’m smart, right?
In just a few seconds, Chelsea replies. You’re smarter than me.
Me too. That’s Melissa. What happened?
We had sex.
There’s a longer pause, and I assume they’re processing what I just said.
Chelsea responds first. Aaahhh!!!
That pretty much sums up my state of mind too.
How was it? Melissa asks.
Good.
So what’s wrong?
It’s weird now. He left.
Where did he go?
Where did he go? Melissa’s question comes in at exactly the same time as Chelsea’s.
I don’t know. He just left. What the hell am I supposed to do?
Talk to him.
Talk to him!!!
I take a deep breath as I try to think of what to say. Obviously, I know my sisters are right, but it’s never been that easy.
Melissa follows up before I can reply. I know how you feel. I sucked at talking to Trevor. And we didn’t work things out until I did.
But Hunter isn’t in love with me!
He’s still your husband. You’re smarter than I am. Talk to him.
You can do it!!! Chelsea adds.
I groan out loud in the room. Fine. I’ll try.
I put down my phone and close my eyes, trying to think through what I’ll say, how I’ll approach the topic with Hunter.
I have to do something.
My sisters are right. Hunter and I might not be in love, but I’m married to the man. We have to work it out.
I can’t go through another conversation like the one we just had.
***
IT’S ALMOST THREE HOURS before Hunter comes home. I’m sitting on the couch, trying to get some reading done and wondering if he’ll be gone all day when I hear the apartment door open.
I stiffen immediately, but I don’t put down my book.
I do look up when I sense his presence in the room.
He’s standing in the entry hall, looking at me.
“Hi,” I say stupidly.
“Hi.”
I can’t read his mood, and it bothers me a lot. I clear my throat. “Can we... can we talk?”
I have to say it immediately before I chicken out.
“Sure.” He comes over and sits on the couch beside me.
I set my book on the coffee table. I open my mouth but don’t get anything said.
“What’s up, Sam?” he asks. He seems to know I want to say something and can’t.
I clear my throat again. “I... I’m sorry I was so weird before.”
His expression shifts indefinably. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. I was... weird. I think I messed things up.”
“You didn’t mess things up. You thought having sex with me was something you wanted, so you tried. You tried. If it’s not what you thought it would be, or if it’s not what you want, then you don’t have to feel bad about it. I promise I won’t pressure you again.”
My mouth falls open as I stare at him.
“What?” he says, pulling his eyebrows.
“I really liked it. The sex I mean.”
“I know you did physically, but sex is more than that. We’re more than that. It’s really okay if it’s not what you want.”
I’m almost choking now since it’s so clear that he really means this. He’s being so careful, so gentle, letting me know that he’s never going to pressure me to have sex again.
It’s almost sweet.
And it’s completely, hilariously wrong.
“I do want it,” I manage to say.
He blinks. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“You want to have sex with me again?”
“Yes!”
He’s frowning. “Then why were you so weird?”
I giggle. I know he’s confused and waiting for an explanation, but a ripple of humor hits me anyway. “Because I was afraid you didn’t want it.”
“What?”
“That’s why I was weird. Because I was worried... about you.”
“But... but...”
I can see from his face he’s about to make it sound like I’m an idiot, so I defend myself before he can say anything. “Don’t act like I have no reason to be worried. Sex was always part of the agreement of our marriage. You get a place to live and a job. I get sex, among other things. Why wouldn’t I worry that you were just fulfilling your obligations?”
“Didn’t you see me when we were having sex?”
“Of course I did. What’s your point?”
“My point is that it should have been painfully obvious that I wasn’t just fulfilling a duty. You really couldn’t tell I enjoyed it?”
“I could tell you did physically, but it’s like you just said to me. There’s a lot more to us than physical. You never wanted me like that before. Why would I assume you want me that way now? And I really want to make this clear. You don’t have to have sex with me. Ever. For any reason. I don’t want you to ever feel obliged. You can help me out in other ways while we’re married. It doesn’t have to be sex. I don’t want it to be... like that.”
“Sam,” he says roughly, reaching to take one of my hands. “Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam.”
“Stop saying my name like that.”
“I’m going to say your name until I can get this through your way-too-brilliant-in-every-way-except-this-one brain. What we did earlier was the best sex of my life.”
I’m gaping at him again.
“I’m not just saying it. I mean it. It was way better than good. I was into it in every way, and my life will be painfully incomplete if I don’t get to have sex with you again.”
I try to say something. I really do. Only a squeak comes out.
“Do you believe me?” he asks thickly.
I nod mutely.
There’s no way not to believe him. I know Hunter, and I know now he’s telling me the truth.
“So if the only reason you got weird afterward was because you were worried about me, then stop worrying. I’m counting the minutes before I can take you to bed again, and it has nothing to do with any agreement.”
So that’s pretty thrilling.
As thrilling as anything that’s ever happened to me.
He looks at me like he’s waiting for something.
I’m still unable to articulate even one word.
“You’re really gonna leave me hanging?” he asks after a minute.
“About what?” There. I managed to say something.
He makes a growling sound. “About what? About what?”
“Oh,” I say, finally catching up. I’m giggling again—an overflow of pleasure and excitement. “It was the best sex of my life too. And I want to do it again as long as you do.”
He lets out a breath, and his shoulders relax. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
I might have very well said “okay” again had he not reached for me at that moment.
I squeal. “What are you doing?”
“You said you wanna have sex again.” He pulls me into his lap.
“Right now?”
“Why not right now?” He nuzzles my face with his beard, and the texture alone gets me going.
“We just had sex a few hours ago.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t at my best then. I’ll do better this time.”
“Do better? If you do any better I’m going to faint dead away from pleasure.”
“Is that a promise?” He kisses me, and there’s no way I’m not going to kiss him back.
I’m not sure how I’ve gone from confused dread to this giddiness in just a few minutes, but it’s like the world has reshaped itself around me.
A few minutes later, I’m on my back on the couch and he’s on top of me. He’s aroused again, hard against my hip. He’s got all his clothes on, but I’m completely naked, and he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to change this situation.
His mouth is moving down my body.
My last thought before his lips and tongue start to do very delicious things to me is that I’m really glad I talked to him.
If things can be good between us and we can also do this, then I’m not going to have a complaint in the world.