Page 78 of Oathbreaker

God, I so want to. My mouth waters with need. So I do it. I lean forward and suck the head of his cock into my mouth. I groan with the explosion of his flavor on my tongue.

“Red light, mouth off,” he says, and he sounds damn near incoherent. When I don’t stop, done with the game, he growls and pushes back from me and my mouth. I whimper and then nearly scream when he drops to his knees and sucks my clit between his lips after batting my hand away.

“Hunter, God!” One suck, two, three, and then I’m yelling and shaking and coming so hard that the only image I see behind my eyes are stars. As I come down, I hear him groan low and long, and I open my eyes to see him jerk his cock roughly, angrily, as he comes on the tiled floor.

He stops sucking and licking at me, the pressure turning into a lazy kiss.

One. Two. Three more kisses.

We both breathe hard when he moves my legs down to a more comfortable position. My muscles thank him. Then, while still between my slightly spread legs, he lowers his head to rest it on my thigh.

My hands automatically run through his hair.

His eyes close, and I see a wave of tension release from his shoulders as soon as I touch him.

We’re both silent, and I thank God for the tankless system and the near-infinite hot water. The weight of this moment feels pivotal.

I know it’s pivotal.

“Was that okay, Sunbeam?” Hunter’s voice is so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the sounds of the shower running.

I keep running my fingers through his hair.

“I loved every minute of it,” I reply just as softly.

He hugs my legs. Then he turns his head and slowly presses a gentle kiss to the apple carved into my skin. He doesn’t move his mouth. He just presses his lips to the spot.

He must feel me shaking because, without a word, he grabs my hand and brings it to his cheek.

“I love you, Winter Leigh Vaughan,” he says with absolute reverence.

SEVENTEEN

HUNTER

Since my time with Winter in the shower a few days ago, we’ve been working toward maintaining intimacy. She slips into my room when she can’t sleep, and I hold her until her breaths slow.

But she always declines when I ask her to make a permanent move into my room.

I don’t push her.

But we’re talking. We’re sharing touches.

I’ll wait however long I need to.

Leo and I sit in my office with the rest of our shareholders on a video conference. The investors are antsy, and they’re all looking at me and Leo to solve the problem.

But despite Misha’s assurances not to worry about the FDA, they’re not budging. We haven’t found our previous contacts on the inside, but the most damning development is I can’t gather enough fucks to care about the outcome.

So I leave everything regarding BwP to Leo to figure out, as always.

We’ve just closed the conference when the doorbell interrupts our tense strategizing.

Our doorbell is the most absurd sound ever. It’s one of the things that Ella didn’t update when she renovated the house, and it rings for a solid thirty seconds in a series of musical notes.

The doorbell ringing is an issue, though, primarily because a) no one should get past the gates and onto the property, and b) no one would ring the doorbell. We would greet them upon their arrival at the gate and escort them up.

Whoever is on the other side of the door is not an invited or welcome guest.

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