Page 87 of Oathbreaker

I startle. “Angry at me?” I say with heat.

“Yes, Winter. At you.”

I feel indignation rise, and he pulls me off the floor and folds me over the back of the couch.

He slaps my ass. Hard.

“Hunter!” I say with a gasp. I reject the embarrassment that ekes out as a gush of cum starts to leak out of my poor, neglected pussy.

“You really thought you could end us, Sunbeam?” He rubs circles over my sore cheek. Then he slaps me three more times on the opposite side.

This time, when I say his name, it comes out as a moan.

He chuckles. The sound is as dark and foreboding as the lead up to a jump scare in a horror movie.

“Ending us is impossible.” His voice is as soft as the caress of his hand over my flesh. “Not because you’re trapped. You are free, Sunbeam.” He runs his hand up my back, and I can’t help but arch into his touch. “Ending us is impossible because we were always meant to collide. We’re two parts of the same soul. There is always supposed to be a Hunter and Winter.”

His words. His words will be my undoing. The story he weaves about our love—I feel it too. My soul knows the refrain.

“Hunter, please. Inside me.” I need the distraction of him filling me, taking me, to complete this. To end this. To shut him out.

“Patience, love,” he says, and I have a memory shoot through me of the night we declared that we would be together forever.

How naive we were.

He reaches down to my weeping pussy and, with both hands, spreads my lips apart. The pure eroticism of the act has me shaking and moaning into the back of the couch.

“God, you are so beautiful. Your pussy is so beautiful. I’ll never get tired of seeing you spread out for me.” He licks me, tonguing my hole, then he licks up to the tight ring of my ass.

“Hunter!” I push my ass back into his face.

“This is my pussy, Winter,” he says in a tone I’ve never heard him take with me.

He slides a long finger into me, and tears leak from my eyes. He reaches another hand up, grasping my throat. When he squeezes, I see stars, and my breaths rasp in and out against the pressure.

“H,” I say through my restricted airway. I get an instant flash of the night Adam took me, but it’s quickly washed away when my senses register Hunter’s warmth. Hunter’s smell. Hunter’s presence radiating from behind me. I don’t feel fear.

I’m caught up in the whirlwind that is everything Hunter Brigham.

“Say it,” he says again, his voice ramping up.

“Say what?” I choke out.

“Say this pussy is mine.”

I hesitate, and he pulls his fingers from me and slaps his hand hard over my clit. I damn near fly off the couch at the move, and he presses his fingers back inside me, rubbing to soothe away the hurt and stoke my desire.

“Say it, Winter. Say, ‘this pussy belongs to you, Hunter.’”

I’m incoherent, overcome with lust and sorrow, which is the only reason I can think of as to why I pledge my body to this man.

“My pussy belongs to you, Hunter,” I pant out. I expect him to slam into me, to fuck me hard into the sofa until we both come. Instead, he moves his hand from my throat and cups his hand over my heart.

“Say, ‘my heart belongs to you, Hunter.’” When his tired voice cracks with the delivery of the words, I let out a choked sob.

I have no problem saying it because it’s true.

“My heart belongs to you, Hunter.”

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