Page 110 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
His lips twitch. “Juliet, you just came on my lap. I think you can touch me if you want to.”
I bite my lip, smiling shyly. My palm finds the hard length of him through those sinful sweatpants, shaping his massive cock, and he groans like I’ve hurt him in the best possible way. When I explore his pierced tip with my thumb, he groans.
“Jesus Christ, Juliet.”
I slip my hand into his waistband, exploring his cock. Hunter’s fingers cover mine as he sets a fast tempo. I want to pull his cock out so I can see the damn thing, especially the metal piercing that runs through the head of his dick. But I’m not sure he’d be into my scientific curiosity, so I move my hand in the rhythm he’s set.
“Talk to me, Monroe,” Hunter whispers. He knots his fingers in my hair, dragging his top teeth across his full bottom lip. “Tell me what you think about when you’re in bed, all alone and horny.”
“Lately?” I suck in a breath. “You. How you smell. How big your hands are. The feeling of kissing you. How big your cock probably is…” I smile sheepishly. “I spend a lot of time imagining how it would feel if you fucked me.”
“Fuck, Juliet.”
I kiss him hard, my hand moving faster, flicking the metal barbell each time I work my hand along his cock. “Mmm, you’re so hard. Is that for me?”
“Fucking right it is,” he growls. His breathing gets ragged; his control slips. There’s something intoxicating about being the one to reduce him to this.
When he comes, he says my name like a prayer, and I feel powerful in a way I never have before.
After, we sit there breathing hard, trying to process what just happened. His lips had my lipstick smeared across them. My hair is a mess.
I should feel embarrassed or regretful or something. Shouldn’t I?
Instead, I feel electric. Alive in a way I haven’t been in years.
Hunter doesn’t say much, but I can tell by the way he looks at me, steady and possessive and almost proud, that he knows he gave me something no one else ever has.
I have only been with Patrick, and he never got me off. Not with my shorts on, not buck naked, not in five long, lonely years.
Hunter seems proud that my ex couldn’t make me come the way he just did. That he could. He’s not gloating exactly, but it’s there in the way he watches me. Quiet satisfaction mixed with something deeper.
“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, sweeping my dark curls from my temple. “Juliet? Look at me.”
Face red as a beet, I peek up at him. “I got kind of carried away.”
“Are you kidding?”
I squint at him. “No?”
“Monroe.” He grips my hips again. “I think we’ve both wanted this since college.”
That’s news to me. My eyes narrow. “I thought you said I wasn’t the type of girl guys went for. I wastoo uptight.”
“I said that, didn’t I?” A low laugh snakes from his throat. “That’s what you tell anyone who’s sniffing around the girl you like. You tell them she’s not the hottest thing you’ve ever laid eyes on and hope that your lying tongue doesn’t rot out of your mouth.”
My mouth drops open. I’m flustered, not just that he said it, but that it wasn’t even how he really felt. I ball up a fist and pound it on his chest.
“You are horrible! You know that the guy you said it to ended up publishing your hateful words in the newspaper?” I smack him again for good measure. “One of my internship offers got pulled because the boss read your words and decided that your opinion meant more than my several-weeks-long interview process.”
“What?” Hunter has the decency to look a little chagrined. “I’m sorry, Juliet. I was just trying to keep that dude from figuring out that you were…”
He trails off. I smack him again. “I was what?”
“You were perfect.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Again, I’m really sorry.”
What the hell am I supposed to say to that? I look at him, not really knowing what the proper thing to say is.
Thanks? I still hate you? I thought you were dreamy in college, too?
