Page 165 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“We haven’t changed yet.” I arch a brow, moving into the bedroom. “You haven’t eaten either.”
“Oh, I’m about to eat.” A wicked smile settles on his lips.
“You’re awful.”
“You love it, though.”
He stands in the bedroom doorway, tie half-unknotted, jaw tight, shirt already untucked from his slacks. There’s a wall of exhaustion in his posture, but his eyes burn with that wolfish, impossible heat.
“Off,” he says, chin tilting at the midnight-blue dress I wore tonight. “Now.”
I hesitate just to see if I can provoke him. I drag the zipper down my side slowly, letting the fabric peel away from my skin in increments. His gaze doesn’t waver, not even when my bra slides off. I stand there, half-naked, thighs flushed with nerves. He watches as I wiggle out of my panties, a little lacey thing that I wore specifically because I knew that he likes them so much.
Hunter steps forward, closing the distance in two strides. He smells of expensive whiskey and aftershave. Something wild and unruly and uniquely him. He doesn’t touch me right away. Instead, he gestures at the bed.
“Sit.”
I do, perched at the edge with my knees tight together, trying to decide if I’m more exposed like this or standing up. He bends, retrieves a slim rectangular box from his duffel bag, and sets it in my lap.
“What is this?” I ask, voice small.
“Open it,” he says. “You’ll need it tonight.”
I tear the tissue-wrapped paper, hands shaking a little, and reveal a pink clitoral vibe with a ridiculous white bow on top. The shape is familiar. It’s a soft, silicone teardrop, clearly high-end, nothing like the cheap vibrating bullets from college.
“I—” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. “You bought this for me?”
“I was hard as fuck the entire time I was on the site. Just imagining you clenching while you use one of these…”
He sits on the bed beside me, still in his suit pants and dress shirt, and plucks the vibe from the box. He turns it on and drops a kiss on my shoulder. There’s a gentle whirring hum, just enough to make my thighs tense.
“Have you ever used one, Juliet?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Good. You want to please me, don’t you?” He grabs my face and stares at me. “I can tell. You want to be a good girl. Do this for me, Firecracker.”
He used my nickname, and the sound rolling off his lips is fucking intoxicating. I nod again, my mouth dry.
I want to be whatever he wants. Whatever he needs.
“Lie down,” he says. His voice is still even, though my heart is bucking wildly in my chest.
I obey, scooting back onto the mattress, feeling my heart beat in my throat. I expect him to pounce, to put his hands all over me, but he doesn’t. He just sits there watching, the vibe in his palm.
“Hands above your head,” he says. When I hesitate, he adds, “If you can’t follow simple directions, Monroe, I’ll tie you up.”
I comply, fingers clutching the headboard, every muscle taut with anticipation. Hux leans down and kisses me softly. My nipples pebble in anticipation. The kiss sends a wave of heat curling down my spine, where it pools and settles between my thighs. I clench them.
He hands me the vibe and says softly, “You know how to use it. But you need to keep your hands where I can see them.”
I nod, desperate to please, desperate for him to approve of me.
“Good girl,” he says. The words make me blush so hard I can feel it all the way down my chest. “Open your legs wide for me, Monroe. I want to see you touching yourself.”
I swallow and put the vibrator between my legs, but he stops me.
“Play with your nipples first. Use the vibe, sweetheart.”
