Page 98 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
He looks at me, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “I’m too exhausted to party, but I wanted to see you. So I came.”
My heart does something complicated in my chest. “Hunter...”
“I know. I know this is all fake and temporary and whatever. But I missed you this week. I missed coming home to you.”
I should tell him to stop. Should remind him of the rules we set, the boundaries we agreed on. Instead, I lean closer, my hand finding his chest.
“I missed you too.”
The admission hangs between us, heavy with implications we’re both trying to ignore. His eyes drop to my mouth, and I know I should move away. I should go to my room and pretend this moment never happened.
Instead, I lean closer.
“Juliet.” His voice is rough, warning.
“I know,” I whisper. “I know this is a complicated situation. But I don’t care right now.”
When he moves to get up, probably to escape to his room and maintain what’s left of our professional arrangement, I make a choice. I lean forward and kiss him.
It’s supposed to be soft, testing. A question more than a statement. But the moment our lips touch, something ignites. He makes a soft moan in the base of his throat and his hands find my face, holding me like I might disappear.
We’re kissing like we’re drowning, like this is air and we’ve been holding our breath for weeks. His mouth is warm and demanding, and when his tongue slides against mine, I forget why this is a bad idea.
“Fuck yes, Hux. Oh, I love how you kiss me.” I climb onto his lap without thinking and straddle him. My hands tremble as I kiss him the way I’ve wanted to for months. Hunter groans against my lips, his hands sliding down to grip my hips. I can feel how much he wants this, wants me, and it makes me dizzy with power.
“Fuck, Juliet,” he breathes against my neck, his mouth hot on my skin. “You’re going to kill me.”
I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging slightly. “Good.”
His laugh is rough. “You enjoy torturing me?”
“Definitely.” I give him a cheeky smile.
We’re pulling at each other’s clothes, desperate and clumsy with want. His shirt hits the floor and I run my hands over his chest, marveling at the solid warmth of him. When he tugs my top over my head, I feel exposed but not vulnerable. Not with him looking at me like I’m something precious.
I’m wearing a lacy baby pink bra that I wore just on the off chance that he might see it tonight.
“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands skimming up my sides.
I want to deflect, to make a joke, but the way he’s looking at me steals my words. He means it. Like he’s been thinking about it for a while.
“I’m horny,” I admit softly. “I thought about you a lot while you were gone.”
“Oh yeah?” Hunter ghosts his fingers over my collarbone. “And just what was on your dirty little mind, Monroe?”
I laugh breathlessly. “You don’t stop, do you? Your mouth is filthy.”
His grin is pure sin. “Filthy enough to make you wet just listening.”
My face heats but I don’t look away from his smoldering blue-gray gaze. Before speaking, I bite my lip and say, “This.” “I imagined the heat between us if we could ever shut the fuck up for ten seconds.”
He sinks his fingers into my hair, tugging to expose my neck before he runs a trail of kisses from just below my ear to the joint of my shoulder. I close my eyes, tilting my head more, encouraging him with a sultry groan.
Hunter’s hard cock presses against me. I can feel it through his thin pants. I drop my hand to brush the front of his package and he makes a pained sound.
He needs this as much as I do.
I cup his dick through his sweatpants, my fingers trailing over him. I stop when I feel something even harder. A piercing? Does Hunter have his cock pierced? Oh, my god.
