Page 124 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
He circles my clit with his thumb, pressing hard. When my inner muscles tremble, he senses it, slamming harder. “You gonna come for me, Monroe?”
I’m already there. I come again, mouth open in a silent scream, my body shaking so hard I nearly lose my grip on the sheets.
He finishes with a grunt, spilling into the condom and pulling me down beside him, all heat and sweat and ragged breathing. We’re a mess, tangled in broken furniture and each other’s limbs, neither one of us willing to move for a long minute.
He eventually props himself on his elbows, looking down at me with a crooked, exhausted smile. “You okay?”
I nod, unable to speak.
He kisses my cheek, then slides out and yanks off the condom, tossing it toward the trash. He flops back onto the floor, pulls me on top of him, and just holds me there, my head on his chest, his heartbeat pounding like a drum line.
I feel drunk. Boneless. Every nerve in my body is singing. I can’t stop fucking smiling.
Eventually he stirs, but it’s only to go down on me again, this time with even more focus. His tongue is relentless, his fingers steady and firm, finding a spot inside me that makes my entire body clench. He doesn’t stop, even when I beg him to, even when I’m shaking and oversensitive and on the verge of tears.
“Safe word?” he mutters into my flesh.
I open my mouth, knowing that I won’t say it. Shaking my head vehemently, I let out an incomprehensible string of vowels.
He keeps going until I shatter, a bolt of hot pleasure tearing through me. My body gives a hard, involuntary spasm. I feel a rush of wetness soaking his face and the ruined mattress beneath us.
My entire body heats. “What– what was–?”
Hunter puts his mouth on my pussy and makes a horrifying slurping noise, burying his face against my skin until I squirm. He groans again when he lets me go. “Fuck, Monroe. Do you usually squirt?”
“No!” I reach for the blanket, needing some sort of cover. “Oh mygod, Hunter. I’m so humiliated!”
“Really? You shouldn’t be.” He grabs my thighs and licks my slit again. “I’ve never been so hard in my fucking life.”
“You’re insane!” I gasp, trying to get away. “It’s… gross!”
“Nah. Watch how much I love it.” He groans in satisfaction, licks me clean, then kisses me hard, letting me taste myself on his lips. I shiver.
“I can’t believe you like that.” I cover my face, mortified. “And I think I broke your bed. I’m the worst fake fiancée ever.”
He laughs, low and proud. “This is the best fucking morning of my life. CookiesandJuliet fucking Monroe came so hard she squirted on my damn face? Hashtag blessed.”
“You’re awful.” I wrinkle my nose, pushing at his chest.
“You like it,” Hunter says easily. “I’m pretty sure that I’m close to getting you hooked.”
I should feel embarrassed, or at least cautious. But all I feel is high. I bury my face against his neck and drag in his burnt vanilla and tobacco leaf scent.
No one has had me like this. Not Patrick, not anyone. I have never even let myself have me like this.
Maybe Hunter will tire of me eventually, like everyone else. Probably. But right now, I am alive. Right now, I am wanted.
Right now, I feel like I am enough.
Chapter27
Hunter
The ice feels different tonight. Not the surface itself, that’s perfect as always, but something in the air. Electric. Like the building knows this game matters more than the others.
We’re facing Sacramento again, the same team that made me lose my shit before. The same enforcer, Marcus Kane, who knows exactly which buttons to push. I can see him warming up on the other end of the rink, throwing glances my way like he’s already planning his next psychological warfare campaign.
Asshole.
