Page 160 of Marks of Rebellion
He spins and lays me on the bed, hovering over my body. "I need you first, Flower."
The warmth of his torso lightly grazes my skin. I trace my fingers over his V and into his pants, stroking his cock.
My skin lights up with tingles as his lips move across my jaw, down my neck, then onto my breasts.
"I dreamed of your lips and how you touch me," I admit.
He brings his mouth back to mine, nourishing my soul and piecing parts of me back together. And his kisses take me to the place I never thought I'd feel again—the perfection of us.
The sound of the waves crashing against the boat ricochet through the night air. A breeze blows into the room, but all I feel is Hunter's warm flesh and muscle.
"I use to watch you hold your hand out," he murmurs against my lips.
"I wanted to feel you."
"I'd hold my hand out and pretend I was touching you."
"You did?"
"Yes, every time." He shimmies down my body, igniting every cell I thought was dead and buried and would never come alive again.
"Oh..." I moan from the flick of his tongue and pressure of his lips.
He brushes his thumbs on my arm, and I grip his head, arching my lower body into his face.
"I missed you...oh...so much," I cry out.
His response is to grip my hips, lick faster, and suck harder, guiding and pushing me into a fiery explosion of adrenaline. And it gushes through my veins and rejuvenates the light that darkened within me.
He claims me, moving up my body, taking control of my every want, need, and desire, reinforcing my faith that he is all I require.
I push his pants off him, cup his chiseled face, and stare into the golden-brown eyes that plagued my memories for months. "I love you."
He slides his arms under my body and weaves his fingers through my hair. "You're my soul, Flower."
Lust and love are powerful, but mix them, and you have a potent concoction of perfection. And that's what Hunter is. An undeniable, unimaginable, sexy vessel of a sinner and saint, and he's unattainable to everyone but me.
He is mine, and I am his.
And now that Carlos is dead, no one will ever keep me away from him again.
"I don't ever want to be away from you again."
"You won't. Never again, Flower."
Kissing him never quenches the bubbling in my veins and stirring in my gut. It only stokes it higher, and when I deepen our kiss, he enters me.
"I missed the smell of your skin," he murmurs, then sticks his tongue back in my mouth.
The flesh of his cock ripples along my walls as he thrusts deeper and faster, filling me and making me feel whole and one with him.
Hunter Ward is my salvation. He's my stars and moon and brighter than every red hibiscus he ever collected to let me know he was there.
"Oh God...so...oh...Hunter!"
"Say it again." He pounds harder into me.
"H-Hunter!"
