Page 27 of Aim for Love

“You look thirsty.” Hunter offers me some water.

I’ve never been this parched. I sit up and gulp it. I eye him over the top of the bottle, there on his knees in front of me. He’s taken off his glasses and he stares back at me, intent on his project. Waiting for me to be ready.

“You gotta hydrate,” he murmurs.

When I reach for him, intending to map him in return, he shakes his head and asks if he can remove one of my layers. My fingers tremble when I hand the water bottle back.

He unbuttons my jeans and slides them down my legs gently, and the rough denim feels like sandpaper scratching across my overly sensitized skin. I crave his touch at this point. I ache for it.

I’ve had hook-ups where I felt embarrassed when I took off my clothes, uncertain of my curvy body or my body hair routine. Not with Hunter. There is no judgment in his touch, just a hunger to learn. When he runs his fingers up my thighs, he takes in their contour without shame. This is my body; this is the scenic route he takes to see more of me.

When he touches me, running his palms up over my calves, my knees, my thighs, there’s a gush of warmth at my core. Holy shit, I’m not sure I’ve ever been this ready for someone before they’ve ever touched me there. Imagining Hunter’s fingers thrust inside me makes me close my eyes and moan. I stretch myarms up above my body and luxuriate in the fact this man knows how to orienteer my body. When was the last time I didn’t have to lead a man by the hand to the places that would make me scream for him? I thought that was simply the burden of being a woman: having to draw a map for every man I slept with. Now, here is Hunter, drawing a map without help from me. Finding his way to places I hadn’t even thought to show him.

Hunter spreads my legs and rubs up my inner thighs, over my pantied mound, tickling the sides of my belly, then over my bra-covered breasts again. Sessioning me. Running the same—what did they call the rock formations in the trail?—featuresto gain familiarity and figure out a plan for success.

I’m dying to know Hunter’s plan for my breasts. And elsewhere.

“Can we…” I pluck at my bra, wanting to take it off. Hunter helps me, reaching around my back to unhook it. He does it so easily, his nimble fingers working the bra like he would any other gear. Then the cool air hits my bare breasts and I shiver.

“Cold?” he asks.

“Your hands are warm.”

So he covers my breasts with them. Now he knows the shape of them, the gentle slopes and valley between. He traces lines up and down and blows on their highest elevation, making pebbles of my nipples. He tugs on the peaks, making sparks shoot down my body to my toes.

He helps me lift my hips to pull my panties down, and at last scoots me up the bed so my feet are no longer on the floor. Then he turns to mapping new terrain—the folds between my legs. He doesn’t need a guide there, either. He nuzzles into me, parts my flesh with his fingers, and doesn’t hesitate.

Only in my wildest dreams did I imagine Hunter using his tongue to trace my core, taking the scenic route up and down over my clit before dipping deep inside. Something gives way forhim, my hips straining to press into his hold, my core calling out for more.

“Fuck,” I gasp, and put my hands on his shoulders which are still fully dressed. I push on his shirt, blindly demanding in my eagerness for skin against skin, and Hunter relents and pulls back to undress.

He undresses, revealing bulging biceps and shoulders cut like granite. I knew Hunter was fit, from his job and his lifestyle. His muscles aren’t from the gym. He has a soft belly but sculpted thighs. His cock, hard and strong as the rest of him, bobs in my direction when he takes off his boxer briefs.

He comes to me when I reach for him with both hands, greedy for him. I slide my hands over his body, knowing I’m not skilled enough—or patient enough—to learn him the way he did me. Not right now. Not when I’m leaking all over his bed from the need to have him between my legs.

Combing my hands through his loose hair as it falls over his shoulder, something animalistic takes over and I arch my back, pulling his head down to my breast. He laves my nipple, his hair tickling me. I take fists full of it. I part my legs as wide as I can and the tip of his cock almost slips inside of me.

Finally, Hunter takes mercy on me and gets a condom from his nightstand. “Are you ready?” he asks. He climbs up my geography and holds himself over me, braced on both hands.

“I can’t wait any longer,” I moan, raising my knees up around his hips.

When he enters me, it’s what I imagine summiting a mountain must be like. I gasp a deep breath and open for him, ready for this new adventure.

Hunter is as ready as I am, spearing me deeply with his hard length. We rut together, finding our rhythm, sweat gliding between our skin. The angles of his body above, against, inside mine are miraculous. We are perfect together.

He reaches between us and rubs my clit, and that’s all it takes for me to take off, soaring above our bodies for one out-of-body moment of climax. While I’m there, I watch Hunter come inside my body, his face a mask of bliss.

He collapses on top of me for only a moment before he hops up and runs away naked. I blink around in confusion and he’s back quickly with a washcloth and a flannel robe that he helps me into. He directs me to the bathroom and then curls around me, tucking the robe close around my legs, and holding me as I enjoy the remnants of my orgasm.

“You OK?” he murmurs against the back of my neck. I nod, shivering as his whiskers rub my neck. He tucks the plaid blanket on his bed closer around me, and then I stare at the map tacked to Hunter’s wall as he starts to snore behind me.

Well,shit. I can’t ignore the way Hunter revealed so much of who he is during sex, nor the way pieces of me connected to pieces of him as more thanjustsex. We fit together. I didn’t expect that. He was like a puzzle piece that completed my map. And the aftercare—the way he made sure I was comfortable, warm and clean after—was a big part of that.

I can’t deny it now. This man is more than a summer fling for me.

eleven

HUNTER

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