Page 103 of Bloom

Well, it’s chosen to slip beneath the waistband of his boxers, and my fingertips graze the curve of a firm ass.

In my defense, I'm not the only one doing the sleep-groping. Actually, Hunter is doing double the groping. One hand is crushed between my ass and the bed, and the other spans the length of my underboob—both make my heart rate skyrocket.

I carefully try to wiggle free, a useless attempt that I know is going to fail, but I try anyway, just in case I can get out of this without waking Hunter. When it inevitably doesn’t work, I sigh.

“Hunter,” I whisper, and get no response. “Hunter.”

A long groan vibrates from his chest through mine, causing goosebumps to pebble my skin. Not quite waking up, he nuzzles my temple and groans again, murmuring my name as his grip on me tightens.

Hot.

Did I mention it's so freaking hot?

Once. Twice. Three times, he mutters my name in his almost-sleep, and each hikes up the temperature by a hundred degrees, each makes me squirm a little more. I’m not sure what’s happening, not really, not until fingers dig into my ass cheeks andpush,lifting my hips up to meet his as they buck, and something hard brushes between my thighs.

Oh my God.

My gasp is loud. Very loud. Loud enough to wake Hunter up for real.

He jolts. Stills. Stiffens.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Fuck, honey. I’m sorry.”

Sorry, he says, yet he doesn’t move a muscle.

I don’t want him to. It feels… good. Promising. Like it could be better, and I want to find out what better feels like.

The breath heating my scalp catches when slowly, slightly, I spread my legs a little wider. “Do it again.”

Hunter’s surprise is palpable, and I don’t blame him. Hell, I surprise myself. This isn’t like last time, when I could trick myself into thinking I had any control, when I could hide from him, when I didn’t have to see, only had to feel. This time, I’m the epitome of vulnerable. Completely exposed.

But I don’t care. My cheeks flame and my heart pounds, but I don’t care, because I really, really need him to move again. Before I cry or die or freaking combust, so unused to need like this that I don’t know what will happen if it’s not fulfilled.

For one horrible second, there’s silence. Palpable silence that makes me panic and prepare for rejection. And then, propping himself up on the forearm braced by my head, a guttural sound rumbling in his chest, Hunter does it again.

“Oh.”

His boxer briefs, my pajama shorts, they might as well not be there. The thin materials barely act as a barrier, allowing me to feel every hard inch—and God, are there a lot of inches—ofHunter as if there’s nothing separating us at all. As if he’s sliding through the rapidly growing wetness between my thighs bare. As if the blunt head of his erection nudges my clit bare. As if he’s moment away from burying himself inside of me, bare.

As if I'm moments away from letting him.

The squirming, moaning, limp pile of bones silently begging for more is unrecognizable to me. The nails scraping biceps the size of my head are mine, and the breathy gasps are scratching my throat, and the hips matching Hunter’s thrust for thrust are mine too, but I have no idea who I am right now. I have no idea what I’m doing, but it feels like I do.

It feels like Hunter likes it.

“Fuck, Line,” he hisses through gritted teeth—teeth he rakes down my throat. Steady, controlled strokes, that’s what he gives me, but the look in his eyes is anything but. It’s wild, a little freaking feral, and his muscles tremble beneath my palms, every one taut with restraint. “What the fuck are you doin’ to me?”

I’d ask the same question, if I was capable of forming words.

I didn’t know it could feel like this, something as simple as this. I didn’t know that freaking dry humping could make me want to crawl out of my skin in the very best way. Last time,God, last time was beyond describing, but this, this is different. This ismore.

And I have a sneaking, terrifying suspicion that it has everything to do with the hazel eyes locked firmly on mine.

It’s almost too much, and I think Hunter knows it because his gaze drops, zoning in on the painfully hard peaks straining against my pajama shirt. Yet another groan escapes him as he drops his head. Yet another moan escapes me as scorching hot lips wrap around my nipple, fabric be damned, and suckhard. We are a vacuum of unintelligible noises as Hunter laves my chest with attention and I arch off the bed, desperate to push more of myself into his mouth.

“I need to see you,” he begs, he honest to Godbegs. “Think I’m gonna die if I don’t see these pretty tits.”

It’s like that desperate whine grabs my self-consciousness and throws it out the window. The slightest affirmative jerk of my head is all it takes for Hunter to grab the hem of my top and yanks it upwards, fisting it around my collarbones and baring my breasts for his viewing pleasure. He swears, muttering a filthily sweet ‘so fuckin’ pretty’ before diving in with everything he has. “Wanna fuck these one day, honey.”

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