Page 111 of Bloom

Despite the thrill of pleasure that zips up my spine, I sit up, trying to catch my breath, to cool down, but actually achieving the opposite. Because sitting up leaves me sitting on his lap. Sitting on…him

Sitting on the large bulge straining against cotton.

With a surprised squeak I’m not proud of, I hastily move down—Ilookdown too, unable to help from gawking at the outline of him.

Jesus.

Nostrils flaring with every heavy breath, Hunter stares at the space between my spread legs thatthrobsunder his gaze. “On second thought,” his hands fall to my thighs, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip, “don’t really give a fuck.”

I’m shaking, every inch of me. So oversensitive beneath his fingertips, my skin burns as they dig into my inner thighs. Tracing slow circles, he moves higher and higher and higher until he slips beneath the loose fabric of my pajama shorts, and I know exactly where he’s heading next.

Impulsively, I grab his wrist to stop him. I move his hands away and place mine on his lower stomach, feeling muscles contracting beneath my palms. He’s always doing stuff for me—tome. It’s his turn, right?

Trembling just a little, my fingers graze the waistband of his shorts. I meet his gaze, his hooded, dark gaze, and it emboldens me to pull the fabric down just enough for him to spring free.

And then, poof. My intended offer goes up in flames because that isnotfitting in my mouth. That’s not fitting inside of me,period. I’m not even sure I could wrap my hand around it, let alone anything else.

A hand on my lower back keeps me steady as Hunter sits up. Rock hard where he digs into my stomach, he’s utterly soft everywhere else, tender as he brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “Don’t have to do anythin’, honey.”

I swallow hard. “You don’t want…”

“Didn’t say that,” he grumbles mirthfully, strained but patient. “I don’t want you doin’ anythin’ because you think you have to. I meant it when I said I didn’t come out here for that.”

“Right.” I swallow again. I can’t stoplooking. Despite the nerves, despite the intimidation—a whole lot of intimidation to match a whole lot ofcock—I’m… curious. I keep thinking about what he said, about not being able to stay quiet, and I want… well I kind of want to put that to the test.

Okay.Okay.

Releasing a shaky breath, I rasp, “Show me what you like?”

Hunter breathes hard through his nose.

He hesitates—giving me a chance to back out, I think—before taking me by the wrist. Bringing my hand up, he holds it, palm-up, in front of my mouth. “Spit, baby.”

As if I’m in a trance, I do it, flushing bright red when Hunter does the same. Murmured praise is my reward and it warms me from the inside out, going straight between my thighs as my hand goes straight between Hunter’s. The first brush of hot skin makes my breath hitch. My grip tightens instinctively, and Hunter hisses through his teeth—a good hiss, I confirm when his hand, wrapped around mine, squeezes tighter too.

As he guides me through leisurely strokes, my gaze falls again, and I find out I was right. I can’t wrap my hand around him—my fingers don’t quite touch. The sight is as ridiculous as it is erotic, and I can’t help from clenching around nothing, from whispering, “You’re really big.”

Hunter’s head drops to my shoulder, a groan rattling his ribcage as he throbs beneath my palm, and our long strokes become shorter, quicker, harder. He likes when I talk, I realize. Like how I like when he does.

If there’s anything I know how to do, it’s talk.

“You think…” I breathe hard, almost as hard as him. “You think I’ll be able to take it?”

The sound that rips out of Hunter is purely feral. I feelteethgraze my shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark without breaking the skin. “Gonna stretch you out for sure, honey.”

And then his fingers are doing just that, slipping inside me easily and matching my frantic pace, making me whimper as desperately as I make him moan. Lips skim my throat, my chin, and then we’re kissing in a sloppy mutual effort to stay quiet.

It’s our thumbs that do it; a hard press of his against my clit, a swipe of mine over the head of his cock, and we crumble together, swallowing each other's sounds, making a mess of each other.

God, does he make a mess of me. I feel it on my hands, on my stomach, the hot, sticky proof that he came as hard as I did—an odd source of pride for me. For him, too. He certainly looks proud as he sits back on his palms, as out of breath as I’ve ever seen him, and cocks his head, andstares. Smiles. Nods sharply, just once, before tucking two clean fingers beneath the band of my bra and tugging me forward to mouth against my cheek, “I like you a whole fuckin’ lot, Caroline.”

It’s entirely possible that Iglow. “That good, hm?”

“Yeah, pretty girl.” He smiles wider, all teeth and charm. “That good.”

33

He watches her sleep for too long to be considered sane.

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