Page 140 of Bloom

Resolution settling in my gut, I carefully pack the flower away. I murmur Hunter’s name. As he turns, I take a step towards him, and another, and they feel like therightsteps. And, in a move that I’m sure I’ll come to be embarrassed about in the not-so-distant future, I throw myself at him, and I kiss him.

“It’s late,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t stop kissing me.

My head jerks in agreement, but I don’t stop kissing him either. “Uh-huh.”

His lips leave mine to drag along my jaw, teeth scraping my skin. “We should get some sleep.”

My eyes flutter shut as he sucks on the sensitive skin above my fluttering pulse. “Sure.”

“A lot happened tonight.”

That makes me pull away for a moment, to catch my breath, to collect my thoughts. He’s right. A lot has happened.

A lot that I only want to deal with tomorrow.

I back up a step. I breathe deep. I stumble over my words as I shed my tank top, but I manage to rasp, “I just want to feel loved right now.”

My top barely hits the ground before Hunter follows suit, gripping his t-shirt by the nape and tugging it over his head in one swift movement. Before I lose my nerve, I wriggle out of my shorts, shivering as his eyes rake over me, at the bob of his throat as he swallows loudly. The sound of his belt sliding free is downright pornographic, the rasp of his zipper being undone making goosebumps pebble across my skin.

While he’s distracted kicking the denim aside, I struggle out of my sports bra as gracefully as possible, and when his gaze lands on me again, he takes a jerky step forward—involuntary, almost, hands clenched at his sides. Hands that unfurl slowly, that move to the waistband of his underwear and tug them down, down,down.

My mouth goes dry. My bones disintegrate when Hunter fists the steadily hardening appendage between those thick thighs, one harsh tug making my head go fuzzy. Considering I’m not sure my hands would obey if I told them to move, it’s a good thing he steps forward and rasps, “Let me.”

At my nod, he hooks his fingers around my panties, rubbing the cotton between his fingertips. “Still have that other pair,” he murmurs, staring at the fabric like he’s trying to burn it off my body with the power of his gaze alone. “From the barn. Remember that?”

When my lips won’t form the words, I hope the breathy noise I make conveys that yes, I do remember. Vividly. How could I possibly forget?

“I think about it a lot. Too much. Even when I try not to ‘cause it doesn’t feel right, not with you being mad at me.” He fists my panties, pulling them taut in a way that makes me gasp, and stoops to eye-level. “You still mad at me?”

Right now? Not particularly. But something in his voice, something in his face, something inmepossesses me to nod.

Hunter kisses his teeth and shakes his head—a self-reprimand, I think. “I can make it better. Know I can.”

Big, calloused hands slip beneath my panties and cup my ass, and I squeal as he hoists me up. In just as smooth a movement, he drops me on the dining table that’s barely long enough to accommodate me as he pushes me to lie on my back, looming over me in the next second.

“Please.” He kisses my neck, my sternum, the swell of my breast. “Please, honey, let me make it better.”

One moment of thought, one jerky nod, and then my panties are gone, his face is between my thighs, and I’m bowing off the table, crying out. My hands wind tightly in his hair, an attempt to ground myself that doesn’t really work because embarrassingly quickly, I’m there. All it takes is his a few leisurely licks, his beard abrading my thighs, his lips wrapping around my clit andsuckingfor me to go off like a firework.

Still, he doesn’t stop, and I don’t want him to. When he comes up for air and lowly asks if I’m still mad, I nod furiously.

Though I’m not sure my noodle of a spine can support me, I let Hunter drag me upright. I let a hand on my thigh push one leg as wide as it can go, let him lift the other to place my foot on the table, baring me so I couldn’t possibly hide, and I can’t possibly be embarrassed either because I don’t have the mental capacity for it. I just stretch an arm out behind me for extra support—though, that’s dangerously shaky too—andlet him.

Working in tandem with his mouth, one finger slips inside me, then two, then three, and God, that’s a stretch, but it’s so good and I need it, I know I need it, because I know where this is going and Hunter does too, he’s getting me ready. So skillfully, he quickly brings me to orgasm again, and I can’t hold myselfup anymore—I fall back on my elbows, practically screaming, surprised I don’t start levitating when still, he doesn’t relent.

My head rolls to one side so I can squint at him through watery eyes. I find him staring back, watching me, and somehow, I know he’s been watching me the whole time, and that makes me flush, makes me hot, makes me feel so verygood. Even better when he drags a third orgasm out of me, a slower, gentle one, a lovely one that makes me feel boneless and sated.

I smile at the ceiling, smile against Hunter’s mouth when he crawls over me, kisses me, tastes like me.

“Still mad?” he asks, and I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, and cling as he stands and carries me to the bedroom.

“What if I am?”

“Then I still have some work to do.”

“Then I’m furious.”

He laughs as he lays me gently on the bed. Looming over me, he dips to drop a kiss to my cheek, right over the butterfly stitches. “I love you.”

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