Page 95 of Bloom

I shake my head—not quite a lie, not quite the truth.

He drops to kiss the crook of my neck, lips grazing my collarbone. “We should probably talk.”

“You don’t want to…” I swallow hard, tipping my head back to blink at the ceiling. “Do stuff?”

Strained laughter ghosts across my skin. I frown when I’m set on my feet, confused by Hunter’s pinched expression. I don’t protest when he takes my hand, not putting up an ounce of fight as he slips our laced fingers behind the unzipped front of his jeans, not doing anything other than focusing on pulling air into my lungs as hepulsesbeneath my palm.

“I wannado stuff, honey.” He rocks the proof against me, lips quirking when I make a strangled noise. “I’m just not sure you do. You tensed up on me.”

His hand retreats, but mine remains. Just for one, curious second, I marvel over the heat, the hardness, the size.

Jesus, thesize.

When Hunter makes a noise in the back of his throat, I snap out of it. I snatch my hand back, try to curl it around the hem of my shirt again, but Hunter’s there, taking it again, holding it in his. Squeezing comfortingly as I search for words that don’t make me sound pathetic and insecure and as so very inexperienced as I am.

I’m not sure, “You make me nervous,” accomplishes that, but it’s what comes out.

Ever-so-slightly, Hunter stiffens. “Uncomfortable kind of nervous?”

I shake my head, frowning and flushing and unsure how to explain it any more eloquently than, “You look at me and I get nervous.”

Hunter’s expression crumples. When he nods briskly and takes a step back, I slump. When he turns away from me, I drop my gaze, blowing out a breath so harsh and frustrated, it displaces the damp hair around my face.

Excellent work, Caroline. The first man who wants to touch you in years, and you scare him off by acting like a wimp. Great freaking job.

I don’t look up when Hunter takes my hand once more. I let him guide me towards the most stable looking wall in this ruined building, but I still don’t look up. When he flops onto the ground, though, he flops right into my line of sight, and I can’t avoid that crooked smile as he spreads those giant thighs and pats the ground between them, covered by a thin blanket he must’ve had in his saddle bag.

Hesitantly, I do as he silently asks. Not quitewherehe asks—near his feet, I lower myself onto my knees, squealing when I’m suddenly yanked and lifted and twisted, plopped back down facing away from him and coaxed to lean against his chest.

Gathering my hair away from my neck, Hunter deftly fixes it into a loose, messy braid. Lips pressed to my neck, he smooths his hands along my bare thighs until he’s cupping my knees. “Better?”

Without his gaze quite so unavoidablythere? I offer a jerky nod as I brace my palms against the muscular thighs caging me in, gripping him in a way that’s anything but gentle.

The way Hunter touches me is nothing but.

He eases me into another kiss, caressing my mouth open, tongue lightly tangling with mine before his teeth begin to nip, his tongue begins to lash, his hips begin to rock. When my breath becomes impossibly ragged, when my body goes limp, when I'm barely able to hold my own against the wanton cloud hazing my mind—that's when he tests my limits.

Teeth nipping at my bottom lip draw a whimper out of me. At the same time, he tugs on my shirt. “Can I take this off?”

I tense again, and that’s answer enough for him.

He doesn’t give me time to be mad at myself for wimping out again. Not when he so easily moves on, looping his thumb around my thong waistband and tugging in a way that makes my back arch instinctively. “What about these?”

The breath I suck in feels thick, viscous, like it has to fight to get into my lungs. When I hesitate, there’s no pressure from Hunter. He waits patiently, his hands stationary on my hips, his thready breaths tickling my neck and inciting a stirring sensation deep in my belly.

Not nerves. Something else. Something I want more of.

My nod is barely perceivable, but Hunter’s tut is loud and clear. “Words, honey.”

One word; that’s all I manage. All I need, luckily. “Yes.”

The satisfied noise he makes reverberates from his body through mine—the audible relief lodges itself beneath my skin.

He does it quickly. Taps my hips until I lift them off the ground enough for him to slip my panties off. Through hazy eyes, I watch the fabric slide down my legs, equal parts terrified and enthralled by the sight, too distracted to panic because of the lips laving my neck with attention, whispering sweet words I can’t make out over the erratic drumming of my pulse, but the praising encouragements soak into my skin regardless.

Gently, he coaxes my legs further apart and then, he’sthere. Cupping between my thighs. Swearing beneath his breath. Nipping my earlobe, my jaw, my shoulder.

Stroking. Spreading. Teasing.

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