Page 97 of Bloom

“No.” His smile is nothing short of wicked. “Maybe later, though.”

I left my panties in Hell.

A sobering realization to have when you’re astride a galloping horse, thirty minutes from home, and your jeans start rubbing in weird places. Amusing too, though, and I laughed about it when we made it back to the barn and I dismounted Aster. Now, though, I’m not amused. Not entirely sober, either.

I’m drunk off a high that never seems to end, a high caused by the fingers thrusting between my thighs, the skilled man expertly using them.

With my hands lost in his hair, I’m not sure if I’m trying to pull Hunter away from my chest, or hold him there. If I want the mouth wrapped around my nipple, the man fisting my top around my collarbones, to stop, or to never. I get my answer when Hunter retreats, and I whine at the loss.

Unwrapping my legs from around his waist, he sets me on my feet. I slump against the barn, its peeling red paint itching whatever bare skin it touches, but I’m too preoccupied to really notice, too focused on the man dropping to his knees and dragging my jeans down enough so he can…

Tightening my grip on his hair, I stop him. “I've never…”

I trail off, avoiding eye contact, not exactly a fan of once again admitting how utterly inexperienced I am. Through no fault but my own—it was me who never wanted to let Jackson go down on me, who was too self-conscious. I still am, but some of it ebbs when I reluctantly meet a borderline feral, possessive gaze that knocks the breath from my lungs.

Hunter might be struggling with the concept of breathing too because his exhale is shaky. “You tellin’ me no one’s ever had their mouth on this pussy?”

My knees threaten to buckle as I shake my head. When his gaze drops and hestareswith a look akin to that of a starved man, it’s truly a miracle I don’t pass out.

“Oh, honey,” he croons, palming my ass, pulling my hips towards him, one move away from all but burying his face between my thighs. “Please let me be the first.”

How,how, am I supposed to do anything other than whine like a freaking dog in heat when faced with words like that, coupled with a pleading, desperate expression that’s flush with all kinds of desire I truly didn't think myself capable of inspiring?

Shuffling my feet a little further apart, I practically serve myself up on a freaking silver platter. There’s not enough room in my brain for shame or overthinking; there’s only need. Red hot, all-consuming need forhim.

Hunter doesn’t leave me hanging,suffering, for long. Doesn’t give me time to lament over the undignified position of being out in the open with my jeans around my knees, my panties lost. No,he proves he’s just as eager as I am by spreading my legs as much as he can, and groaning at the sight that greets him.

“Fuck, baby.” Hot breath tickles my sensitive skin, his tongue flicking my clit so lightly yet I feel it so sharply. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

Squeezing my goose-bumped flesh, Hunter smiles up at me, soft and encouraging, but laced with a hint of something downright devious. “Tell me if you don't like somethin’, okay?”

I'm barely capable of speaking, but I manage, spurred on by the terrifying thought that if I take too long to answer, he'll stop. “Okay.”

Once again, he doesn't give me time to think, and God, am I grateful for that. Thinking is my worst enemy. Thinking only hinders me, time and time again. Thinking would inevitably ruin what quickly becomes the best moment of my life when Hunter shows me exactly what I've been missing out on all these years.

“Oh my God.” I moan loudly at the first incessant stroke of his tongue. Too loudly. I know I have to be quiet. I know someone could easily hear us. I know that, any minute now, someone could stumble upon us, see what he's doing to me.

But Hunter's tongue does a whole lot to diminish my ability to give a crap.

In less than a minute, he figures out what I like, quicker than I do. He learns that I like, no,love, whatever the hell his tongue is doing to my clit. I love when his fingers dig into my skin, clutching with a certain kind of dizzying ferocity. I love the scratch of his beard against my inner thighs.

Most of all, though, I love when his eyes occasionally flit up to meet mine so I can see just how much he loves it all too.

I clamp a hand over my mouth while the other grapples for balance, practically pulling Hunter’s hair out when he slips two fingers inside of me and the sloppy sound of his thrusting digits fills the air, but he doesn’t complain. In fact, my tight grip isrewarded by a scrape of his teeth against my clit, a move that would send me to the floor if not for Hunter holding me up.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, I'm close. So freaking close. Right there on the edge, but I can't quite seem to get over. It's like I'm missing something. Like I need more.

As though he can read my mind, or maybe he just senses my frustration, Hunter pulls away, licking his glossy lips as he crooks a brow at me. “You need more, honey?”

Another frantic nod.

“You need me to talk to you, right?” he continues, embodying his emotion of the day—smug. “Need to hear how good you're doin’. So good, honey. Taste so fuckin’ good. Damn near makin’ me come in my fuckin’ jeans and you're not even touchin’ me.”

My breath leaves me with a series of sobs, my nails scraping his scalp, my hips writhing and jerking uncontrollably. A third finger splays me open and I cry out, the high-pitched sound such a contrast to Hunter's grumble. “You imaginin’ that's my cock honey?”

Well, now I freaking am.

“I am.” Fingers thrust so impossibly deep as he sucks my clithard. “Gonna be a real tight fit, honey, but I know you can take it. Every inch.”

---