Page 58 of Because I Liked A Boy
The words ripple through me, filthy and certain. My hands fist in the sheets, every nerve straining toward him as his mouth works lazily against me, teasing, testing, making me unravel without ever skin to skin.
He kisses me again, lips hard against the cotton, pressure sharp enough to make me whimper.
Before I can respond, his fingers hook at the edge of my panties. Slow. Deliberate. He doesn’t peel them off just slides the fabric to the side, baring me to his mouth.
Cool air hits me, and then he leans in, so close his nose brushes my bare, aching cunt. He drags it up the length of me, slow and deliberate, inhaling deep like he’s memorising my scent.
My body jolts, every nerve sparking white-hot.
Holy fuck. Holy fuck. My mind screams, wild and desperate. He’s not just kissing me, not just teasing he’s breathing me in, worshipping me with every inhale.
Hunter groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my skin. “God damn, princess. You smell like sin.” His tongue flicks out once, lazy, just enough to make me cry out, before he noses at me again, greedy, filthy, reverent.
I can’t think. I can’t breathe. The only thought left in my head is his mouth, his scent, his voice and how completely he owns me in this moment.
Surrendered
I’m fucked. The thought hits me like a punch as Hunter drags his nose up the length of me, slow and deliberate, breathing me in like I’m something he can’t live without. Every nerve ignites. My mind reaches for something solid and finds nothing.
Holy fuck.
My hips twitch up, begging for more, and he groans, filthy and low against my skin. The vibration alone steals my breath.
His thumb finds my clit and circles, rough and steady. My thighs clamp around his shoulders before I can think. The world narrows to the press of him.
“Hunter—” It rips out of me, half cry, half moan.
“Don’t think,” he murmurs into the hollow of my thigh, voice wrecked. “Just feel.”
Then he pushes a finger inside me. Thick, sure, filling me so fast my back arches off the mattress. He curls, slow and exact, and another sound tears free, raw and disbelieving.
“Jesus, princess,” he breathes, curling deeper. “So tight.”
He stills to check me, his forehead against my skin. “Talk to me. Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Don’t stop.”
Relief and hunger flicker through him. He slides out almost to the tip and presses back in, his thumb never leaving my clit. The rhythm is careful at first, precise enough to feel like worship.
My hands knot in the sheets. Every pass hits that spot and squeezes a noise from me I don’t recognise. He glances up, sweat dampening his brow, eyes burning.
“Still good?” he asks.
I nod, breath catching into a sob. “Yes. God, yes.”
He groans, something breaking in his chest. “Good girl.” His voice runs tight, like he’s the one barely holding on. “You don’t know how much I love hearing you say yes.”
A second finger presses in beside the first, stretching me around him. The fullness makes my hips jerk. The sound I make is animal, not pretty, just honest. Loud. Messy. Desperate.
His thumb circles faster, relentless. “Fuck, princess,” he mutters. “You take me so good. Tight for my fingers.”
He drives them deeper and harder, curling to find me each time. The pace builds, careful into greedy, and I meet him, grinding down, letting the need take me. His voice drops to a growl.
“Ride them,” he orders, rough and reverent. “Show me how much you needit.”
I do. My body moves on instinct. The pressure swells sharp and fast. My legs shake, my breath shreds, and the world splits as the wave hits. I scream his name, ruined and loud, and he keeps going, pumping me through it, voice ragged with his own loss of control.
“That’s it,” he pants. “Fall apart for me. Yes. Perfect.”
