Page 75 of Because I Liked A Boy
I clenched around him, milking him. His head dropped back, a guttural sound ripping from his throat, primal and raw.
“Fuck, Isabella…” he gasped, every muscle straining as his cock jerked deep inside me. “I’m gonna cum—fuck—I’m gonna cum inside you.”
“Yes,” I whispered, wrecked, nails dragging across his chest. “I want it,Hunter. Give it to me.”
That was all it took. His roar tore through the room, his hips snapping up hard as he spilled inside me, hot and endless, his cock throbbing so deep I swore I could feel him everywhere. His whole body shook beneath me, curses and growls vibrating through my chest as I clung to him, taking it all.
He kept thrusting through it, slower, riding out the release until he collapsed back against the pillows, chest heaving, sweat and storm water gleaming across his inked skin.
I stayed on top of him, shaking, full, my forehead pressed to his as our ragged breaths tangled in the dark. His voice was hoarse but steady when he spoke.
“Perfect,” he whispered, kissing me slow and filthy, like he still couldn’t get enough. “You’re perfect. Mine.”
For a long moment we stayed there, tangled together, my chest pressed to his, our hearts hammering in sync. His hands stroked lazy circles down my back, almost reverent, as if grounding himself in the reality of me.
His cock was still buried inside me, pulsing with the last echoes of release, our bodies joined in a way too raw, too intimate to breathe through. Every shallow shift made me gasp, made my walls flutter helplessly around him, pulling him back in even as his body softened.
Hunter’s forehead pressed to mine, his breath hot and uneven, his hands stroking my back like he was memorising me. He didn’t rush. Didn’t push. Just stayed there, inside me, holding me like he wasn’t ready to let go.
And God help me I wasn’t either.
It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just need. It was more. Terrifying in its closeness,in the way it left me bare in ways I’d never allowed. And yet, for the first time, I didn’t feel used. I felt wanted. Chosen. His.
Eventually Hunter pressed one last kiss to my shoulder and eased me back gently, sliding out. My body clenched around the loss, leaving me empty and aching in a different way.
“Stay,” he murmured, pressing my hip down when I tried to shift. “Don’t move.”
He disappeared into the en-suite, the sound of water filling the quiet. My chest rose and fell hard, the storm still rolling outside, but muted now compared to the chaos we’d just made.
When he came back, he had a damp cloth in one hand, a towel in the other. His hair was a mess, his chest still slick, but his gaze was steady, careful in a way I’d never seen before.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said quietly as he sat at the edge of the bed, nudging my thighs apart.
“Never thought I’d say this,” he muttered as the cloth slid over my skin, warm and careful, “but I’m jealous of a fucking towel right now.”
A startled laugh broke out of me, shaky and breathless. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Not ridiculous.” His green eyes lifted briefly, sharp even in their softness. “Honest. You’ve got me so far gone, baby, even cleaning you up feels like something I should be grateful for.”
Heat pricked behind my eyes, not from arousal but from the terrifying fact that nobody had ever cared for me like this. Not after. Not when it mattered.
“Don’t hide from me, Isabella,” he said softly, soothing his hand over my knee. “Not now.”
So I let him.
The cloth was warm, his touch careful as he cleaned me up, wiping away the mess he’d spilled inside me with a tenderness that made my throat tight. He was quiet the whole time, focused, brows furrowed like it mattered more than anything else.
When he was done, he set the cloth aside and leaned down, kissing the inside of my thigh with the same mouth that had just wrecked me. Then another, higher, until I was trembling again but this time not from arousal. From something deeper. Something dangerously close to trust.
Hunter pulled the blanket over me before sliding in beside me, gathering me against his chest like I belonged there. His arm wrapped tight around my waist, his lips brushing my temple.
“You’re mine, Isabella,” he whispered again, softer now, but no less certain. “And I’ll take care of you. Every fucking time.”
His words sank deeper than I wanted to admit, burrowing into the place I’d kept locked for years. I’d never been held like this after sex—never been treated like more than something to be used. This wasn’t about possession or obligation. This was him. Choosing me. Caring for me. Claiming me in a way that was terrifying, addictive, and achingly gentle all at once.
My throat tightened as I melted into his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart beneath my ear. I wanted to freeze time. To keep this moment—his warmth, his scent, his voice promising things he couldn’t possibly know if he could keep. Because for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I belonged to anyone else. Just him. Just Hunter.
And lying there in his arms, the storm outside fading into the background, I almost believed him.
