Page 82 of Because I Liked A Boy
“After,” he murmured against my skin. “Or before. Or during. I’m flexible.”
I laughed, breathless, and wriggled free. It took effort to slide off his lap and put space between us. “I mean it. Shower.”
His eyes raked down me, shameless. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Alone,” I warned, pointing at the door.
He stood with that lethal calm that always unravelled me. “My house. My rules.”
“Fine,” I said, arching a brow. “Lead the way, fuckboy.”
His grin went bright and dangerous. “That’s my girl.”
Before I could blink, he swept me off my feet, one arm under my thighs and the other around my back. I yelped, clutching his shoulders as he carried me out like I weighed nothing.
“Hunter!”
“Relax, princess,” he rumbled by my ear. “You asked for a shower. I’m escorting.”
Steam curled out as his shoulder nudged the bathroom door. He set me on the counter, stepped between my knees, and found the hem of my cami with slow, possessive fingers.
“Hunter—”
“Shh.” He stole a quick, filthy kiss and pulled back with a smirk. “Quick, before the water turns cold.”
His hands slid under my cami, catching at the lace I’d put on for him, but I caught his wrists.
“No.” My voice was breathless but steady. “I’m undressing you.”
He went very still. A pulse jumped hard in his throat. His inhale hitched into a sound between a groan and a growl, heat igniting his eyes.
“Jesus, princess.” His voice dropped, rough and dark. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Maybe that’s the plan.” I lifted his shirt. Slow. Cruel. Ink and muscle revealed inch by inch until the fabric hit the floor.
His mouth crashed to mine, urgent and hungry, but when his fingers tugged at my shorts I pressed a palm to his chest.
“My turn,” I said, undoing his button. “Hands to yourself.”
“Fuck,” he gritted, forehead tipping to mine as his hands fisted at his sides. “You’re actually going to make me lose it.”
“That’s the point.”
Denim slid down his thighs. He looked half feral, every muscle tight with the effort of letting me lead.
He lifted me easily, carried me into the stall, and pressed me to the cool tile as the spray hit hot and heavy. Water streamed down his face as he kissed me again, messy and wet.
“You taste better soaked,” he groaned, hips grinding so the thick heat of him dragged between my thighs, teasing me slicker with every glide.
“Hunter—” My head knocked back against the tile.
He caught my chin and forced my eyes to his. “Here,” he said softly, then slid two fingers inside me in one steady thrust.
My nails bit his shoulders. His thumb found my clit, circling hard, relentless.
“Christ, princess,” he rasped, eyes on my face as I writhed. “You’re drenched. Didn’t need the water for that.”
“Please,” I gasped. “Please—”
