Page 147 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
It’s sinful the way his gaze follows my every curve.
He kneels on the bed and leans over me, his hands sliding up my calves, over my knees, prying my thighs apart. He kisses a trail from my knee to my hip bone, biting down gently, marking me. I shiver, and he laughs softly against my skin.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. His voice is dark as molasses. “Messy already. Is this for me?”
“Y-yes,” I groan, shifting, sensation pooling between my legs. “You make me so wet, Hux.”
A groan leaves his lips, reverberating through my flesh. He’s so fuckinghot. Pressing his nose between my thighs, he inhales, and I can’t help the mortifying sound that escapes me. Then he flattens his tongue against my clit, slow and deliberate. The shock of pleasure is so sharp I gasp. My hips buck and he pins me against the mattress with an enormous hand over my abdomen. He’s unhurried, in control.
He licks me in slow, lazy strokes at first, savoring. I squirm. I need more, way more, an endless amount.Bury me with his tongue between my thighs.He speeds up, flicking and circling, sucking until I’m writhing. I want to play coy, to arch away or make him work for it, but my body betrays me. Every nerve ending is tuned to him, desperate for what only he can give.
I’ve never been like this. Not with Patrick, not with anyone. Only Hunter has made me this damn needy. I clutch at the sheets, then at his hair, pulling him closer, grinding helplessly against his mouth.
He’s meticulous, relentless. He alternates between feathery kisses and deep, obscene plunges of his tongue. It’s like he’s mapping every secret inside me. It’s both intimate and humiliating how he devours me. I feel exposed in a way I never let myself be, like he can see every craving, every weakness. I want to hide, but I also never want him to stop.
He’s bringing me to the brink of madness and I only wantmore.
Hunter brings two thick fingers to my pussy entrance and slides them inside. I gasp at the sensation. It’s only been a day since he fucked me, but I feel like this is the very first time. He curls his fingers upward with that same athlete’s precision I used to loathe on the ice. Now it’s turned to devastating, humiliating use. Grinding down, I’m greedy for the stretch and fullness, for the friction. Ineedto come. I’mdesperatefor it. He pumps his fingers in tandem with his mouth, tongue flicking faster. Soon I’m blabbering nonsense, unable to hold back.
“Fuck—you’re—oh my god—Hunter, I’m—” I break off as the orgasm hits, sudden and overwhelming. It’s not the usual tidal wave, but a series of sharp, rolling aftershocks that leave me trembling and gasping, clutching at his arms and begging him not to stop.
He doesn’t. He pushes me through the crest, then straight through another, coaxing every shudder from my body before he finally comes up for air. His chin and mouth are slick with my wetness. He grins like a cat who ate the fucking cream, unrepentant.
He hovers above me, bracing himself on his forearms. He kisses me, letting me taste myself on his lips. I feel raw and open, barely able to catch my breath. He watches me with that fierce, possessive look, like he wants to memorize me at my most undone.
The most crazy part is thatI want him to.
“You good?” he asks. His voice is so low it’s almost a growl.
I nod. I can’t speak yet. He nestles down next to me, gathering me into his arms. He strokes my hair like I’m something fragile. The gentleness after such violence undoes me. It’s like he’s letting me know I’m safe, even after everything.
But I’m greedy. I feel empty without him inside me, a hollow ache that pulses between my hips. I want more, want all of him, want to see him lose control. Just the way he made me come. I recover just enough to roll over him, straddling his hips. His hands settle on my ass, encouraging, but I catch them and flatten them above his head, pinning him for a change. He raises his eyebrows, amused.
“Hunter,” I whisper against his mouth. “I need to ask you something.”
“Yeah?”
“Have you been tested? Recently?”
He pulls back to look at me. “Yeah. When we first moved in together. Just in case.” His cheeks flush slightly. “Have you?”
“Yes. Before I moved in.”
The admission hangs between us, heavy with implication. We both planned this, both hoped for this, even when we were pretending it was just business.
“I want you,” I say simply. “All of you. No barriers.”
“Fuck, Juliet.” His eyes search mine. “I’ve never done that.”
“Neither have I. But everything we do feels like the first time,” I admit. “I want to feel you, Hux.”
He shudders, kissing me hard.
It’s different this time and I know it the moment I let him in. All the way in, nothing between us, no latex or pretense or half-measures. There is a terrifying freedom in it, a dizzying sense of reckless possibility, as if I’ve stepped out past the edge of the familiar cliff and am now in freefall, arms outstretched, trusting that he’ll catch me or at least fall with me.
If we have to plummet straight down to our certain death, at least we’ll do it together.
I’m on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, and I spit on my hand to lubricate his cock a little extra. He bites his lip and gives me a lustful, hooded expression. “You gonna fuck yourself on my dick?”
