Page 75 of Bleacher Report
“This will make everything between us messy,” I whisper. I don’t even know what I mean anymore. The vibrator? The situation? Me?
His smirk is slow and dangerous as his fingers trail down my inner thigh. “Oh, baby, your wet pussy is already making everything between us messy, and I want it that way.”
He meets my eyes in the mirror. “But the real question is—do you want to do this alone? Or with me?” His fingers hover. Barely there. Teasing.
My breath stutters. My thoughts are static.
I should say no.
I should walk away.
But I don’t. Because my body already made the choice.
I turn my head slightly, voice a whisper of confession. “With you.”
A smile stretches across his face. “Then the next question. Do you want me to use this?” he asks with the vibrator in his hand. “Or do you want my fingers? The choice is yours. I don’t care either way…as long as I’m the one making you come in my lap.”
“Your fingers.”
Hunter grins, happy with my answer. “Good choice,” he says, and then tosses the vibrator back on the bed. “Now lay back, relax…and watch.”
I do as he instructs, leaning back fully into him, my head falling back against his shoulder.
One hand glides up my stomach, cupping my breast, while the other traces the curve of my hip. His fingers slip between my thighs—slow, teasing, in complete control. My breath catches when a knuckle grazes my clit, the touch so light it steals the air from my lungs.
“Keep your eyes open, Collins,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice molten and low. “Watch what I do to you.”
I do. God help me, I do.
The mirror reflects everything—my flushed skin, my pebbling nipples, my parted lips, the way my body arches into his hands like it’s not even mine anymore. Like it’s his.
His palm spreads across my lower stomach, grounding me, while his fingers start to move with more purpose. Each stroke is patient but filthy, circling and sliding, never giving quite enough but driving me wild all the same.
“Hunter…” My voice is barely a whisper, thick with need.
He presses a kiss to the side of my neck, his lips dragging heat down to my collarbone.
“You feel how close you already are?” he asks, his thumb flicking gently across the bundle of nerves that’s now throbbing. “This is what you wanted, right? You were going to slip away to finish on your own?”
My head drops back onto his shoulder, a whimper escaping me. “Yes.”
“Say it. Say why you tried to run.”
“Because I want you.” The words fall from me in a breathless rush. “I wanted this.”
“Damn right, you do,” he growls, his hand quickening.
The mirror blurs through my lashes, moisture beading at the corners of my eyes. My hips start to move, rolling against his hand, chasing the edge he’s pulling me toward with infuriating control.
“That’s it,” he whispers, voice low and reverent like he’s watching something sacred. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Open and wild for me.”
I grind harder, my body rocking against the hard length of him. He groans, his mouth brushing my ear before pressing a kiss just below it.
“Look at how you melt for me,” he murmurs, his voice a warm scrape against my skin. “You’re soaking my fingers, Peyton. Dripping all over my lap.”
A strangled moan escapes me. My hand reaches up, curling around the back of his neck, nails digging into his skin like I need him to keep me grounded, tethered to this moment.
“Don’t stop—Hunter, please—don’t stop…”
