Page 91 of Bleacher Report
He braces one hand beside my head, the other gripping my thigh to hold me open for him, and starts moving faster—harder—his hips slamming into mine with desperate, relentless rhythm.
The sound of skin-on-skin echoes under the spray of the water, the wet slap of our bodies colliding filling the steamy, fogged-up shower.
Every time he thrusts, it knocks a ragged moan out of me, my nails dragging down his back as I cling to him.
The pressure builds fast, almost unbearable, my entire body tightening, spiraling, trembling against him.
Hunter's hand slides between us, his thumb circling my clit in fast, devastating little strokes that send shockwaves through my entire system.
"Come for me, Peyton," he demands, his voice breaking against my ear. "I want to feel you fall apart around me."
One more thrust, one more rough swirl of his thumb—and I shatter.
Pleasure detonates through me, white-hot and overwhelming, my entire body locking up around him.
I cry out his name, my thighs clenching around his hips as my climax rips through me, violent and unstoppable.
Hunter follows a second later with a guttural curse, driving into me one last time as he buries himself deep, spilling into the condom as his body shudders against mine.
For a long, breathless moment, we stay tangled together, hearts hammering, the spray of the water washing over us like a blessing.
His forehead drops to my shoulder, his hands still gripping me like he’s afraid to let go.
Slowly, Hunter pulls back just enough to press a kiss to my collarbone, then my jaw, then finally my lips—this one slow, tender.
When he finally sets me down on shaky legs, his arms stay wrapped around me, steadying me, like he knows I’m still trying to remember how to stand.
He leans in, his voice rough but laced with something suspiciously close to wonder. "When does my hall pass expire?" he asks, his breath warm against my ear.
"By sunrise. Tomorrow morning," I tell him, my voice barely more than a whisper.
Hunter grins and reaches out past the shower curtain, grabbing a towel off the rack. He wraps it around me and then slings one low around his hips.
"Really? I get you for the rest of the day and all night?"
I nod, but hearing it said out loud has me nibbling my lip, suddenly second-guessing how wide open I left the invitation.
He claps his hands once, rubbing them together with a gleam in his eye.
"Damn, do I have plans for you."
Before I can ask, he turns and strides out the bathroom door, leaving me blinking after him.
"Where are you going?" I call out, still clutching the towel tight around me.
"To get my phone," he yells back casually. "I'm ordering food and snacks. Neither of us is leaving this house until sunrise, Collins. Thai or pizza?"
I follow the sound of his voice into the hallway, peeking around the corner toward the kitchen.
"Pizza, I guess? But, you’re worried about food?"
He pops his head out from behind the fridge, phone already in hand, looking like the hottest, most dangerous distraction ever with just a towel barely hanging on.
"This is going to be a sex marathon, Peyton. We’re going to need sustenance. And a chick flick. Find something good on TV while I order."
"We’re watching a movie now?" I tease, grinning despite myself.
"You’re getting the full Reed experience," he says, grinning back like he knows exactly how much trouble I’m in. "Romancing and all. Hope you’re prepared, Collins."
