Authors: Lena Black
We break away, breathless, and he culls me into my nook.
“Would you like something to eat?” he asks with his face in my hair.
“Yes, I would.”
He leans in and picks up a cube of white cheese, placing it in my open, waiting mouth. I savor the creamy, nutty flavor and hum as I chew.
“I love the way you eat. You moan with every bite.”
I finish chewing and smile up at him. “It’s hard not to when everything you feed me is scrumptious and moan-worthy.”
“You’re scrumptious and moan-worthy,” he whispers in my ear, biting down on the soft curve of my lobe. I groan and roll my head back onto his firm shoulder. He kisses down my neck, and I slink an arm behind me, placing my palm on the back of his head. I bring him into me, and he slithers his fingers under the collar of my jacket, removing it and kissing down my shoulder.
“Let me finish feeding you.” He reaches for a couple grapes and pops them in. I bite down, and they burst open, squirting sweet, cool juice in my mouth, enveloping my taste buds. I hum, and he chortles.
“Every bite,” he murmurs, and I nudge him in the side.
I close my eyes and open my mouth, ready for another bite of a tantalizing treat. Suddenly, the salty, fishy taste of caviar sweeps over my taste buds as the tiny black pearls melt on my tongue. I close my lips, around what I thought was a spoon, but it’s not.
I suckle on Hunt’s finger, licking the flavor of the sea off. He moans in my ear, extracting himself from my warm grasp. He lifts the glass of wine to my lips, lightly trickling the burgundy liquid over my tongue and down my throat.
He sets the glass down casually, calmly, but turns back to me and attacks my lips with his, shoving his tongue into my mouth. It dips and swivels, tasting me greedily. Hunt’s hungry, too, hungry for me.
“Ready for dessert?” I ask flirtatiously.
“I would love to taste your muffin,” he growls back, nipping at my jawline.
He rises, extending a hand to me, and I latch on. He lifts me up into his arms. His fingers curl and grasp onto the hem of my shirt, ripping it off me, exposing my bare breasts. He does the same to his, throwing them on the blanket. He goes for his zipper while studying me intently, licking his lips. I quake in delight at the visceral male vision anticipating me, wanting me, needing me. He undoes his fly and allows the soft, worn jeans to fall to his feet. His stiff, thick length flops out under its immensity, and I moan.
He links a finger in a belt loop and yanks me closer. He makes quick work of my pants and kneels before me, taking them with him. I step out of them, and he places my leg over his shoulder. He runs his hands along my thighs, rear, stomach, and breasts, breathing deeply against my apex. The sensation of his warm breath caressing me softly as the cold, hazy ocean breeze embraces every other inch of my sensitive naked flesh causes my sensory system to go into overdrive, and I notice how
there
he is.
I glide my eager fingers into his hair and clench onto his thick, messy strands. He moves in and kisses along the crease between leg and hip, repeating this on the other side, and his hands clasp to my rear, massaging firmly. He laps his tongue over my wet lips and moans.
“Delectable,” he growls, and I quiver.
He doesn’t wait any longer, plunging onto my slit with a sensual aggression, eating me, devouring every crumb. His tongue works its masterful prowess on me.
I tug at his hair then smash him onto me, writhing at his stubble’s prickly touch, squirming as he dominates my clit with his tongue. He slides two thick fingers knuckle deep into me, sluggishly moving in and out with perfect precision, hitting my G-spot over and over while he assaults my pink knot of nerves. His other hand remains clamped to my rear, pulling me deeper and grinding my slit against his eager mouth while he tongues me with ravenous delight.
I whimper and coil about while he plunders my tensed pleat, robbing me of breath and sanity. I can’t hold on any longer, my body is wound tight, every muscle clamping up until a final lap of the tongue and a thrust of his thick finger sends me tail spinning out of control, and I cum vigorously. My body quavers, and my back arcs harshly until every muscle unclenches, and I collapse in his arms.
“That’s my good girl, my beautiful, innocent angel.” He smirks devilishly, and I cock an eyebrow, too tired to do much else.
“Scoundrel,” I breathlessly reply.
He lies my limp body onto the blanket, facing down, and hovers over me, pecking me on the temple. He trails his lips down to my back and bathes it in loving kisses before clamping my legs shut with his. He scoops an arm around my womb and lifts my ass slightly, so I’m angled for entry. He inserts two fingers and spreads me open, pressing the tip of his rock-hard cock into the entrance of my core.
He rears back and thrusts into me with driving force, jolting me forward on impact, sinking in to the root. He pulsates into me with fast, unyielding lunges, exiting to the head and plummeting back in balls deep. He writhes above me. His solid, toned body grinding into my back and elevated rear. His body is hot, but the dew in the air coats him in a cool sheen, causing him to slip against me as he carnally attacks my clenching core.
He grips my hair at the nape of my neck and yanks my head back, grunting and nipping at my ear while he pulverizes my tight, tensing center. I toss my arm behind me and splay my hand on the back of his head, shoving his face against my neck. He bites the tender flesh, and I scream out a boisterous moan, thrashing myself back onto his slippery, exacting cock.
He exits rapidly, flips me over, and places my knees on his shoulders. He scoops my ass up, severely arching my torso, and pounds into me with the same rigorous, rolling rhythm. I clasp onto his firm, dimpled ass and meet his violent drives, head thrashing back and forth as he fucks me into a euphoric state.
The electric pulses of pleasure waft through me in appetizing ripples. His relentless pounds keep hitting me just right, building me up. He coils and rotates his hips in hard, wild thrusts, groaning above me as he claims what’s rightfully his.
The overwhelming sensation is so intense, I’m not sure if I want to cum or cry. My body tenses and explodes as I do both in a deafening, hedonistic scream. My body spasms and convulses as I both laugh and weep.
“What’s wrong with me?” I cry.
He wraps his arms about me and lifts us to our knees. He takes his jacket and cloaks my trembling, whimpering body with it, shielding me from the eyes of any possible passerby. I slither my arms through the sleeves and cling them around his neck, our sweaty, bare fronts pressed tightly into one another.
“Nothing is wrong with you, Gabrielle. Shedding of tears is good, healthy. It’s the softening of your will. It’s bonding you to me. It makes me feel close to you.”
He cradles me in his arms, holding me in the soft, blue glow of the pale moonlight while I weep softly onto his shoulder.
I
roll off Hunt, onto his massive bed, panting and convulsing. I gasp for air as my body becomes sedated, sinking into the mattress. I run my hands through my hair, letting out an extended breath.
Hunt runs his fingers along my stomach, kissing my temple. I turn and fling an arm over his torso, resting my head on his heaving chest. I listen to the rapid speed of his heartbeat and smile to myself, knowing I do this to him. I nuzzle my head against his peck and kiss over his heart.
“This is heaven on earth,” he comments, and I shake my head lazily. “Are you tired?”
I glimpse at the clock, one forty-five.
“No, I’m pretty awake. The motorcycle got me charged up.”
“Are you hungry? Would you like me to make you food? I make a killer bowl of cereal.”
I giggle.
“Junk food? I’m in.”
We rise and head down to the kitchen in our birthday suits. Hunt holds my hand, guiding me through the dimly lit main room. The only light is the bluish glow of moonlight softly outlining the frame of his muscular, defined form, and I study every flexing curve with an entranced admiration. I want to run my tongue along every dip, rise, and crease.
When we enter the kitchen, Hunt pushes a button on the green glowing touchpad screen placed on the wall next to the entryway. Dimmed light gradually floods the room, and Hunt leads me over to the massive marble island in the center.
He saunters, bare-ass naked, over to the glass cabinets and gets out two bowls. He swiftly slides open the top drawer in front of him and pulls out two spoons. I watch him move about the kitchen, setting our utensils on the island, striding to the glass-front refrigerator to extract milk and my muffins, and finally into the pantry where he snags Fruity Pebbles.
I observe every detail, making a mental note on where everything might be stowed away, on how lithe he is sweeping about his kitchen. He almost looks as if he’s waltzing gracefully with his shoulders squared and his posture impeccably straight, every gesture an intricate, seamless flow of deft movements.
He sets the ingredients for our late night sugar orgy on the island.
“I love those. They were my favorite when I was a kid,” I remark, pointing at the box of cereal.
“Me, too,” He grins. “Another thing we have in common.”
“We would,” I vaguely comment, gesturing my hand in the air as if to gingerly shoo away a pesky fly.
“Why is that?” he asks, headed skewed to the side and a curious twinkle in his piercing eyes.
“Because were two halves of one soul. It makes sense we would share similarities.”
He runs a finger over my lips and licks his own. “I love you so fucking much, Gabrielle.”
“I love you so fucking much, Damian.”
He scoops me up and kisses me ardently. I cling my arms about his neck and smash myself into him. His tongue probes my mouth gently, and I caress it with mine. He sets me down and kisses my forehead before letting go completely.
He makes our cereal and cuts a muffin in half while I lie a couple dish towels on the cold marble countertop. We take a seat and dig in.
“Why didn’t you tell me the party was tomorrow? Or this evening if you want to get technical,” I ask, taking a bite of fruity cereal.
“I was going to, but…”
“But it slipped your mind. I swear I don’t know how you run a multibillion-dollar company,” I tease.
“I’m not usually like this. I’ve been scatterbrained lately. Anyway, Aubrey sent over an outfit for you. It’s hanging in the closet.”
“Aubrey, bought me an outfit for the party?”
“Aubrey and Keira didn’t want you to have to worry about meeting the family and figuring out an ensemble as well. They’re excited to meet you.”
“I am, too, nervous but excited.”
“Why are you nervous?” he inquires, running his thumb over my cheek. “They’re going to love you.”
“I hope so. I want them to.”
“I know, babe. They will.” He softly rubs my lower back.
“I hope they didn’t go nuts. I have very simple taste in clothes.”
“There is nothing simple about this getup.” He lets out a quick chuckle then digs into his fruity cereal.
“You saw it?”
“Yeah, it’s smokin’.”
“Now I’m anxious. I want to see it.”
“When were done.” I remember the other detail I need to discuss with him, and I nervously lick the corner of my mouth. Hunt shoots me a scrutinizing gaze. “What’s wrong, Elle? What are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding anything. I’m contemplating.”
“Contemplating what?”
I know he’s going to be upset with me, so I hesitate before answering. “I received a call from Walker today…He invited me to lunch tomorrow afternoon and an exhibition of his work tomorrow evening. I invited Chase to lunch as a chaperon so you’d feel comfortable with it.”
The forbidding look on his face says it all. He’s not happy.
“I’m not comfortable with it, not in the least. I don’t want you having lunch with your exes…Plus, the party’s tomorrow evening. You’ll have to tell him no.”
“What time is the party?”
“Nine,” he replies, pushing the cereal around with his spoon.
“Perfect. We can make a detour to his show before we head to the party. I would really love for you to join me and meet him.”
“I don’t want to meet him. I don’t want you…”
“I know,” I interrupt. “You can dislike it all you want, but I’m going to attend his show and have lunch with him tomorrow, so you need to deal with it. I owe him.”
He appears bewildered, his eyes widening for an instant. “Why do you owe him?” he asks with a cross tone.
“He was mad about me, and I couldn’t return his affections, even though I loved him too. He wanted everything you’re asking of me, and I broke it off. He was devastated and completely blindsided by it.” I sigh, remembering how we ended.
“He proposed?”
“Yes, sort of. He was about to, but I broke up with him before he had the chance. He bought the ring, planned this whole big evening and everything. The ring was in his hand when I dumped him. I saw it, and I ended it. I just told him I didn’t want to be with him and bolted without so much as an explanation. I owe him a reason and an apology.”