"You think I'd let a woman do this to me?" He looks so stern and masculine, I feel stupid for asking such a question. Not my business.
But there's something in his eyes. Something hard, almost a challenge, and I can't help feeling like I'm being warned away.
I suck in a breath, struggling to speak as I try to pull the answer from his eyes. "Did you?"
He’s quiet again, giving me a chance to examine his face. There’s a nasty bruise on his jaw. “This was a choice," he finally says.
A choice? My stomach rolls. "Are you saying that you did that to yourself?"
He reaches for me, grabs my hand, and as he pulls me closer, I know I'm in trouble.
"I'm not saying anything." His free hand comes behind my head, his fingers in my hair as I look into his handsome, bruised face. "You're the one talking."
"About you,” I whisper.
"About me."
"I think you need to be more careful,” I say, throwing what he said at the bar back at him. “I don't want to see you hurt."
His eyes flare, and for a second I think he's going to walk out, but then he groans and pulls me even closer. "You know what hurts?" he grits, his hand splaying over my ass, squeezing as he pushes me against his chest. "This hurts," he says, and I can feel him through my shorts.
He's hard and ready, totally jacked up. For me, I realize. I shock myself by reaching down—I want to touch him—but I stop and hover over his hard, smooth abs. His eyes widen and I feel his hand close over mine. That's all it takes. The world folds in on me, and the small, dim room becomes a fantasy. I'm rubbing my fingers up and down his bulge, amazed by the hard, stiff length of it.
Hunter moans, and I press a little harder. The way he flinches makes me worry I'm hurting him, but he's rocking into my hand like he wants me to press harder. I roll my palm around the round head of him, and he pushes his face into my shoulder. "Christ."
I stroke him up and down, eager to feel all of him.
"Unzip your pants," I say. It sounds unsteady, because I'm trembling.
He looks down at me, his face bent into a question, and I nod, nuzzling his throat as I pant. I'm still aware that this is a terrible idea—I'm going to get hurt; of that I'm sure—but right now, I want to keep his eyes wide and his mouth open, his body curled over mine, his hands clutching my shoulders. Right now, Hunter West is lusting for me hard.
He unzips his slacks and I reach for him, pushing past the elastic of his underpants so I can feel him skin-to-skin. Oh my God, he's hard as steel. So soft—and burning hot. The second that my fingers touch his velvet skin, he gasps and jerks inside my hand. I smooth my fingers down him, feather-light until I reach the base, and then I stroke a little, like I learned today.
He starts to pant, and I stroke up and down again before I tentatively cup my hand and reach lower. I've never fondled anyone's balls before, and I'm loving the shock on Hunter's face as he pulls away to look into my eyes. His are dazed, almost glowing. I can feel his body shaking. His knees are shaking.
"Libby," he groans. "Jesus."
Then he's pulling me against him, pushing my blouse up, shoving my strapless bra away and closing his lips over my breast.
I moan, and he cups my ass and pulls me closer, so I can feel him, big and hard, through what I can now see are boxer briefs. My hand comes out of his pants and I rock against him just a little; he groans and grips my hand in his. He thumbs me through my shorts and I whimper as his fingers push past my underwear to stroke over my lips.
“Hunter,” I pant, and his finger glides inside.
I could die happy right here, but then we would be Hunter 2, Elizabeth 0, and I can’t let that score stand.
Using every bit of willpower I have, I reach around his arms, pushing past the elastic of his boxer-briefs to cup his head. My fingers glide down on each side of his c**k and he moans, pressing his forehead against mine, kissing my mouth. His is open, panting. "Elizabeth."
The way he says my given name, all breathless and lustful, is conditioning. I wrap my fingers around him, pumping him near the top. With my other hand I cup his balls. I'm surprised by how heavy they feel.
The hand that's stroking his c**k moves over his head, finding it slick. I made Hunter wet. That thought makes me wet. His c**k is pulsing and when I glide up and down again, he lays his cheek against my shoulder, holding onto my back with one hand while his other teases my clit.
"Libby..."
The nickname brings me back to the here and now, and I loosen my grip on him. His hand, holding onto my shoulder, trails down to cup my ass; his fingers in my panties shove deeper inside and I feel pressure building there. I shift my hips, desperate to relieve it.
"Hunter," I groan. I feel shaky, almost scared.
He tugs me to him, lifting me up and carrying me across the room. We go through a big, glass door and into somewhere hot—the sauna, where he gently lays me out on one of the benches. I watch through lust-heavy eyes as he grabs a red towel and lays it on the wood plank floor; then he lifts me in his arms again and spreads me out. My pants are unzipped and folded down. His hand is moving and I'm gasping.
Hunter West.
Oh, yes.
No. I shouldn't be doing this.
"You're with Priscilla," I whimper.
He laughs, a hard, dry sound. "I'm not."
"I don't even...know you," I pant. It doesn't matter to me, but it should.
He thumbs my clit and I arch against his hand. "What’s to know?"
He's kissing my br**sts, with one finger inside me. I've got one hand inside his boxer-briefs, and he is groaning in my ear.
This is wrong, this is so wrong. I know it is, but I can't stop.
"We're in a bathroom. I must be crazy."
"Sauna," he pants.
Then his finger glides out of me and skates over my clit. I clench my knees around his arm, barely able to keep my hand on his c**k moving as I tremble.
"I can't do this," I whimper, although I obviously am doing it.
He rests his hand atop my mound, but I still have him by the shaft. My hand trembles, and it must feel good, because he shuts his eyes. As he does, his hips rock into me, and heat blooms all over my hand. His eyes flip open and I'm shocked to find that this is...wow.
I blink up at him, fuzzily aware that Hunter is coming and I should stroke him. He groans so loudly it hurts my ears, and his hands come down on my shoulders.
He pants, and drops his head against my shoulder in a way I love. I cup his cheek. My mind is racing, and as my pulse calms, I ask, only loud enough to rise above the sound of our deep breathing, "Why do you call me Libby?"