She knew now, fully, what she’d survived. She’d built her life around control, shaped it with intention, lived it on her terms. Maybe that’s why she could finally see what it meant to let some of that go. To relinquish power, not to someone who craved it, but to someone who didn’t need it at all.
Hunter didn’t want to control her. He didn’t care for her submission.
So she could let him lead.
Because she knew, in her bones, her life would always be hers to take back.
She stood, their eyes never breaking the connection. She got to her feet, reached out with her hand, smiled when he gave her his, and stood with her. She led him to the bedroom. To the bed. Moved to the center of it on her knees.
Then she lay on her back.
He studied her, took stock of every little movement, every little emotion playing on her face. She nodded at the question in his eyes, and the smile blooming on his lips was heartbreaking.
Slowly, gently, he opened her legs. “Beautiful,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the slick heat between her thighs. He ran his fingers through it, spreading the moisture across her clit, rubbing it softly until it was hard to think, hard to care how he would take her as long as he did.
“Hunter,” she pleaded, no shame in the need thick in her voice.
“You in a hurry to go somewhere?”
“What if I am?”
“That would be a shame.” He slid two fingers into her, stroking slow and deep, his thumb still circling her clit in lazy, devastating patterns. “Such a shame.”
She arched against his touch, her legs pushing her hips up to meet him, needing more, craving all of him. And losing her mind because something in that pleasure was missing. A weight. A pressure. The ache of being filled.
“You want me?” he asked, voice gone darker now. Lower.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
His strokes slowed, drawing her toward madness. She was panting now, blinking tears of need. “I will hurt you, Hunter,” she whispered, her voice trembling with how much she meant it.
“So impatient,” he muttered, sighing like her hunger was the sweetest kind of inconvenience. “Alright, alright.”
But instead of covering her, he grabbed her thighs and pulled her toward him, still kneeling. He lifted her ass, guiding her until the head of his cock nudged at her entrance. Nothing more. Just there. Waiting. His hands slid up to her breasts, pinched her nipples until she gasped, and the mix of frustration and pleasure was unbearable.
And then he pushed in.
She hissed. He groaned. Both of them froze, breathless, eyes wide as something cracked open between them. A shift. A turning lock.
He gripped her hips and began to move, slow and unrelenting, stroking her in places she didn’t know could be touched.
She clutched her breasts, offering them to him again. He took them in his big hands, flicking, squeezing, making her mind shatter in waves while his cock moved inside her, grinding against every right spot so precisely it felt like her whole body was pulsing to the rhythm of him.
But it still wasn’t enough.
She wouldn’t settle for less than everything. So she rose up, wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, her mouth to his, and they moved together. No distance left, no restraint. Just skin to skin, tongue to tongue, heart to heart.
His hands grazed down her spine. Her fingers knotted in his hair. She rolled her hips as he thrust, rode him as he met her stroke for stroke, both of them losing rhythm and reason to the pull between them.
Pleasure built hot and vast and all-consuming.
Her nails dug into his shoulders. His breath hitched against her mouth. She bit his lip. He growled.
And when it broke, when the climax took her, she cried out, raw and glorious, her body locking around him like she’d just been struck by lightning. He followed a heartbeat later, shouting hername into her neck, hips jerking as he emptied himself inside her.
They collapsed together, tangled and sweaty.
