Number one draft pick, huh? Yeah . . . I see it. And he wears that confidence like a second skin, which really fucking suits him when he’s staring at me the way he is right now.
“Sit. Let me drive, okay?” He leads me to the edge of the hotel bed and gently pushes my shoulders down until I’m sitting at the foot of the bed.
Hunter grabs the remote from the TV stand and puts on a music channel before turning the volume up.
“Feel free to be as loud as you like,” he says, his expression deliciously sinister.
“Okay,” I murmur, my tongue wetting my bottom lip.
Hunter reaches behind his head and pulls his white T-shirt up and over his head, dragging out the reveal of his chest and pecs as if he’s a high-dollar stripper treating me in the ladies’ champagne room. His hips swivel as he dances seductively in front of me, his hand drawing from the center of his chest down to his navel, then moving to the button of his jeans. He unfastens it with his right hand, then drags the zipper down while pulling his cock out with his left. He’s not wearing anything underneath, and he’s so hard, and way too big for his jeans to contain his length. He strokes himself as he steps toward me, kicking my legs apart so my knees widen and make room for him to stand right in front of me.
“Suck it.” His husky voice scratches a hungry itch deep in my core, and my gaze flits up to his as my body inches forward and my lips part.
His hands slide on either side of my head, pushing my hair back from my face as my tongue tastes his tip. He winds my hair around one palm, getting a good grip as I bring my right hand up to stroke him and caress the ridge of his dick with my tongue.
“Do you like how I taste, Renleigh?” This alpha side of him turns me on, and I breathe out, “Uhhuh.”
Batting my lashes, I gaze up at him and close my mouth around his width. My eyes lock on his as he gently pulls me into him until I can feel him at the back of my throat. His hips rock back as he pulls my hair away from him, my mouth sucking to keep hold of his warm cock. He nearly leaves my mouth before pushing back into me and holding my head still so I can take him. My hands shift around his hips, his jeans gathered near the tops of his thighs, and I loop my fingers into the beltloops to help guide him in and out of my mouth.
A strange trust is forming between us, a wordless one that’s negotiated with hooded eyes and moans that escape each of us as he slowly fucks my mouth. He holds me still when I’m full with him, dropping one of his hands down the front of my sweatshirt and pulling up the cup of my bra so my bare tit is in his palm. His hand is rough, and the pleasure from the sensation of his thumb and finger rolling my nipple makes my legs close around his. I can feel my pussy getting wetter.
“Strip,” he says, backing away as his cock slips from my lips. My swollen bottom lip is wet with saliva, so I run my arm across my mouth before pulling my sweatshirt and then my bra over my head.
Hunter watches me with heated intensity, stroking himself.
“Touch your tits,” he commands, and I run my palms up my ribs and over my breasts, pushing them together and pinching my own hard nipples. I never knew I would like this so much, being told what to do. And maybe it’s simply the moment, or the circumstances, but I’ve never felt more aroused and alive.
“Touch your pussy too,” Hunter says, lifting his chin.
His tongue peeks out before he bites his bottom lip as I sink my right hand into my leggings, my fingers gliding across the swollen, wet skin beneath my lace thong. Hunter pushes hisjeans down completely, kicking them from his feet and pulling off his socks before nodding for me to pull my pants off too. I do as he asks, sliding the waistband of my leggings down my hips and pulling my legs free as I scoot up the mattress. I begin to pull my panties down, but Hunter shakes his head.
“Leave those. I want to see what that lace looks like on your ass.” He holds a finger up and twirls it in the air, urging me to get on all fours for him. My breath hitches, a rush of heat diving between my legs as I spin for him. I should be nervous, but I’m not. I’m excited. I’m ready. And so fucking needy.
“The perfect ass,” Hunter says, his voice deep, almost vibrating with his words.
“You like it?” I ask, fishing for more praise, which I get with a playful smack to one ass cheek, followed by the warmth of his palm on my skin.
“Like a fucking work of art,” he says, his hand following the curve of my ass and moving to my hip as the bed dips with his weight. I drop my head to look behind me and see him on his knees between my legs.
“Can I move you . . . like this?” His hand moves up my side and toward my spine, coaxing my shoulders and head down to the bed.
I nod and whimper, “Yes.”
“Fucking poetry,” he says, his fingertips raking down my back until they meet the elastic band of my thong—that he pulls up to sink the thin string deeper between my cheeks. The sharp pressure cuts against my swollen pussy, and I cry out. Not from pain, but because I like it. I like what I imagine he sees. I feel like his drug, both cherished and used for pleasure. All I can think about is how I feel, how he’s making me feel, and what I want next, but won’t dare speak out loud or ask for. I don’t want to ask for a thing. I want him to tell me, to simply give me what he thinks is right. And I want to take it all.
“Let’s see how wet you are?” Hunter muses, his tone tinged with an air of authority.
His hand slides around my thigh and between my legs, his fingers slipping under the lace triangle that conceals very little. He strokes me, gliding his fingers between my legs and drawing a deep moan out of me from the relief his touch brings.
“You are so good to me, Renleigh. Look how wet you are.” He sinks two fingers into me and presses the side of his thumb into my swollen clit.
“Oh, fuck,” I whimper, burying my face in the folds of the bedspread to mute my cries.
“You don’t have to do that. Remember? As loud as you want.”
I roll my head to the side, my cheek flat against the silky fabric as I cry with pleasure, “Yeah.”
Hunter continues to work me with his hand, teasing me to the point of nearly coming more than once, always pulling his hand away and forcing me to wait with bated breath for his touch to return. Finally, he slides his hand to my backside and pulls the lacey thong to the side so he can paint my wet pussy with the tip of his cock. I try to push back into him, to trick him into letting his cock slip inside before he wants it to, and he lets out a low, rumbling laugh.
