My breath catches. Heat blooms between my legs as my eyes roam his body—hard muscles, deep lines, that delicious V of his hips that points right to the place I can’t stop staring at.
He’s absolutely gorgeous. And the way he’s looking at me right now?
Like I’m something he’s about to pray to.
“You said you wanted me to see how hard I make you,” I whisper, dragging my hand over the curve of my hip.
“Well?” he says, his voice a little ragged. “You seeing clearly?”
“Crystal,” I murmur, and then I bite my bottom lip, letting my thighs fall open just a bit more.
He groans, low and feral.
“Fuck, Faith,” he says. “You’re going to ruin me.”
God, I hope so.
He prowls toward me like he already owns every inch of my body.
But he doesn’t touch me. Not yet.
Instead, he hovers over me, positioning me where he needs me. He brushes the head of his cock just barely against my entrance. Just a whisper of a touch—and it makes me gasp, my hips arching toward him on instinct.
“Ohhh my God,” I whisper.
Hunter just smirks, holding himself steady with one arm beside my head, the other hand still wrapped around his cock as he drags the tip down, slow and torturous, gliding along my slick folds but never pushing in.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice gravel and heat. “You want to feel me bare, baby?”
I nod too fast. Too desperate.
“Yes,” I breathe.
He teases me with another shallow glide, not even entering me—just nudging, dragging, tormenting me with the promise of what’s to come.
“You ever felt someone bare before, Faith?” he asks, eyes burning into mine.
I bite my lip and shake my head. “No. I’ve never...never done that.”
He stills. His expression shifts—something dark and reverent tightening in his gaze.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You have no idea what that’s doing to me.”
“Then stop teasing and do something about it,” I say, hips lifting again. “Please.”
He chuckles, dipping his head to press a kiss just beneath my ear.
“Oh, I will,” he growls. “But you’re going tofeelthis, baby. Every inch. Every second.”
Then he drags the head of his cock down one more time, a little deeper now—but still not entering me.
“You wet enough for me yet?” he whispers.
“I’ve been wet for you,” I pant. “Since the second you walked through that door.”
He groans again—like it physically costs him not to take me.
And still, he holds back.
