Taking him in my mouth, I pressed my lips on the shaft and slid over his arousal. Every whimper and moan vibrated in my body, and his thighs trembled on either side of my head. He pressed them against me as I sucked him, taking him in so deep, the head pressed against the back of my throat.
“I love your mouth on me. It’s almost as good as when your cock is buried in my hole.”
“I like it when you talk like that. Let me hear you, babe.” That was a first, me calling him that, but we were in for the lot of firsts.
I gripped his hips, my fingers sinking into the soft flesh as I worked his length with my mouth and tongue. Removing his length from my mouth, I fingered his hole, slippery with slick, and smeared it over his cock that was coated in my saliva and his pre-cum.
My mate lifted his head. “What are you doing?”
“I love tasting you.”
“Don’t be a meanie.” He beckoned me closer. “Give me some too.” He spread his legs wider, and I patted around his hole, making sure my fingers were blanketed in slick.
Rawling grabbed my hand, and his eyes grew wide as the slick glistened in the sunlight streaming through the window. He licked my fingers one by one, and he was so hot as each one wentin and out, I wished I could ram my cock in him. But he’d asked for a blow job, and I was learning to be a good mate and listen to what he wanted.
His mouth shimmered with slick when he took hold of his hard cock and told me I had a job to do. He giggled, and the sound wrapped itself around my heart.
With my hand curled around the base and my mouth wrapped around the shaft, I sucked and pumped. Rawling’s butt bounced on the sofa, and he shouted my name and tugged at my hair.
“So good.”
His breathing signaled he was getting close, and he stuttered before making muffled unintelligible sounds. His body shook with tiny convulsions, and he gripped my hair as though it were a lifeline.
“Phelan, I’m going to come.”
I moaned around his cock, and his body became rigid.
“Gods, yes!” He arched his back, and cum spurted into my mouth. I kept my lips on him until the spasms quietened before swallowing. I let his cock slide from my mouth before joining him on the sofa and taking him in my arms.
SIX
RAWLING
When I woke up this morning, the last thing I’d expected was to be blown by Phelan. But here I was, coming down from one of the best orgasms of my life, trying to figure out how the heck I got here. I couldn’t believe that I let him in, much less begged him to wrap his lips around me.
The second I saw him, it was like he was meant to be there. Maybe it was the loneliness from the self-imposed isolation that was getting to me. Even as I tried to convince myself that was it, I knew it was wrong. This feeling? It was because of our mate bond.
I’d always dismissed the whole mate thing. Not that it existed. Obviously, I’d been told that shifters mated. But this bond, the one that I could now feel? That was something I thought was exaggerated at the very least, but more likely something similar to the poetic ways people talked about true love. More of a fantasy than a reality.
And maybe that was why I felt safe enough that I let my guard down. Not only for intimacy, but also for letting him know that I wasn’t latent, that I was instead human. I’d planned to keep that to myself for as long as possible, and out it fell from my lips.
More shocking than that was what I wanted to do next, to confess to him that I was a hunter.
Confessions while drinking were always bad because you said more than you wanted to and more than you would sober. Orgasms were no different. But that didn’t stop me. There was such a relief letting him know that I wasn’t latent.
He hugged me to him and whispered how much he missed me, and that was all it took to have me blurting out, “I think I’m a hunter.”
It was soft, so quiet that he could have pretended he didn’t hear if he wanted to. At least, that was what I told myself as it flew from my lips.
I waited for the horror, anger, panic, or one of a great many things to hit. Instead, I got laughter, the very last response I’d considered.
“Oh, Rawling, hunters aren’t real. That’s like saying the boogeyman is under your bed or there’s a zombie at the window. They’re just made-up stories.”
“How do you know that?” I pushed my head up to look at him a little better. “How do you know that? Everything I know is that they’re real. It’s not that I know a heck of a lot, but still, from what I’ve read, they’re real.”
“I know because all the records aren’t really records at all.” He kissed my cheek. “The ‘records’ are stories that have been passed down, nothing more than lore. Not a single story has been verified. It’s just the stuff that shifters tell their kids to keep them from doing stupid shit.”
I didn’t doubt that Phelan believed every word he was saying, but still, it didn’t feel right. Hunters were real. My gut shouted that they were. And the voice that was now mainly silent told me I was one.
