Page 32 of The Unexpected

He doesn’t make me wait. “Honestly?” he says, voice going softer. “I’m looking forward to it. The pastor is—what’s the word—a dirty motherfucker. I want to see what he’ll make you do next time.”

My mouth is dry as sand. “You liked it?”

Hunter shrugs, a slow ripple that makes the muscles in his arms bunch and uncoil. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not into other dudes. Never had the urge to cross swords or any shit like that. But the way you looked when he licked your cunt—fuck, it was something else.” He stares me down, all the way to the bone. “You’re hot when you’re nervous, Stella. And even hotter when you give in.”

The words vibrate in the air, heavy as a bell. My knees knock together under the counter. “You wouldn’t be jealous?”

He makes a show of considering it, then grins. “Maybe I will be if he puts his cock in your pussy. Maybe I’ll end up fighting him for you. A duel in the office with our swords. Or pistols at dawn. Yeah, that could work.”

It’s so absurd I snort, and noodles fly out of my mouth. I clap a hand over my lips, mortified, but he just laughs, the sound deep and clean. It breaks the tension and stitches it back up tighter than before.

I recover, dabbing at my chin with the back of my hand. “You’re psycho.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, “but you like it.”

I don’t have a comeback. So I say what I’ve been trying not to say all night. “I think I want to see him again, too.”

Hunter raises his eyebrows, but it isn’t surprise—more like satisfaction. “I knew you would.”

The confession just sits there, between us, not going anywhere. I study the sesame seeds in my bowl, each one a tiny moon orbiting a planet of chicken. I pick up a piece, then set it down again.

“Why?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper. “Why does it feel so good when you make it sound so bad?”

Hunter doesn’t answer right away. He leans across the counter, blue eyes locked on mine, and says: “It’s supposed to feel good. That’s what makes it worth it.”

I shiver, but not from the cold.

He watches me for a minute, then says, “You want to go upstairs?”

I nod.

He stands, walks around the counter, and holds out a hand. When I take it, his palm is warm and rough, callused in a way that doesn’t fit a billionaire. I follow him out of the kitchen, past the living room, up the stairs. Our footsteps echo in the empty house. It’s a sound I’ll remember forever: the hush before a storm.

At the top of the stairs, he turns and yanks me into him so fast I almost lose my balance. His hands are at my waist, then in my hair, then sliding under the hem of my t-shirt to press hot against my back. He kisses me, slow at first, then harder, his tongue pushing into my mouth like he’s trying to break through a wall.

I kiss back, harder. My hands are in his hair, then on his chest, then sliding down to his belt buckle, which is already coming undone. He lifts me—literally lifts me, like I’m a sack of feathers—and sits me on the wide marble railing at the top of the stairs. For a second, I panic—what if I fall, what if I crack my head open—but then he’s kissing my neck, my jaw, my collarbone, and the world shrinks to the four square feet where we’re tangled together.

His hand slips down the front of my shorts, past the elastic of my panties, and finds me wet and ready. He strokes me once, then twice, circling my clit with his thumb while his fingers dip lower. I gasp into his mouth, barely able to keep upright.

“Oooh!” I breathe. “Oh my god.”

“Good girl,” he whispers, his voice gone rough. “You’re always so fucking wet for me.”

I whimper, not even pretending to be cool anymore. “Please.”

“Please what?”

I can barely speak. “Please, fuck me.”

He grins, then slides two fingers inside me, pumping slow. My head falls back, and the lights go blurry behind my eyes. I don’t notice when he tugs my shorts off, or when he bends to press a kiss to my inner thigh, or when he sinks to his knees in front of me and buries his face in my cunt. I only know that his tongue is electric, and his hands are everywhere, and that when I come, I scream so loud the sound echoes off the marble.

“Unnnh!” I cry out, throwing my head back. “Oh god mmmm, yes!”

Hunter continues to lick me through my orgasm, shushing me against the hot, swollenness of my cunt before standing.

“That’s my good girl,” he croons before suckling on my clit. “Always so horny for Daddy’s dick.”

Then, he stands, licking his lips, and kisses me again, the taste of me still on his tongue. He presses the broad head of his cock against my entrance, and I realize he’s naked from the waist down, his jeans and briefs kicked to the side. He’s huge, and the sight of him makes my whole body throb.