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It’s not long before I come and am quivering with the feeling of it.
Hunter fucks me like he wants to possess every cell in my body and make sure I always know that I belong to him.
I know I’m his, no matter what I told myself before this.
I remember the night we first met. How strange it was.
That night, I thought the universe screwed with me. It didn’t. It led me straight to the man who would hold my heart.
I wasn’t saving myself for Ryan. It was Hunter all along.
He drives into me deeper and faster, and all I can do is hold on to him.
He fucks me harder, splashing the water around us as he takes me to that place again where the earth falls away from my feet and the sky rips open, shattering the fibers of reality.
I fall into the mind-numbing orgasm he gives me and allow it to grip me with its claws. There I stay, my mind dizzy from pleasure, while he shouts his own finish.
Moments later, Hunter rests his forehead against mine, our breath mingling
as he holds me close.
“You make me crazy for you, Luna,” he rasps in a husky voice still filled with sex.
“And me for you.”
We look at each other and fall into another kiss that promises we’ll be here all night.
We decide to finish our Caribbean tour on the island of Antigua.
Hunter’s cousin, Luc, owns a house on the beach.
Over the last two weeks, we’ve been living on the boat. Hunter decided it would be fun to stay in the house for a change of scenery and also because it’s beautiful. He also wanted to utilize Luc’s personal chef, who Hunter swears cooks the best food he’s ever tasted.
We arrived at lunchtime, and everything Hunter promised is true.
The house is stunning, and because it’s right by the beach, it screams fun.
As for the food, I didn’t think anything could top what we already had, but the chef made the kind of glorious meals you’d expect to find in Heaven.
We indulged all day for lunch, dinner, and snacks in between which we enjoyed basically mini-meals. I’m having way too much fun out here.
When the next day comes, we explore the island then decide on eating lunch on the beach, but Hunter wants to cook for me over a fire.
We’re doing burgers. Or rather he is. All he wants me to do is sit down, watch him, and eat when the food is ready.
I’ve made myself a comfortable spot in the sand, and like always when I watch him, I get lost in the masterpiece of his incredible physique.
He’s shirtless again, so I’ve taken on the task of admiring the artwork of his tattoos.
He told me the other day that he got some of them when he was in high school. His friend Jericho, who I met at the engagement party, was a tattoo artist in another life.
Apparently, he gave Hunter his first tattoo—the hawk at the edge of his left hip.
Like a mindless schoolgirl, I gawk at my husband as he builds the fire and places the burger meat on to cook.
It’s while he’s laying them out that my attention is drawn to the faint outline of what looks like a scar beneath the barbwire of roses on his right side. I catch a glimpse of it in the sunlight.
At first, I have to check that what I’m seeing is real, and I realize it is.
