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“That bastard slipped something in the glass you were about to down,” he explained. “Had I not been watching, you’d be out in the alley right now with your back scratched to hell while he fucked you, and you’d have no clue what happened tomorrow.”
“You were watching me?”
Yes,that’swhat I asked. My first concern and thought was that this man, with ungodly looks, was watching me. Not that I was nearly drugged and more than likely would have been raped.
It wasn’t until later that night, after Megan and I were home, and I told her what had happened, that I realized the dangerous situation I managed to dodge. And only because Hunter had been watching me. In fact, he noticed me the first time Megan and I were at Slate, and even told his bouncers if I showed up again to let him know.
That was the beginning of Hunter and me. He stole my heart that night and he never gave it back. A year later, we were married.
With that memory in mind, I gently set the picture back on his nightstand and continue putting the clothes away.
A couple of hours later, with the laundry done, the dishes put away, and only a thousand more words written on my manuscript—thank you writer’s block—I’m sliding out homemade biscuits from the oven.
I’ve just put the pan on the stovetop when I feel strong arms wrap around my middle and a hard chest presses against my back. I smile as sandalwood invades my senses.
“Mmm… my favorite,” Hunter mumbles with his face buried in the crook of my neck.
I tip my head to the side and grin. “That’s why I make them. Because I know you love them so much.”
“Not the biscuits,” he responds huskily before he sucks my sensitive skin into his mouth.
A giggle escapes, and I press my ass into his groin. My hands curl into fists against the counter as a pulse begins in my clit.
He slips his hands beneath my shirt and trails them up my stomach, stopping just below my breasts. His lips release the suction on my neck and move to my ear.
“How is it possible, Mrs. St. James, that I’ve had you damn near every day for nearly two decades, and I can’t seem to ever get enough?” he whispers.
My breath becomes choppy. “I don’t know,” I pant. “But please don’t ever get enough.”
“Never,” he growls in that sexy voice that always sends a tingle between my legs.
One of his hands continues its trek until he’s cupping my breast over my bra, while his other hand moves south. My breath catches in anticipation, and I moan when his fingers slip beneath the waistband of my leggings. His fingers tickle the spot just above my clit. So close, but not close enough.
“Please, Hunter,” I whimper, shifting my legs apart to get his fingers where I want them.
“What do you need?” His voice is guttural, like he’s struggling for control.
“Touch me. Please touch me.”
“Where?”
My nails dig into my palms, and I lift to my toes, becoming desperate, as I seek out his touch.
“You know where,” I moan.
“Yeah, baby, I do.” He licks a path up to my ear while he tweaks one of my nipples between his fingers. “But I want to hear you say it.”
“My pussy.” My face heats and moisture leaks from me. He loves hearing me say dirty words, even if it does embarrass me.
The words barely escape my lips before Hunter lets out a low growl and flicks his fingers wickedly over my clit. I cry out, instant pleasure making the sound hoarse. Sparks shoot from my clit and crawl through my limbs.
“Yes!” I hiss. “There. Oh God, please don’t stop.”
He does stop, but only to move his fingers further down to my drenched hole. While he hooks two fingers inside, he grinds the heel of his palm against my clit. I buck against his fingers, and his hips follow my movement, grinding his hardness against my ass.
“You’re soaked,” he groans. “Always so wet for me.”
As he continues to send my body into a frenzy, I toss my head back against his shoulder, my mouth falling open on a silent moan. My orgasm builds, tightening the muscles in my legs and my lower stomach.
