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“I never told you how fucking hot you are when you’re angry.”
My jaw falls. “I …”
He chuckles, and it’s a sultry sound, making my insides feel like mush and the hot rage in my chest turn into something fuzzy. “Why do you think I tried so hard to make you mad all the time? How can I resist when it makes you look like this? Your cute nose scrunched up. Your sweet lips pouty. Your cheeks red.”
I feel a slickness between my legs, and a liquid heat low in my center.
But I try to push those feelings down. Hunter deserves a telling off for this stupid macho stunt of his, and I can’t let him get out of it.
“You’re so … so …” my brain falters searching for the right word.
“Sexy?” he asks smugly.
“No!” I groan, balling up my fist and shaking it in front of me. “Sometimes you make want to … to …”
“Kiss me?”
“No!” I cry. There’s a beat of silence as Hunter crooks a grin at me, and a buzzing sensation skitters over me. Then, somewhere deep inside my brain, I feel a wire that’s held way too much weight for way too long snap. “Oh, fuck it.”
I hoist myself onto the tips of my toes and push forward, my lips finding Hunter’s.
Even when I’m kissing him, he finds a way to be cocky and obnoxious about it, because he doesn’t even react with any surprise. Like he expected nothing less, his strong arms are wrapped around my waist, pulling me close to his hard, solid body.
I slant my lips against his, feeling like I’m burning off twelve years of frustration and tightly guarded attraction. He returns the pressure, his lips gliding firmly over my own, his arms pulling me into him so tightly that I can feel the outline of his abs through our shirts.
I’m so preoccupied with how my lips feel sliding over his, that I lose track of what I’m doing with my hands—until I realize they’re speared into his thick, curly hair, clasping tufts of it so tightly that he moans a low, satisfied growl into my mouth.
At first, I’m leading the kiss, but then he takes over. His lips press more tightly against me, taming my own and making them move at his pace.
His tongue glides across the seam of my mouth, and a with a chill galloping over my skin, I open it for him.
His tongue presses inside, tangling with my own, seeking my taste with greed. Behind my closed eyelids, my eyes flutter back as I feel lightheaded, and I know I’d drop to my knees if Hunter’s firm hands weren’t holding me against his body.
My lips feel swollen when he pulls his head back. When my eyes open, his own lips are puffy, his cheeks flushed, and I can feel his deep, densely muscled chest surging against mine with thick breaths.
“Tell me you don’t want me, Phoebe,” he rasps. “Tell me you don’t want more.”
The store of will I’ve used all my life to resist how I feel about Hunter Landry is utterly spent. “I want more,” I admit, breathlessly and desperately.
A raw, primal growl of satisfaction and need rumbles from deep in his throat.
My stomach jumps with excited tension, and every nerve ending feels electric. An ache of want pangs between my legs, and I shudder as I take my hands out of his hair and let my palms graze across his thick, broad back.
I want to know what it feels like to dig my nails into the firm muscle of that back with no fabric between us. I want to know what it feels like to press my bare tummy against the shredded mountain range of Hunter’s abs, I want to know how it feels to have the rough pads of his fingers dig into my thighs—I want to know what everything I’ve tried not to dream about doing with Hunter feels like.
“Tell me what you want, Phoebe,” he rasps. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
My fingers find his hair again, and I tug back on it, making his jaw pop and his eyelids open wider as his ocean blue gaze tethers with mine.
“I want you to fuck me the way you’ve always dreamed of.”
20
PHOEBE
Hunter’s eye flash, the cool blue tones smoldering with hot intensity.
“Be careful what you ask for Phoebe,” he says, his voice low and heated, “if I fuck you the way I’ve always dreamed of, I might ruin you for any other man.”
