Then I grab a towel, toss it on the bed, and flop down on it. I plant my heels on the bed, my knees nice and wide. As the water in the bathroom sink runs, I finish getting myself ready to take him, wiping the lube off my hands on the towel.
Hunter stalks into the bedroom—naked, lean, and toned. His eyes dark with desire. Thick cock hard and ready for me. God, I want to be covered in him. As he climbs on the bed, condom in hand, I grip my dick, stroking it.
He’s breathing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes eat me up. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he rumbles, licking his lips as he settles between my knees.
I push up on my elbows, grab the condom, then murmur against his lips, “I want to put it on you.”
“Do it. Now,” he says, his body shaking, maybe with lust. “I need to bury my cock in you so fucking badly.”
“Boyfriend lesson time. Be patient, babe. You can have me. You can have all of me,” I say as I squeeze his cock, playing with his shaft, pushing back the foreskin till I’m aching for him.
I open the protection, then roll the condom down his length. I grab the lube, drizzle more on my palm when he’s covered, and coat him. He shivers as I go, shuddering with every touch. Then I lift my face higher, press a kiss to his lush lips. He tastes minty, and that’s what I want. That mouth, this cock, my man.
As I lower my torso slowly, I hold his cock, bringing him to my ass. Pressing the tip against my hole while I lift my thighs.
He’s braced on his palms, staring at my face. He lowers his chest closer to mine while he pushes into me.
I tense for a second, then breathe out, relaxing onto him.
“Yes,” he groans, then I let go of his cock once he’s breached my entrance, and I wrap my hands around his neck.
There’s hardly any space between us, and I want it like this.
Want him just like this.
Close to me.
My hands rake over his hair as he sinks, slowly, inch by lubed inch, into my body.
Then, he’s there, all the way in me, and I gasp. “It’s soooo good,” I say.
“You’re fucking amazing,” he groans, his face shifting into my neck. He kisses me as he settles all the way between my thighs.
Then, we stop talking.
And we start fucking. Nice and slow and deep. Our chests are rubbing together. His face against my neck. His breath in my ear. After a few long pumps, he raises his face. “Want to kiss you,” he rasps out.
“Do it,” I command.
He drops his lips to mine, and it’s a whole new kind of kiss. It’s tender and hungry. It’s dirty but needy.
And it feels like the kind of kiss you can’t give up.
This is the kind of sex I want to have again and again. Hot, intimate, passionate sex. With this man I didn’t even know twenty-four hours ago.
Hunter’s arms rope under my arms, then over my shoulders, his hands curling possessively on my flesh. His hips swivel and pump. His lips hardly ever leave mine.
And I am overwhelmed. By the heat of our bodies and the drumbeat of my heart. By the intensity of this unexpected connection. By the whirlwind of lust and desire, of feelings and emotions.
And by the way we are with each other.
Like we don’t want to let go.
All these sensations whip through me, building in a mad frenzy inside my body and my brain.
Especially when he drags my bottom lip between his teeth, sucks hard, kisses me ferociously. I pull my knees up higher, giving him more room to fuck deep.
And the angle sends an electric charge of pleasure pulsing wickedly in my body. “I’m close, babe,” I groan, slipping a hand between our chests, angling for some room.
“Me too,” he murmurs, then pushes up on his palms as I get my hand down to my dick.
I miss his lips, but I am so far gone now. All I can do is jerk. Grabbing my cock, I stroke hard and fast, and my orgasm crashes into me at full speed. It’s not waiting for anything. Not for him to wrap his hand on top of mine, not for him to jerk me over the edge, and not for him to growl my name in the sexiest, most carnal voice I’ve ever heard.
I shoot all over my stomach as he thrusts hard into me, and I am still as he shudders. A few seconds later, Hunter collapses onto me, peppering my neck with sloppy, wet kisses. And desperate pants as we both come down.
My entire body rides the edge of the world, hovers above the sky, just blissed out beyond recognition until Hunter presses a kiss to my ear. “That was . . . you are . . . I’m just soooo . . .”
Yeah, same here.
“I know,” I say, looping my hands around his ass, holding on tight. “It’s the same for me.”
“Good,” he says quickly. “That’s just so bloody good.”
And terrifying too.
14
HUNTER
The afternoon rushes by. We grab lunch at a food truck off the Strip that serves Vietnamese dishes. Nate orders noodles, and I get chicken, and we talk about likes and dislikes as we eat at a picnic table.
“I happen to hate pie,” he says as he finishes a forkful of noodles.
“And you volunteered for a pie toss?” I ask, a little amazed that we only met yesterday.
“It was for a good cause. Plus, Jason’s a good friend and a teammate. He’s been volunteering at the carnival since he was a teenager. So I wanted to help a guy out,” he says.
“Suffering through pie. So noble,” I tease.
“As a duke, you’d know all about nobility,” he says, then tilts his head. “Hey, where do you live in the city? Don’t worry—I won’t drop by. Just curious.”
I’m actually not worried. I do want him to drop by. I want him to do more than drop by—to come over often and know he’s welcome. “Russian Hill. And I’d ask where you live, but I’m already intimately acquainted with your laundry facilities.”
“And my shower,” he teases.
“Your kitchen too. We had our first kiss there,” I point out, then the enormity of that statement slams into me. Our first kiss. Like I’m writing it in a scrapbook, recording the details of this locomotive of a relationship.
It’s not supposed to be a relationship whatsoever. Yet I’m talking about where we had our first fucking kiss.
And I’m not breaking out in hives. Imagine that.
“Do you like the city?” I ask.
“Love it. Love going out to eat, seeing the sights, checking out different hoods. Like Russian Hill.” Nate winks.
“You’d look good in Russian Hill,” I say as I polish off the chicken.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “You’d look good in the Marina.”
We stare a little stupidly at each other for a few seconds.
Then we finish eating and return to The Extravagant. “Want to lounge by the pool and drink margaritas or hit the indoor golf range?” Nate asks.
The way his blue eyes twinkle at the latter tells me the correct answer is golf. “I’m not so good at golf, but if you can tolerate a newbie, I’ll do that,” I reply.
And the twinkle becomes a sparkle. “Want me to teach you?”
“Golf lessons and boyfriend lessons? It’s like a two-for-one weekend,” I remark.
Nate drapes a possessive arm around me and plants a smooch on my face as we weave through the poker tables. “Stick with me, babe, and you’ll get everything for free. The city loves to give its pro ballers anything on the house. Ironic, since we can afford all our own meals,” he remarks.