Page 172 of The Offside Rule
“I know.” His voice was rough. “I know, baby.”
He lifted my shirt slowly, dragging the cotton up my body, his knuckles brushing my skin in a way that felt almost cruel.I raised my arms, and he pulled it over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him without looking. Then he stopped. His eyes moved over me, and the look on his face made me hotter than his hands ever could. Like he wanted to ruin me and worship me at the same time. Then he dropped to his knees.
My breath caught.
He looked up at me from the floor of my bedroom, hands sliding up the backs of my thighs, mouth dangerously close to the place where I was already aching for him. His fingers hooked into the waistband of my underwear.
“I love you.” He pressed a kiss to my hip. “I missed you.” Another kiss, lower. “And I’ve been thinking about getting my mouth on you since you smiled at me from the stands.”
My knees went weak.
He noticed. His hand tightened on my thigh. “I’ve got you.”
He dragged my underwear down and put his mouth on me. I slapped a hand over my mouth. The sound that almost escaped me would absolutely have woken Taylor and the neighbors.
Hunter laughed against my skin. “Quiet, Catherine.”
I glared down at him, or I tried to, but then he did something with his tongue that made my head hit the door.
“Hunter,” I hissed.
He looked up, eyes dark and wicked. “That was not quiet.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love me.”
“I do,” I moaned. “Very much.”
Then he made me regret every sarcastic word I had ever spoken. His mouth was hot and devastating, his hands firm on my thighs, holding me open for him like he had all night and no intention of rushing. I tangled my fingers in his hair, trying to stay upright, trying to breathe, trying not to make any sound loud enough to wake Taylor, but it was a lost cause. He knew where I was sensitive. He knew when I was close. He knew theexact pressure that made my spine arch and my fingers pull hard enough on his hair to make him groan. The vibration of it nearly finished me.
“I can’t be quiet,” I whispered as his tongue ruined me.
He pulled back just enough to look up at me. His mouth was wet. His eyes swirled with lust.
“Come on my tongue and let me worry about keeping you quiet.”
That did it. He put his mouth back on me and sucked my clit, then slid two fingers inside me. I broke so fast I barely had time to cover my mouth. My body shuddered against the door, pleasure ripping through me in hot, sharp waves. Hunter held me through it, one hand on my hip, the other working me gently until I was shaking and pushing at his shoulder because it was too much. He stood slowly, dragging kisses up my stomach, between my breasts, along my throat. By the time his mouth reached mine, I could taste myself on him. It made me wild.
I shoved at his shirt. “Off.”
His eyes flashed. “Yes, doctor.”
“Do not make that dirty.”
“Too late.”
I laughed, but he pulled his shirt over his head, and the laugh died in my throat. Bruises marked his ribs from the game. One deep purple bloom along his side. Another near his shoulder. The sight should have calmed me down. It did not. It made me want to kiss him everywhere. He was mine.
I ran my fingers over the bruise near his ribs. “Does this hurt?”
“Yes.”
I pulled back. “Hunter.”
He caught my hand and pressed it flat against his chest. “Not enough to stop.”
I shook my head, but I was smiling, and then he kissed me again, and neither of us was smiling anymore. We stumbled toward the bed. My knees hit the mattress, and he followed me down, big body covering mine, one forearm braced beside my head. He kissed me slower now, deeper, like the first rush had burned off and left something even hotter underneath. I reached for the waistband of his sweats.
