Page 45 of Snowed In with Benefits

The truth.

“So… it’s not just that Preston was bad at sex. I… I’ve never been able to come from someone going down on me. Ever. It’s not you, it’s me. I just can’t get there that way.” I’m so embarrassed I can barely get the words out, but he deserves to know.

To my surprise, he smirks. “That’s just because you’ve been with selfish boys before. I’m a man. And I have a big fucking appetite.”

My stomach flips at his words, and the dirty implication, at his confidence. Not arrogance—confidence. There’s a difference. Arrogance would be him telling me I’m wrong about my own body. Confidence is him hearing what I said, believing me, and still not being intimidated by it. He heard “I’ve never been able to come from this” and he didn’t flinch. He didn’t make it about his ego. He didn’t take it as a challenge to prove me wrong. He just… wasn’t afraid of it. And that does something to the ground under my feet that I wasn’t expecting.

Then he says something that takes my breath away entirely.

“Show me. Touch yourself. Let me watch. I think I can get you there, but I want to learn what works for you before I try again.”

I am mortified. He wants me to do what? But then I look into his eyes. He’s not judging me. He won’t tell me that I’m doing it wrong. He’s honestly invested in learning what works for me, and what better way to do it than to watch me? He licks his lips absentmindedly. Courage fills my chest.

Slowly, I start to touch myself. Cupping my breast with one hand, I run my fingers over my clit and labia with the other, sliding one finger into myself.

My hand is shaking. I realize this and try to stop it and can’t. I’ve barely done this alone without a knot of guilt in my stomach—Preston never said anything directly, but there was an implication, a quiet assumption that if he was enough for me I wouldn’t need to do this for myself. So I did it in the shower with the water running, or late at night after he fell asleep, quick and efficient and slightly ashamed, like I was stealing something that should have been his to give me.

And now Hunter is asking me to do it in front of him. Not as a performance. Not as foreplay for his benefit. He’s asking me to show him the map of my own body so he can learn to read it.

I force my hand to move. My fingers find the rhythm they know, the one I’ve never shown anyone, and I let it build. He’s watching me like I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, watching my fingers, watching my breath catch as I raise the temperature in my own internal thermostat. I’m tentative at first, realizing that this is the most exposed I’ve ever been, some part of me still worried that I’ll be doing it wrong.

But he’s just watching. Studying. No judgment, no negative emotion anywhere on his face. Just… watching. Learning. My breath catches and my clit swells as I give it the attention it’s craving. He’s memorizing my rhythm, my movements, and it’s so fucking hot.

He licks his lips and groans as I lose myself in the moment. I’m so turned on it almost hurts and I keep playing with myself, intensity increasing as he watches, losing my whole self to the pleasure coursing over me.

After a while, he pulls my hand away so his mouth can replace it. My thighs instinctively come together and he pushes them apart, gripping them firmly and holding them open. Kneeling before me, he spits on me to get me wetter. I should be shocked, grossed out, something… but instead, my whole body responds, a jolt of heat up my spine catching me off guard.

His mouth is on me now and he’s groaning as he works his tongue over me, the same rhythm, the same pattern I was using with my fingers. My eyes flutter closed as I moan.

“Look at me,” he says against my clit.

Shuddering with pleasure, I obey.

“Good girl. Now put your hand here. Keep your legs open. Yes, baby, just like that.”

I’m panting, losing myself in the heat of his words, doing what he says on autopilot. I’ve never had anybody boss me around in the bedroom before and it’s doing something new to me. It’s turning off my brain, letting the pleasure take over completely rather than trying to perform for him. He doesn’t want a performance. He just wants me, and there’s something so freeing about that.

It’s like, for the first time, I’m allowed to just exist in my body.

“Touch your clit for me,” he says, his voice low and husky. “Good girl. You’re doing so well, goddamn.”

His words rocket over me, taking me out of myself a little more with every syllable. He’s kissing my thighs as I touch myself, fingering me as I play with my clit. He replaces his hand with his mouth and groans as his tongue works over me.

“God, you taste incredible.”

The people pleaser in me is writhing in absolute bliss under the weight of his praise. He’s telling me that I’m good enough. No, not just good enough… that I’m exactly right, and that everything I’m doing is perfect. And it hits me, somewhere underneath the pleasure, that I’ve been praised my whole life. Good girl, Josie. So agreeable. So easy. So accommodating. But that praise was always for shrinking. For being less. For making myself convenient. Hunter is praising me for the opposite. For being more. For showing him exactly what I want, exactly how I want it, without apology. He’s praising me for taking up space in my own body, and my body is responding to that distinction like it’s been starving for it.

I feel it building up inside me. I’m writhing on the chair, my hips chasing his touch, as little sounds spill from my lips.

18

HUNTER

I’m buried between her thighs and the sounds she’s making are wrecking me. I’m so hard it hurts. I’m close to losing it, just from the taste of her and the way she’s moving against my mouth. She hasn’t even touched me, but I’m having a hard time keeping it together.

I feel her orgasm building, the little pulses, the heat, the wetness, the taste of her changing. I lock in. Using my tongue, my fingers, my face to their fullest potential, I bring her closer and closer. I’m not guessing. I watched her. I watched her touch herself, watched her fingers find the rhythm her body knows, and I memorized it all. The pressure, the speed, the shape of her touch. I’m giving it back to her now, translated through my mouth, and I can feel the difference. She’s not bracing. She’s not waiting for me to give up. She’s letting it build.

Her breath catches, releasing in a low moan that drives me clean out of my mind. I feel it in her waist first, the tension reaching a point of no return, then in her thighs as they clamp around my head. Her hand is in my hair, gripping me tight against her.