Untamed Hearts(11)

God, yes.

Hunter strokes again, his thumb catching my nipple through my thin dress, and I can’t help but moan again at the sweet friction, hearing my voice as if from far away.

“Jesus,” Hunter swears, lifting his eyes to meet me. His breath is ragged now, his eyes bright and ravenous. “Brit, I...”

I stop him with a kiss, then take his hand and rise to my feet. I’m unsteady, but certain: we’re long past words, there’s nothing left to say. Conversation would only drag me out of this delirious state I’m in, give me time to question and reconsider, and talk myself out of the one thing I know I need more than anything.

Him. All of him.

Now.

I tug his hand, and Hunter comes willingly, following me across the rocky shore to the shadow of the old lighthouse, long since deserted. The handle gives way easily under my grip, and the door opens, hinges groaning with age. It’s dark inside the small, round room, but moonlight falls through the windows, illuminating a dusty floor and some old furniture, and the winding staircase in the corner.

I pause, my desire suddenly making way for embarrassment. What am I doing, bringing him here? I’ve taken shelter in the lighthouse from a dozen summer storms, days when the winds kicked up too quick to make it back to town. I always thought the peeling paint and old wooden furniture was romantic and faded, telling a story of some other time, but now, I send an anxious glance over to Hunter, wondering if he thinks it’s just a run-down old shack.

“This is amazing,” he says instead, crossing immediately to the old wooden chest in the corner, hand-carved and still standing, a good twenty years after it had been abandoned. “How is all of this still here?”

“Nobody comes around.” I shrug, “There are easier places for the kids to hang out.”

“I love it.” Hunter goes to the far window, looking out over the rocky shore and the bay beyond. “It’s like we’re hidden on the edge of the world.”

He turns back to me and our eyes meet across the small room. It’s like a switch has been flipped, flooding my body with desire all over again. Suddenly, I remember what we were doing, before I brought us here inside.

What we were about to do.

My breath catches in my throat as Hunter slowly crosses the distance between us. “Thank you for bringing me here,” he whispers, reaching to brush a lock of hair back from my eyes. “For sharing this with me.”

I nod, entranced by the blue of his eyes, deep as midnight in the dark room. He doesn’t realize, this place is only part of what I’ve shared. The things I’ve told I’m tonight, the way I’ve let him in... It’s more than I’ve given any guy before.

“Brit” He murmurs my name, so soft, it’s barely a whisper over the distant crashing of the ocean. “God, what you do to me...”

He trails his index finger down my cheek, along the curve of my jaw, then lower still. I shiver, my eyes falling shut, lost in the darkness and the low, clawing thread of desire. I’m hypnotized, powerless to do anything but feel the shiver of his caress on my skin. Lower, lower, he trails his finger along my collarbone, slowly teasing along the neckline of my dress.

He stops.

My eyes fly open, staring straight into his. He’s watching me, studying me with such intensity, I want to look away, but I can’t, I just gaze back, helpless, as both his hands sweep up along my bare shoulders and then slowly, deliberately, push my thin straps aside.

My heart skips. The dress is flimsy, and I’m not wearing a bra underneath, but there’s no time to feel self-conscious, not when Hunter’s fingertips are dancing across my skin, sending shivers of quicksilver pleasure spiraling out from his touch as he edges the thin fabric lower, lower, until it falls around my waist and my breasts are bared, pale in the moonlight.

Hunter sucks in a ragged breath.

“God... Brit...” He stares at me, and despite my mindlessness, I feel a thrill from the desperate desire written clear on his beautiful face.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, staring at me like I’m a work of art, a priceless treasure. “So fucking perfect.”

I catch my breath, waiting for the clumsy assault: the pawing, the rough grope that’s surely coming now. But Hunter barely moves, he just takes that one, perfect finger, and strokes it slowly over the slope of my breast.

I shudder.

He strokes again, tantalizing, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. The ache in me is coiling tighter, rising higher with every touch. Hunter gently circles one nipple, and then slowly drags his thumb across the tight nub. I whimper, the pressure so sweet, but somehow not enough. I feel myself arching against his hand, my body demanding more.