Dropping the confectionary into the box, I lift my fingers to my mouth, sucking off the jam, meeting his eyes that turn dark at my actions. A groan rumbles low in his throat at the sight.
“You like taunting me, Buttercup?” He stalks closer, closing the distance between us. His hands grip my hips, lifting me onto the counter. I’m only dressed in an oversized tee, which he swiftly gets rid of. “Time for me to have breakfast,” he warns before tugging my thighs forward until I’m leaning on my elbows. He picks up the cream-filled donut, which is his favorite, and teases it over my mound. Without panties on, I’m sticky by the time he finishes.
“Is this what you wanted?” I taunt, spreading my legs wider for him.
His eyes, reminding me of someone I lost long ago, stare up at me from between my thighs. Then his rabid mouth is on me. His tongue dances along my clit, suckling the hardened bud into his hot mouth. Teeth grazing along the sensitive flesh send me spiraling into a lust-fueled orbit. My hips lift; my fingers fist in his hair as he devours my cunt like it’s his last meal.
A growl vibrates from his lips to the lips of my pussy, to my entrance, and my clit. Everything is too much. My eyes are shut so tight I see white sparks behind my lids. I’m crying out, but not making a sound at all. My body convulses, my back arches, and I’m coming hard on Hunter’s tongue as he fucks me with it.
His fingers dig into my hips painfully, and I cry out his name when my orgasm slams into me like a tidal wave, knocking me off the shore until my body shudders with a tsunami of emotion and desire.
I don’t know how long I lie there on the counter with my legs spread and the man I’ve known for the last four years eating me out, but when I lift my head, he’s standing between my legs with a smirk of satisfaction on his handsome face.
“I guess you missed me,” he says nonchalantly, his lips still glistening with my arousal.
“You’re insufferable,” I bite out, righting myself.
“And you’re utterly delectable.” Hunter leans in, his lips brushing along mine, and I get the scent of me on his mouth. “Are you happy I drove all the way here now?” he questions against my lips. His voice is tender. There’s too much emotion in the room, and I have to push him away.
Hopping off the counter, I pick up my coffee and take a long gulp.
“You know, Sam, one day you’re going to have to stop pushing everyone away,” he tells me easily, and I know he meant to say him.
“Why? You thinking of proposing, Hunt?” I giggle, stepping by him.
His hand grips my arm, spinning me around to face him. “You need to stop pushing me away. How do you know you can’t love when you don’t give it a fucking chance?”
Every time we’re together, it’s the same thing. He asks me why I can’t give him more, and I turn and walk away. Normally, the guy is the one walking away, but right now, it’s me pushing and him pulling. My body is still tingling, still needy for him, to be filled by Hunter.
“Is he ever coming back, Samara?”
Spinning on my heel, I raise my hand, my palm making contact with his stubbled cheek. “Fuck you, Hunter!”
“Yeah, you’ve done that,” he retorts. Grabbing his coffee, he makes his way to the door, and that’s when it slams into me, knocking the breath from my lungs.
“Wait!” I’m at his side in a second. My hand on his bicep, gripping him like he’s my lifeline. He has been. For years, he’s been there, through my broken heart, my dark needs, and the fucking agony I’ve caused him because I just can’t love.
“I’ve been waiting for far too long, Buttercup,” he murmurs, not looking at me. Instead, his gaze is trained on the door before him.
There were many days I wondered what was wrong with me. I knew I was broken, but this is ridiculous. A man like Hunter doesn’t come around often. He’s sweet, romantic at times, and we have amazing chemistry in bed, but deep down, I know I’ll never love him. I’ll never be able to give him my heart.
“It’s time you decide.” Only four words, and he walks out the door with his face still drenched in my scent.
Turning to the kitchen, I take a look at the counter and wonder what would happen if I ran out to stop Hunter. Would he stay? Would I ever be able to not love Archer? And even as that question flits through my mind, I know the answer. No. And as much as I care about Hunter, I know I’ll never love him. But even as the answer screams at me, I pull open the door and race out to the red SUV sitting in the parking lot. His engine is running, and I stand in front of the truck.