Charming Hannah (Big Sky 1)

“Besides you?”

“Yes.” She passes me the washcloth that she’s soaped up.

“I think my back is dirty.” She spins around, and she’s right. There’s glitter everywhere, so I get to work, washing it off, then rinsing the cloth, over and over again until it’s gone. She turns around and points to her breasts, not saying a word. I lather fresh soap on the cloth and wash her chest, her belly and sides, and then she bites her lip and points to her neck.

“I don’t see any glitter there.”

“It’s there,” she replies. Her breathing is faster as I drag the wet cloth over her neck. I push her out of the water and against the wall, and she surprises me by resting her foot up on the bench and points to her inner thigh. “Right there.”

Wordlessly, I wash her inner thighs, up to the crease of her legs, not touching her pussy.

“Brad,” she says.

“Mm hm.”

“Right here.” She points to her center, and I immediately lower to my knees, staring in awe at the beauty of her. Her clit is swollen with desire, as are her lips, and I’ve never wanted someone so bad in my damn life.

Rather than use the washcloth, I lean in and lick her, from pussy to clit and back again, before pulling her lips into my mouth and sucking.

“Harder,” she says, panting. I comply, using my teeth a bit as well, and she’s writhing against the wall as she grabs my hair in a death grip. I push her leg up higher, sure to keep her balanced with my other hand and go to town on her, licking and sucking, biting and nibbling until she cries out in absolute pleasure.

I stand and boost her up against the wall, then push inside her. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“Turned on,” she mutters and squeezes herself around me. “You turn me the hell on, Brad Hull.”

I grin against her neck and pound her against the wall, unable to go slow or soft. Slow or soft doesn’t fit our mood tonight. We’re ravenous, and I’m going to take and take until neither of us can stand it anymore.

“Can’t get enough of you.”

“Good.”

She bites my shoulder, and that’s it. I can’t do this against the wall anymore, so I flip off the water, and carry her, dripping wet, to my guest room, lay her down and continue to feast on her. Her tits, her pussy, every bit of her.

And she’s giving it back just as fiercely. Her hips buck, her hands grab, and she’s kissing and biting every piece of flesh she can find.

It’s like we’re crazy animals, unable to stop consuming each other.

I pull out and flip her over, slap her ass, and plunge inside again, fucking her until we’re both crying out, coming hard.

And when we’re done, I carry her back to my bed, tuck us both in and begin again, unable to keep my hands off of her.

“I’m sober now,” she says with a lazy smile and opens up for me beautifully. “And thank goodness. I definitely want to remember this tomorrow.”

***

“We should sleep at some point tonight,” Hannah says a few hours later. We’re in the kitchen, making pancakes.

“You said you’re hungry.”

“I am.” She grins and passes me the eggs. She’s sitting on the counter, wearing one of my CFPD T-shirts, her hair a riot of red. She’s adorable. “But you have to work in the morning.”

“I’ve survived on little sleep before.”

Once the batter is mixed, I set to work pouring it on my skillet. While I wait for it to be ready to flip, I settle between her thighs at the counter and kiss her soundly. “You’re damn gorgeous, Hannah.”

“I must be a mess,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t think we got all the glitter off.”

“I’ll be cleaning glitter out of my house for weeks.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’ll bring back happy memories every time.”

She drags her fingertips down my face and her expression is suddenly serious.

“What is it?”

She shakes her head and breaks eye contact, looking at my hair as she runs her fingers through it.

I take her hand in mine and kiss her palm, then lay it against my cheek.

“Talk to me, Han.”

It’s quiet in the house. Dark, aside from the lights under the cabinets, setting the room in a low glow.

“You need to flip the pancakes,” she says and kisses my forehead before I move to the skillet and give them a flip. But before I can return to her, she jumps off the counter and retrieves two plates, the butter, and syrup, and the moment from a few moments ago is lost.

“I can’t believe how hungry I am,” she says.

“These three are ready.”

“Gimme.”

I put the pancakes on her plate and then pour two more for me, and turn to watch her slather butter and syrup all over her middle of the night snack.