Page 160 of Reverie
Hunter makes a rumbling sound deep in his chest and resumes rubbing his hand up and down my leg, getting closer and closer to where I really want him.
“This is all good to know, Sunbeam. I really only have two limits,” he says. His gaze flicks away from me, and he says, “I don’t do butt stuff. Receiving.”
I’m quiet. I understand why it would be off-limits for him. It doesn’t warrant picking apart, and I can tell he doesn’t want to dive into it.
“And the second limit?” I ask.
He takes a deep breath. “The second thing is that I won’t leave bruises or marks on you.” He looks back at me. “Seeing that handprint on your neck had me wanting to jump off a building. I’m serious, Winter. Even if you ask me to, I won’t do anything like that to that extent ever again. Hard limit.”
I put my hand over my heart and the other over my lips to prevent any words from spilling out. I didn’t love the sight of the bruises either, but I don’t hate him because they happened. But we hadn’t done what we’re doing now—talking about this stuff—so of course it feels huge and like a violation.
“You got it, H. Hard limit.”
He nods. After a beat, his face brightens. “All right. Enough talking about sex. Get over here and climb on my dick, Sunbeam.”
He lifts, pushing his pants past his hips. His cock springs out of his slacks, and I start to drool again, completely overwhelmed by all the possibilities of giving and receiving pleasure with Hunter Brigham.
“Yes, Sir,” I say. I don’t waste time. I lift my skirt, slide my panties to the side, and sink onto my husband’s hardness.
TWENTY-THREE
HUNTER
Winter’s eyes are reluctant to slide open when I sit on the edge of the bed. It’s barely sunrise, but we’ve been sailing through the night and now we’re at the place I’ve been dying to take her.
I just hope she loves it.
“Hunter, we’re on our honeymoon. A honeymoon is like a vacation. Vacations mean sleeping in,” she mutters, her face half-pressed into the pillow.
I chuckle, rubbing my hand down her back until I reach her ass. I give one of her juicy cheeks a squeeze and she jerks.
Looking adorably disheveled with her hair coming out of the braids she put them in, she frowns at me, emitting a growl. Not even the hot buttered biscuit and coffee I present her with seem to cheer her up.
“Where are we going?” she asks, taking a bite of the baked good. Her face falls slack for a second before brightening with the taste.
“They’re good, right?” I ask.
She hums in agreement. “The question? Where are we going at the ass crack of dawn?”
I cup her cheek, using my thumb to wipe away a crumb.
“It’s a surprise,” I say. She raises her eyebrow.
“I dunno, H. Your surprises lately have been a little sus. Like handing me over a duffle bag full of cash, sus.”
I chuckle, leaning over to grab a light bite of her thigh. She squeaks before saying, “Okay, give me ten minutes.” She punctuates the sentence with another bite of her food.
When we reach the top deck, I lace her fingers between mine, navigating her toward the Bell helicopter that I’ve prepared for flight.
“Okay, so we’re leaving the boat. Are we going far?” Winter asks as soon as both of our headsets are on. She settles into the seat, pulling on the seatbelt and stretching it out so that it pins her to the chair when it snaps back into position.
“Can you not just be surprised?” I ask with mock annoyance. I smile to soften the words as I flick on the controls.
“No, I cannot. I require prior information to digest. It’s all part of my anxiety, I’ll have you know.” She folds her arms across her chest.
I grimace, chagrined. “Of course, baby. We’re going to an island about thirty nautical miles away. It’s developed, so don’t worry about getting some rare, random tropical disease,” I say.
She blinks, staring out the glass in front of her seat.