I loved that it felt a dash degrading.
Most of all, I loved that Hunter Fitzpatrick was crazy enough to screw someone behind his father’s back and risk losing his inheritance. Brave enough to fuck the daughter of a mob boss like an animal, knowing the potential consequences.
He was fearless, and a rebel, and a sinner, and a saint.
A prince who’d never wanted his title.
A pure-hearted rake.
He was everything a woman should run away from, personified. And yet here I was, falling deeper.
Overwhelming pleasure coursed between us, and I felt him swelling and jerking inside me as I fought my next climax, desperate we do this together.
“Are you coming?” I panted.
“Baby, I’m about to need an IV after this shit. Permission to be filthy?”
“Granted.” A moan tore from my mouth at the same time he pulled out of me. My knees knocked together. I shook, feeling the loss of him. He ripped the condom off, cupped my pussy with his hand, shoving three fingers into me, and pressed his cock into my sore, tight hole. With my butt up in the air and wide open, I felt the thick liquid of his cum shooting around it in hot ribbons. He pushed his fingers deeper between my lips, covering my entrance completely so his cum couldn’t drip into it. I came, too.
Hunter collapsed on top of me, his chest pressing against my sweaty back, and before we knew what was happening, the bed tipped over to one side, one of its legs breaking. The shattering noise of split wood filled the otherwise silent room.
I rolled down from the tipped mattress, and the only thought that crossed my mind was that my shoulder didn’t need another hit, especially after I was making some progress. But before my body reached the ground, I felt Hunter’s arm wrap around my waist, pulling me back up the bed gently. I clung to him like we were stranded in the middle of the ocean on a piece of wood.
“Jesus,” I groaned. “How’d that happen?”
“Is that a hypothetical question, or can I give you the long, dirty answer?” Hunter murmured into my ear, nibbling on my lobe, making me giggle.
I scrambled to get up on my feet, but he pinned me down, grabbing my butt. He kissed the side of my face.
“Wait here. I’ll clean you up.”
“The bed is broken,” I reminded him. “This is not a movie. I’m not going to luxuriously rest on a bed that’s tilted down.”
He rolled his eyes at me theatrically. “Cramping my style.”
He lifted me, honeymoon-style, and carried me to his en-suite bathroom. In there, he hoisted me on the counter, took a towel, rinsed it in hot water, and cleaned between my legs. I watched him the entire time. There was no way he did that with all of his hookups.
Stop thinking about them. Stop obsessing over the many girls he’s been with. There are more to come, and anyway, it’s none of your business.
“You handled things in a really badass way today,” I said after a while.
The silence was comfortable, but watching his face as his eyes focused on cleaning my most intimate places unraveled me. I still couldn’t believe I’d slept with someone who wasn’t a steady boyfriend of sorts.
Hunter shook his head. “I learned from a young age that women are not here to stay. My parents sent me to boarding school when I was six. I had nannies coming out of my ass whenever I was home. I don’t think my mom consciously knew she wasn’t there for me, but that doesn’t change the fact that she wasn’t. The nannies were interchangeable and frequently replaced. Da made it a point to change them every season so I wouldn’t learn to rely on a woman. I think it scared him to think one of his boys wouldn’t be fully independent. He did it with Cillian, too. Only difference was, Kill was born with a soul ten shades darker than a normal human—his father’s son through and through. We both grew up learning that women were disposable, born to serve us, and sire heirs. Da cheated on Mom. Mom cheated on Da. Kill…fuck knows what goes through his head while he samples his endless string of meaningless flings, but he knows how to do it quietly.”
I touched his face, urging him to say more. I could practically hear the wheels in his brain turn as he thought about it.
“What Da didn’t take into consideration was that I wasn’t Cillian. I wasn’t born a cold-blooded, self-serving degenerate with a taste for pain. So I went for the closest thing—a poor imitation. But it always came off without that Cillian Fitzpatrick shine. My flings are messy and public and, as it turns out, really fucking expensive.”
I laughed at that last part, cupping my mouth. Hunter let loose a tired grin, throwing the used towel onto the floor. The housekeeper would wash it when she came tomorrow morning, just like this was a hotel.