Page 17 of Hunt You Down

“What’s wrong baby?”

I peered between my fingers. André leaned against the counter, bracing his hands on the surface. I thought I’d memorized every inch of his body before—I was horribly wrong. Deep cut lines chiseled out his chest and stomach, and the muscles in his arms rippled as he tightened his grip on the counter. I groaned; he’d done that on purpose. André peered down his nose at me, grinning when he lowered himself to his elbows. The move pulled my eyes south, right to the marvelous erection jutting out from between his thighs.

“Stunning,” I whispered. Oh shit, I said that out loud. Cringing, I hid my face.

“Don’t be shy.”

Footsteps padded across the floor, and André tugged my hands away, replacing them with his lips on mine. That flicker in my belly ignited into a flame, and I hauled him into the water.

Without breaking the kiss, André lowered himself into the opposite side of the tub. I hastened to follow , sloshing water over the sides and to the floor as I straddled his lap. André fumbled around next to us, expertly pouring the silicone-based lube into his palm. Our tongues danced, André’s hand disappearing below the surface of the water. Working swiftly, André slipped slick fingers between my thighs, feeling around to my eager hole. One finger slid in, and I moaned. My hips rocked over his hand until I took the first finger to the knuckle. When I pleaded for more, André added a second. He crooked his fingers, tapping my prostate and stretching me until I bounced on his fingers, panting for air.

Despite my whimper of protest, he removed his hand. I watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he ripped the condom open, tossing the wrapper to the side. The foil made a satisfying clink as it hit the linoleum floor.

I sat back as André rolled the condom on, hips rocking against the air, desperate for attention. Finally, he lined himself up with my entrance—only to tighten his hand and stop me from sinking down.“Not yet.”

He wrapped his hand around my cock again and I growled, biting my lip to stifle a louder noise.

“Let it out, baby,” André encouraged, tugging my lip free.

Then he pushed through. I shouted so loud that it rattled the windows. At least, it felt that way. That only spurred André on. With slow thrusts, he tugged me further onto his cock. He moaned, bottoming out and pausing to allow me to adjust. One of his hands secured me by my hip, the other slowly stroking me from base to tip. My orgasm simmered beneath the surface. I’d never been able to last long but damn, this man was messing me up.

Once I was ready, I rose on to my knees. I sank down, and André groaned. He matched me thrust for thrust, bringing me right to the edge before backing off again. I begged and pleaded, fucking myself on André’s cock. He adjusted his angle, and the next thrust nailed my prostate. I cried out, crashing over the edge. Come spurted between his fingers, dripping down his hand and into the water. André’s hips bucked and he roared, cock swelling and pulsing his release deep inside me. I sighed, the hot rush of come inside me settling some deep-seated need that I hadn’t known existed. We rode out our orgasms, André steadying me with his arms around my waist.

Still breathless, André lifted me off him, tied up the condom and set it to the side. He took me in his arms, letting me lie on his chest until my breathing evened out.

“Are you alright?” he asked, brushing sweat-dampened hair out of my eyes.

I nodded. Exhaustion slammed into me, making it hard to speak.

“You want me to refill the water so you can bathe?”

No, I did not. The only thing I wanted was to be wrapped up under those expensive sheets with him.

“Can’t we just jump in the shower?”

André chuckled. “Yeah, baby. We sure can.”

He helped me stand and drained the tub, leading me into a hot shower. He guided me under the spray, wetting my hair. Without me having to ask, he poured shampoo into his hand, massaging it into my scalp. I moaned at the sensation. I’d had sex before, but nothing had ever felt so… intimate.

The shampoo was rinsed away, and André followed behind it with conditioner, checking in with me the whole way. My eyes burned, but I willed the tears away. No one had ever done anything like that for me.

With gentle strokes, André washed me from head to toe. My throat tightened, a bubble of emotion threatening to burst free. I choked back a sob, and André looked up at me, concerned. He knelt by my feet, soaping up my legs. “Is everything alright? Did I hurt you?”

My head thrashed side to side. Please don’t stop touching me… “This feels really nice,” was all I managed.

André straightened, taking me into his arms. I looked everywhere but at him, ashamed to be caught nearly crying—again.

He double washed my body, seeming to prolong the experience for me. He went even slower and gentler the second time, taking extra care around the parts of my body that were more sensitive from being broken, bruised, and battered.

Wordlessly, André rinsed the soap from my body, peppering my neck and shoulders with kisses.

Thankfully, he let me return the favor, and ten minutes later we were crawling into the giant California King bed. The way André’s curls bounced right back up even being soaking wet made me smile.

“Who gave you that gorgeous hair?” I asked, well on my way to sleep.

The Golden Girls played softly in the background, and André filtered his fingers through my hair.

“My mama—she’s Haitian. She moved to Louisiana when she was a girl,” he said with a smile. “My daddy’s a white boy from Tupelo. They met on a cruise, fell in love, and had me.”