Chapter 47: Chapter Forty-six

Hunter spent long minutes fucking her, taking whatever she could give and pouring every part of himself into her. His thrusts were deep and heavy, each one carrying his hunger, his frustration, his obsession. The bed rocked beneath their bodies, their sweat-slicked skin sliding against each other. Mirabella’s hands clutched at the sheets, her back arched weakly, her voice hoarse from all the screaming she had done.

When his orgasm was close, Hunter reached down between their joined bodies. His thick fingers found her clit, and he began stroking it with fast, rough precision.

“No more, please…” she begged, her voice breaking as her body shuddered with overstimulation.

“Shhh…” Hunter hushed her, his voice low and commanding. He looked down at her flushed face, her eyes glassy with tears and pleasure. “Look at me, baby.”

Her heavy lids lifted slowly, and their eyes locked. His stare was intense, burning into her, stripping her down to nothing.

“You’re coping just fine,” he murmured, his voice gravelly, soothing and cruel at the same time. “Just a little more. Now, cum for me.”

His pace increased. His hips slammed against hers faster, harder. His fingers rubbed her clit in frantic circles.

“Oh my god… oh my god… oh Hun…ter…” she moaned, her voice stretching into a scream. Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, crashing through her body. She could feel her eyes roll back, her vision blurred, her world spinning into white nothingness. Her limbs went limp, paralyzed under the force of it.

“Oh… God… will I… die now?” she whimpered, half in fear, half in wonder, her voice loud enough for Hunter to hear.

Her words were funny, but Hunter was far too busy to laugh. His teeth clenched, his breath ragged. With a few more brutal thrusts, his climax ripped through him. He groaned loudly, deep and guttural, as he released thick spurts of cum inside her.

“Ah… babe…” he panted, looking down at her sweat-drenched body. “Look at you… all spent, taking my cum inside you.”

When he was finally done, his chest was heaving. His body, heavy with exhaustion, nearly collapsed on top of her. But with effort, he rolled over onto the mattress beside her, his arm brushing against hers.

They both lay there quietly, the silence disturbed only by their heavy breathing. The air in the room smelled of raw sex, thick and humid, clinging to their skin and their senses.

Hunter turned his head to look at her. Her lashes were trembling, her face relaxed, her lips slightly parted. She was already drifting, exhaustion pulling her under. Her eyes were heavy, her breathing softening.

Unable to resist, he moved closer. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his chest. He pressed his lips to her hair, inhaling her scent. And just like that, with her warmth against him, they both drifted into sleep.

When Mirabella woke up, the morning light was spilling through the curtains. For a moment, she was confused about where she was. Her body felt strange, almost foreign to her. Every part of her was aching and throbbing. Her thighs burned. Her pussy felt torn apart. Her hips felt bruised. Her lips were dry and cracked from all her cries last night.

She groaned softly, lifting herself from the bed. Her muscles screamed in protest. She looked around. Hunter was nowhere in the room.

She reached for the shirt at the foot of the bed—Hunter’s shirt from yesterday. The fabric smelled of him, of his sweat and his cologne. She pulled it over her naked body, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs.

Her steps were slow as she made her way to the bathroom. She did her business, washed her face, brushed her teeth with one of the spare brushes. She stared at her reflection for a moment—messy hair, swollen eyes, skin marked with faint red patches from his rough hands.

When she left the bathroom, she walked back through the room and out into the hallway. Her bare feet padded against the floor as she descended the stairs.

Before she even reached the base of the staircase, she heard noise. Clattering. Movement. She frowned, following the sound until it led her to the kitchen.

There, he was, in all his glory.

He was dressed only in grey sweatpants that sat dangerously low on his hips, the waistband clinging just enough to tease her eyes. His torso was bare, his muscles flexing as he moved smoothly around the kitchen. The sight of him stirred something in her stomach, it always did. Even when it shouldn't. But she quickly looked away.

When he noticed her, he smirked faintly. “Morning, baby.” He gestured for her to come to him with a slight tilt of his hand, confident she would obey.

But she ignored him. She walked straight past him to the fridge. She pulled it open, grabbed a bottle of cold water, and twisted the cap open.

Hunter appeared behind her almost instantly. He took the bottle from her hand without asking, returned it to the fridge, and closed the door. Then, in one swift move, he pressed her body against the cold surface of the fridge.

“Did you not get enough of my cock last night?” he asked, his voice low and taunting. “Why are you ignoring me this morning? Huh?”

She pushed against him, her palms flat on his chest, trying to create some space between them. When he shifted back just enough, she slipped out from under his arm and walked to the counter.

On the counter sat two mugs of steaming coffee, two plates of toast, and a dish of meat and vegetables. She picked up a piece without hesitation.

Hunter followed, of course. He grabbed her waist, turned her to face him, and effortlessly lifted her onto the counter, positioning himself between her thighs as always. It was now a pose he had claimed for them, one he returned to again and again.

He picked up a piece of toast and held it to her lips. “Eat,” he said.

She snatched the toast from his hand, her jaw tightening. “I can feed myself. I don’t need you feeding me.” She took a sharp bite, chewing loudly in defiance.

Hunter said nothing. He only stood there, staring at her with unreadable eyes, watching her lips and every move she made.

“You’re angry at me,” he finally said. It sounded like a question, but it wasn't necessarily a question.

She said nothing. She kept chewing, her eyes locked on him in silence.

“Bella, talk to me,” he urged, his voice softer now. “Is your pussy sore? Did I injure you badly?”

Still, no reply. She only looked at him, her stare sharp, as if daring him.

Since she wasn’t going to answer, Hunter decided he’d find out for himself. In one swift motion, he took the food from her hands, set it aside, and pushed her deeper into the counter.

Her eyes widened. “What do you want to do?” she asked, her voice high. Her thighs clenched instinctively.

If they had sex again now, she was sure she’d pass out for days. Her body wouldn't be able to handle it.

“Since you can’t talk again,” Hunter said calmly, his voice low and steady, “I’ll just check for myself.”

His hands moved quickly, placing her legs on the counter, spreading them open wide. She gasped, trying to close them, but his strength overpowered her.

She was only wearing his shirt. Her lower half was bare, completely exposed to him. His eyes darkened as they landed on her pussy.

Her pussy was red, swollen from his use last night. Just below her clit, he spotted a small cut, a blister where her delicate skin had given way under the friction.

“Don’t ignore me again,” he said firmly.

Before she could respond, his head dipped down. His lips brushed her clit in one slow swipe.

She jolted, her body arching at the hot, wet feel of his tongue.

“Let me make it feel good,” he murmured. “It won’t hurt.”

Then his mouth latched onto her center. His tongue flicked and swirled. His lips sucked her sensitive bud. His hands held her thighs wide open, not letting her move away.

Her head fell back, her hair spilling over her shoulders. A loud moan tore from her throat.

“Ahhh… Hunter…” she gasped, her hands flying into his hair, tugging him closer.

He devoured her, his tongue moving faster, his lips sucking harder. Within minutes, she was buckling, grinding against his face uncontrollably. Her body shook, her cries filling the kitchen.

“Ahhh! I’m… I’m cumming!” she screamed, and her orgasm ripped through her violently.

Her thighs clamped around his head, her hands trembling in his hair, as her body jerked and spasmed against his mouth.

Hunter licked her clean, sucking her through every wave of pleasure until she was trembling messily in his hold.

When he finally came up, his lips glistened. He kissed her hard, letting her taste herself in his mouth.

“I didn’t kiss you last night,” he whispered against her lips, nipping at the corner of her mouth before pulling back. Just as quickly, he released her, set her legs down, and handed her back the plate of food.

Her chest was still heaving, her face flushed, but her eyes locked onto his.

And then, with deadly calm, she said, “Tell me what happened to my brother… and how he died.”