White Lies

... After

EPILOGUE

Blanche arches her back. Perched on a vanity, her fingers grip its edges. Her legs spread wide, wider as Hunter delves between them. She peers at him through shuttered eyes. The ever-present hunger for her intensifies in his gaze as he looks up to his wife.

His tongue invades her, causes her to hiss, and then it flicks up and hits a spot too sensitive from his earlier touches. Blanche convulses. Her toes numb. Her fingers ache from her clawing at the hard surface. Her body ablaze. Another invasion, another flick, another lick, and she gasps. She holds a breath until she shatters. A powerful orgasm overcomes both her body and mind.

Hunter stills. His tongue grazes her sex for one more quiver. Tenderly, he kisses the insides of her thighs before he straightens to his full height. On shaky legs, Blanche stands, but she knows he is not done with her, judging by the impressive bulge in his pants. She can taste her flavour on his lips as she kisses him. And without a word, but with one searing gaze, she turns around, facing the mirror.

Blanche's arms spread on the smooth vanity. Her breasts press against the surface. They watch each other through the lit mirror. The sound of Hunter unzipping his pants heightens her excitement.

Hunter gathers her long dress over her hips, exposing her to him. He teases her entrance with the tip of his cock, enticing a gasp form Blanche, followed by a small smile on the corner of her lips. He wants to ravish her every which way he can. And he has. But it is never enough. A primal urge to claim her creates a want, a need in him that will not cease to exist until he witnesses her panting, fragmented, satiated by him. His Blanche. The love of his life. The mother of his child.

His.

And he is hers just as much, if not more.

Through the reflection, he catches the flutter of her lashes as she moans, and sighs when he enters her. Inch by inch she receives him. Her heat scorches him, throws him off kilter. Hunter moves his hips, pumps in and out of Blanche, while his hands rakes her smooth skin until he finds the taut aureoles through the fabric of her dress. She mewls and begs him for more. He props one of her legs over the vanity, braces himself and hurries his pace, ramming her forward. He's about to lose his mind. He's about to explode, but he waits for her. When Hunter feels her inner muscles undulate, he ruts harder, losing all control. Shockwaves travel through his entire body, hitting each nerve endings, and causing him to let go.

"Baby... fuck," he growls. He bends at the waist and licks the music notes tattooed along the line of her spine--one of the few he has inked on her-- exposed by the backless dress, up to the nape of her neck. With her long hair pushed aside, he trails kisses to her ear and whispers, "You drive me crazy, Bee. You're amazing."

Blanche turns her head to him and meets his kisses. "You too, baby. You're the best stress-reliever." She reaches up to fix his bow tie.

A knock on the door disrupts them. "Blanche, you're on in five."

Hunter nibbles at the tip of her shoulder before straightening up. Carefully he pulls out of her. He reaches for a tissue box and helps Blanche clean up, before he tucks himself back into his boxers. With splayed hands, he smooths her dress over her curves, which remained after childbirth. He loves every inch of her, especially those curves.

"Do you know where my underwear went?" Blanche asks, looking around.

Hunter produces the lacy undergarment from his trousers pocket, but when Blanche reaches for it, he shoves it back in.

"Hey, give it back!" Blanche cries out. "I need those, Hunt."

He shakes his head, and kisses the tip of her nose. "Nope. You don't need them. They're mine."