Yes, you already know what's about to go down.

For you, herbaltea17

I fumble to close the door behind me, not bothering to lock it, and as soon as we make it to the bed, Hunter is already pinning my hands.

"How do you like it, Jude?" she breathes, a tease of her breath over my skin.

"Rough," I whimper.

And a dark grin curves her lips, an unexpected touch of surprise blossoming in her brown eyes. With a single touch, I let her move me back onto the bed.

She presses a feather-soft kiss across my jaw. Taunting me.

I want to touch her. I want to feel her. Now.

"Take off your clothes," I order, my head tipping back as her palm slides between my breasts. In one motion, she strips off my shirt right down to the black bra.

"I'm going to find you better lingerie," she promises, and she tears the bra off. Ripping it in half.

"What will I wear?" I protest, as she tosses it aside.

"Nothing, preferably." A wicked smile. She straddles me and takes off her own top, and I move to unclasp her own bra, feeling the heat of her back with my fingertips.

She kneels down over me, and my legs part unconsciously. I can already feel the need building up, and I know I need her now. Her fingers caress my thighs, gripping my hips, trailing up my stomach. Every touch ignites an almost painful sensation of desire, and I can't take it—the teasing. I pull her down to me with a crushing kiss, tasting the mint-and-chocolate on her tongue, and moan into her mouth.

My hips writhe with the tension, the growing heat at my core. I sling one leg around her waist, bringing her closer to me, aching to rub against her.

With one hand, she tucks the hair behind my ear. A gesture so tender and intimate I don't notice as her other hand drifts between my legs, seeking out that blazing heat.

And then, in a single stroke, both of her fingers are inside me, filling me until I rock against her, moaning, "More, more."

"Say my name," Hunter growls softly, and with her inside me, thrusting hard enough that my eyes roll back, I can only rake my nails down her back.

"Hunter," I breathe, panting. My touch is desperate, roaming across every inch of her, exploring the hard lines of her back, the taut edges of her stomach, the supple surface of her breasts. Her hips move against mine, her fingers still moving swiftly, roughly, too fast for me to control the whimpers that escape me.

Mine, she said. Possessive. Territorial. And maybe that should have set me off about human rights, but I want her. And if I'm hers, then she can be mine, too. My nails drag down her back, and she arches with a shuddering moan. Her fingers keep moving, harder, faster, until my hips clench and I can't help but cry out, "Hunter." My legs tighten around her, my core contracting around her fingers, but she doesn't stop thrusting, and the waves of a climax crash against me hard enough that my head snaps back and I fist one hand in the bedsheets even as I bring her lips to mine.

"Hunter," I whisper against her mouth. I don't think I've ever come that hard.

I feel her lips curve into a smile, and that's all it takes for me to judo-flip her. Seated on the apex of her thighs, I tentatively touch that wetness there, until she lets out a soft breath that tells me she's just as turned on as I am. Seeing her beneath me, under my control—I almost come again, right there.

"Jude?" A daring question.

I want to make her moan. This girl, who has a feared reputation, who makes grown men run the other direction—I want to make her mine.

I inch back until her legs are taut, spread on either side of me, and my tongue brushes softly on the edge of her thigh. In slow circles, I trace the shape of her, caressing her edges until I can see the unspoken words in her eyes: Don't be a tease.

I meet her challenge with my own. I drag my tongue along her slit, and she jerks forward, a breathless cry between us. Her tattooed fingers tangle into my hair, and I begin to move in earnest, tasting that sweet core of hers. I nip at the bud of her clit, and her hips buck against me. Power—is this what it feels like to have complete power? Knowing that, with a single touch, I could make her climax hard enough to scream? It's the same power she has over me, but now it's my turn.

My tongue traces the folds of her sex, until I find that precious dip between the folds. With a slow, leisure stroke, I plunge one finger into her, feeling the heat that burns at her core. Moving in tune to the thrust of my hand, I lap at her clit, until she is shuddering with breathless need.

The tattoos on her forearm tighten as I hit that sweet deepness, my finger curling inside of her, my tongue buried in her folds. Her legs brace on either side of me, and I keep going, touching that sensitive spot inside of her so thoroughly she has no choice but to arch her back wordlessly, her fingers clutching the back of my neck.

I force her to ride out the final cresting waves of her climax, until she is panting and when she looks at me, I take the single finger, coated with her juices, and lick it clean.

Her eyes close, as though in pain. "Jude," she says roughly.

And then she kisses me, her tongue tracing the shape of my mouth, as though she is tasting herself on my lips.

"Jude," she repeats, her muddy-dark eyes almost black now with pure desire, but I'm not done.

A roguish grin. "Can you handle another round?"

Her smile shifts into something dangerous. Something daring.

Can you guess her answer?

Well, then, you probably know what happens next.

I don't know what time it is when I wake up, only that Hunter is next to me, her lean arms laced around my ribs, her knuckles grazing the underside of my breast.

Her head is buried in my shoulder, and I hear her even breaths as she sleeps.

The best part of lesbian sex? You can go on. And on. And on.

But even with Aimee, my ex-girlfriend from California, I never came that hard—or that much. Because our first round? Only the beginning.

Honestly, we must have set a record somewhere.

My eyes drift over to the alarm clock. 8:46 a.m.

If it had been any other day, I would have called that sleeping in. But last night, I didn't get that much sleep—and neither did Hunter.

I don't want to wake her, but I want to see her. I wriggle in her grip until her hands are tightened over my back, and I'm close enough to her face that I can count her lashes. Strands of her chestnut hair shift over face, and this close, I can see freckles that I never noticed.

She's so beautiful it hurts. All the little flaws, like the scar on her upper lip, only make her more striking, and I want to kiss her again.

I wonder what she thought of last night.

After at least five rounds, it was like I couldn't get enough of her. I needed her, more and more, so much it was unbearable, inhuman. I don't know what we sounded like, but I hope the walls are soundproof. And I can't help thinking—I don't know how I lasted that long with her near me in such close proximity. And I don't know how I'll ever go back to before.

Now that I know what her moans sound like, how her back arches, and the way her tattooed knuckles whiten when she fists the bedsheets, how am I supposed to pretend?

I know this can't last, though.

Once I prove myself to the Alpha, I can leave. I can get revenge, and then I can be free. I don't need to ever come back to the Underground, and I never have to see Hunter again.

I need to break this off with her. I need to—to what, Jude? End something that, for the first time since your mom's death, has made you happy?

Yes, I think. Yes, that's exactly what I have to do.

Last night, I dreamed of that blue-eyed girl. She grabbed my hand, her storm-and-summer eyes burning in the dark, and she pointed me down the road. Towards the mangled car at the end of the street.

Inside it, I could see myself. My mother. My body, broken in the passenger seat, and the ambulance taking me out.

I looked at the girl, but she was gone, and there was only a candelabra. Gold and blood.

"What is this?" I asked. Gunshots fired through the air, but I didn't feel the urge to run. And behind me, there she was.

Blaming me. "Why? Why did you do this?"

"I was just—I wanted to help!"

His dead body on the round. The candelabra in my head.

"You killed him."

When the dream ended, I could see the little girl standing in front of the dead man. Her blue eyes were haunting. Pinning me with a stare.

Run, Jude. Run!

When Hunter wakes up, there is something wrong with her eyes.

A light moan scrapes the back of her throat, sparking a need in me that is almost feral, and I lean towards her as if to kiss her.

But when she opens her eyes, they shift. The colour is different, not the familiar muddy-brown, but—something slips out as she blinks, a small, clear disc.

Before I can truly look at her, she bolts out of the bed, cupping her eyes. "My contacts!" she curses.

"Are you supposed to sleep with those in?" I call out, as she disappears into the bathroom.

I hear her laugh. "Interestingly, enough, no."

"You're lucky you're not blind, then."

But her chuckle sounds forced, and almost instantly, I become suspicious. What? My mother taught me well. "What's your prescription?" I ask. Casual.

I don't think I'm fooling her.

She peers out from the bathroom door, and her eyes are that familiar muddy-brown.

For a moment, she almost reminded me of that little girl. But I shake myself, because that girl is dead and Hunter isn't her. Hunter will never be her.

When she returns, she trails her fingertips across the curve of my thigh, towards my hip. And then I realize.

My scars. The white scars that map across my back and stomach, the ones from the accident when I was thirteen.

I wasn't self-conscious about them.

I hadn't even thought about them.

How is that possible? In public, there is almost instinctual desire to cover my ribs and the scars that lace around my waist. But here, with her, for the first time in years . . . I forgot about them entirely.

In the light of day, her eyes drift over me, soaking in every inch of my bare skin, and I resist the urge to pull the bedsheets around me. Her gaze isn't critical . . . but worshipping. And slowly, that pulsing need begins to vibrate between my legs.

"What do you say?" she asks huskily. "Round eleven?"

"You know," I whisper, crawling towards the edge of the bed. "You made me a promise."

Her eyes darken, and I think I've said something wrong. "A promise?"

"That, when you punished me, I would know."

"I haven't punished you."

I let a rough laugh escape me. "Then make good on your promise."

She opens the nightstand to pull out a blindfold. "How does this sound?" she whispers, searching my eyes.

I take one last look at her—the burning eyes, the smooth skin, the taut lines of her stomach. I want to memorize her, to imagine her.

"Tie me up," I say, and I hope it sounds like a promise. Because I would like to be tied up in more ways than one.

With gentle fingers, she secures the blindfold over my eyes.

I shiver, as she presses a light kiss to the back of my neck. Then further, on my shoulder. Her hands are cold, tracing the edges of my spine until my back arches. She cups my breast, rolling the bud of my nipple between her fingers, and it hardens. I lean back into her, writhing my ass against her hips. Urging her to go rougher. Harder.

My head tilts back over her shoulder as her lips touch my breast. Her tongue rolls over the nipple, and the sensitivity coaxes a moan out of me.

I have surrendered to her fully. From behind, she leans over, her palm sliding towards my center. I am completely in her power, and she knows it.

And then I hear something that makes me jerk up.

Hunter's hands stiffen. Her protective grip on me tightens.

I can't see anything, but I hear it.

Tommy.

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I know, I know, I'm either updating 3+ chapters on a spree, or I'm not updating at all. But I promise I'm trying for consistency!

I have a question for you: Do you prefer having one chapter to read a day? Or multiple every other day/every couple of days? 

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The beginning, but definitely not the end.

And yes, Fannie, this was for you, too!