Hunter had reached nirvana.
He'd never understood why or how men could dislike this, claim they only did it when forced to or—worse—refused to do it at all. Whenever he heard someone mutter a complaint or sigh about their wife or girlfriend being selfish, Hunter wanted to grab him or her by the lapels and give them a good shake.
There was something about going down on a woman, something mystical.
Something addictive.
It was like Christmas and his birthday rolled into one.
He shifted his knees as her hand dug through his hair, tangling and gripping. Hunter held back a yelp of pain, grinning at the familiar demands.
Some things never change.
His attention returned to Angela and to the delicate triangular temple at which he was busy worshiping. It was dark under her skirt, but he didn'
