Marie Reynard

He sucked Hunter’s cock like it was his life’s purpose, not just his job.

What the actual fuck?
Why didn’t Hunter want Richard to cuddle him?
Or to fuck him again this goddamn second?
Could he not see Richard was half-hard?
Wait. Why would he care if Hunter wanted to be cuddled? That wasn’t his job.

And god, Richard’s dinners. The man cooked as well as he fucked—an utterly unfair combination.

he diced vegetables for the tabbouleh while Hunter attempted to peel the carrots they’d be using for dipping. His peeling technique was only slightly concerning. It seemed decently unlikely he’d lose a finger in the process.

No matter what they cooked, Hunter was the best scent in their kitchen.

Richard lowered them into the hot water and settled Hunter into his lap. Their bodies fit against each other in a way that bordered on divine, and when he sank into Hunter, the only words that existed in the universe were ‘home’ and ‘mine.’

“Let me top tonight.”
Richard didn’t hesitate to agree. Hunter wanted it so Richard wanted to give it to him. He wanted to give him everything.

“You didn’t answer. What do I smell like?”
“Like home,”

He’d known that from the moment he’d woken up with Hunter in his arms and realized he’d do the same tomorrow. That alone made him feel like everything would be alright, regardless of how this went. He’d never felt more sure and settled in his life.