The Hunter (Boston Belles #1)(71)

I slammed the door and ran into the lobby, letting the doors swallow me. I didn’t look back to see if they were waiting until I’d gotten into the elevator safely.

I knew they did.

They always waited, watched, cared for me.

Mom and Dad were my summer.




The apartment was dark and cool. There was something clinical and hotel-like about it, due to the air conditioner working overtime and the sleek, sophisticated furnishings that offered no personality. Up until now, I hadn’t known how Hunter could stand it. Now I knew—he had no idea what a real home looked like.

I kicked my shoes off, my heart tap-tap-tapping impatiently, like an index finger over a surface.

I tiptoed my way to his room. The door was ajar. It was always ajar, a constant invitation. I pushed it open, and my heart sank when I realized he was fast asleep, his long, lithe limbs spread lazily on his California king bed. His skin was bronze, his taut muscles extended. Even asleep, he had the face of a sinister devil, framed by the blond curls of an angel.

Inwardly cursing myself for being late and him for being tired, I was about to stumble back to the living room and put something on Netflix, too amped up to go to bed. Just as I took a step back, Hunter’s voice, smooth and rough, came to me through the dark.

“Let me warm you up, aingeal dian.”

I turned back, walking into his room like I was facing death row. With every step I took, I felt like I was shedding, leaving something behind.

Step. Fear.

Step. Anxiety.

Step. Obsession.

Step. Overthinking.

I reached the foot of his bed. He extended his hand to me. I didn’t take it. Not yet. Something stopped me. I knew better than to ask for some kind of assurance, so it wasn’t about that. Still, I was uneasy. On edge.

Hunter sat upright, took my hand in his, and brought it to his heart. His bare chest was warm and hard. His skin smooth behind his chest hair. There was no hint of humor in his voice.

“Cross my heart and hope to die, when I first saw you in that parking lot, I knew your blood type was gold. I think we’ll be a good lesson for each other, Sailor. You don’t know how to live, and I don’t know how to do anything but live hedonistically.”

As he said that, I realized I’d never felt more mortal. But being mortal was being alive. I had so much to lose. So much to gain. So much to feel.

Hunter stood, using his thumb to brush the strap of my dress from my shoulder.

“I hate winter,” I croaked, looking down. “I’ve always hated winter.”

“Me too.” He captured my lips in his, unzipping my dress from behind until I was in front of him in nothing but my bra and panties. He kept kissing me—just kissing—gently, artfully, making me forget myself completely.

I forgot I was in the arms of the most untrustworthy man in America.

A man who promised me nothing but heartbreak.

A man who made me break my promise to his father—a promise laced with my future—simply because he knew how to charm his way out of every situation.

The first rain of fall started beating on the windows outside, and my heart squeezed in my chest.

Send me a signal, God, I’d asked the day Hunter thrust himself into my life. I wondered what fate was trying to tell me now.

He kissed me until my lips were sore, and when he took a step back to scan my body head to toe, I noticed he’d gotten rid of my bra somehow without my even realizing it. My underwear was shoved halfway down my legs, to my knees. I blinked back at him, awaiting verdict.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at you.” He rearranged the bulge in the center of his sweatpants.

“You’ve already seen me naked.” I scowled, taking a step forward and wrapping my arms around his neck. He dodged me again, still watching my body.

“Not willingly.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Then, you were a bomb waiting to be diffused. Now you’re an offering.”

I gritted my teeth, ready to lash out at him. Every time we were in the same room, the urge to fight him and have sex with him overwhelmed me.

“Well?” I pushed my panties all the way down, knotting my arms over my breasts, arching an eyebrow. “Am I good enough for you?”

“No,” he said evenly. “You’re better than me.”

With that, he pounced, throwing me to his bed, kissing my lips roughly, his mouth traveling down my neck. He stopped at my chest, drawing one of my nipples into his mouth and sucking it so hard I let out a whimper. I shoved his sweatpants down by the waistband, bracketing his waist with my legs and toeing the fabric away like a savage while my hands roamed his back. After sucking my entire breast into his mouth, he moved to the next one while reaching between us and playing with my clit. This time, he bit my nipple, teasing it with his teeth and tongue. I writhed, finding his engorged erection between our bodies, squeezing it hard.

“I’m going to fuck your brains out,” he groaned into my skin, his face sliding down from my tits to my navel. My entire body shook. His ridge slipped from my hand as he moved, leaving me with nothing. I felt empty, buzzing with anticipation.

“Do it, then.” I stomped on his mattress.

He laughed, taking his sweet time and drawing circles with his tongue down to my belly button, lazy strokes that made me thrash beneath him, arching my back, offering more of my body to him.