Chapter 30
30
He fell asleep dreaming about her.
He’s not entirely sure he ever woke up.
I wake up wrapped in the muggy kind of warmth that makes you feel like you can’t breathe.
Briefly wondering if I’ve somehow been transported to a sauna in my sleep, I pry my eyes open only to be met with complete darkness. When I blink and my vision doesn’t clear, I twist my head, barely able to move it an inch, and my cheek brushes something smooth.
Smooth like skin.
Skin that reeks of my favorite scent.
It only takes a second to figure out where I am, why I’m so warm, and what the incessant weight pressing me into the bed is. The how of it all takes a little longer to decipher. I distinctly remember falling asleep curled up near the edge of the bed. Like, the very edge. Practically as far from Hunter as I could get. A feat I’m pretty sure I only got away with because by the time I emerged from the bathroom—face washed, teeth brushed, freak- out had—that long day had already caught up with Hunter and he was fast asleep.
With him sprawled on what I assumed was his side of the bed, I claimed the other and, taking up as little space as possible, recited the name of every horse on the ranch until exhaustion eventually took the wheel.
At some point in the night, things changed. We must’ve wriggled around because now, I’m sprawled flat on my back, starfishing in the middle of the bed, with every weighty pound of Hunter’s bulky body smothering me.
The exact logistics are a little fuzzy, but I think his head is somewhere above mine. I think it’s a cushiony pectoral muscle that my face is smushed against. Our legs are definitely tangled together, mine spread so indecently to accommodate the huge body between them, I’d blush if I wasn’t already on fire. One of my hands is trapped between us, and the other…
Well, it’s chosen to slip beneath the waistband of his boxers, and my fingertips graze the curve of a firm ass.
In my defense, I'm not the only one doing the sleep-groping. Actually, Hunter is doing double the groping. One hand is crushed between my ass and the bed, and the other spans the length of my underboob—both make my heart rate skyrocket.
I carefully try to wiggle free, a useless attempt that I know is going to fail, but I try anyway, just in case I can get out of this without waking Hunter. When it inevitably doesn’t work, I sigh.
“Hunter,” I whisper, and get no response. “ Hunter .”
A long groan vibrates from his chest through mine, causing goosebumps to pebble my skin. Not quite waking up, he nuzzles my temple and groans again, murmuring my name as his grip on me tightens.
Hot.
Did I mention it's so freaking hot?
Once. Twice. Three times, he mutters my name in his almost-sleep, and each hikes up the temperature by a hundred degrees, each makes me squirm a little more. I’m not sure what’s happening, not really, not until fingers dig into my ass cheeks and push, lifting my hips up to meet his as they buck, and something hard brushes between my thighs.
Oh my God.
My gasp is loud. Very loud. Loud enough to wake Hunter up for real.
He jolts. Stills. Stiffens.
“Fuck,” he rasps. “ Fuck , honey. I’m sorry.”
Sorry , he says, yet he doesn’t move a muscle.
I don’t want him to. It feels… good. Promising. Like it could be better, and I want to find out what better feels like.
The breath heating my scalp catches when slowly, slightly, I spread my legs a little wider. “Do it again.”
Hunter’s surprise is palpable, and I don’t blame him. Hell, I surprise myself. This isn’t like last time, when I could trick myself into thinking I had any control, when I could hide from him, when I didn’t have to see, only had to feel. This time, I’m the epitome of vulnerable. Completely exposed.
But I don’t care. My cheeks flame and my heart pounds, but I don’t care, because I really, really need him to move again. Before I cry or die or freaking combust, so unused to need like this that I don’t know what will happen if it’s not fulfilled.
For one horrible second, there’s silence. Palpable silence that makes me panic and prepare for rejection. And then, propping himself up on the forearm braced by my head, a guttural sound rumbling in his chest, Hunter does it again.
“Oh.”
His boxer briefs, my pajama shorts, they might as well not be there. The thin materials barely act as a barrier, allowing me to feel every hard inch—and God, are there a lot of inches—of Hunter as if there’s nothing separating us at all. As if he’s sliding through the rapidly growing wetness between my thighs bare. As if the blunt head of his erection nudges my clit bare. As if he’s moment away from burying himself inside of me, bare.
As if I'm moments away from letting him.
The squirming, moaning, limp pile of bones silently begging for more is unrecognizable to me. The nails scraping biceps the size of my head are mine, and the breathy gasps are scratching my throat, and the hips matching Hunter’s thrust for thrust are mine too, but I have no idea who I am right now. I have no idea what I’m doing, but it feels like I do.
It feels like Hunter likes it.
“Fuck, Line,” he hisses through gritted teeth—teeth he rakes down my throat. Steady, controlled strokes, that’s what he gives me, but the look in his eyes is anything but. It’s wild, a little freaking feral, and his muscles tremble beneath my palms, every one taut with restraint. “What the fuck are you doin’ to me?”
I’d ask the same question, if I was capable of forming words.
I didn’t know it could feel like this, something as simple as this. I didn’t know that freaking dry humping could make me want to crawl out of my skin in the very best way. Last time, God , last time was beyond describing, but this, this is different. This is more .
And I have a sneaking, terrifying suspicion that it has everything to do with the hazel eyes locked firmly on mine.
It’s almost too much, and I think Hunter knows it because his gaze drops, zoning in on the painfully hard peaks straining against my pajama shirt. Yet another groan escapes him as he drops his head. Yet another moan escapes me as scorching hot lips wrap around my nipple, fabric be damned, and suck hard . We are a vacuum of unintelligible noises as Hunter laves my chest with attention and I arch off the bed, desperate to push more of myself into his mouth.
“I need to see you,” he begs, he honest to God begs . “Think I’m gonna die if I don’t see these pretty tits.”
It’s like that desperate whine grabs my self-consciousness and throws it out the window. The slightest affirmative jerk of my head is all it takes for Hunter to grab the hem of my top and yanks it upwards, fisting it around my collarbones and baring my breasts for his viewing pleasure. He swears, muttering a filthily sweet ‘ so fuckin’ pretty ’ before diving in with everything he has. “Wanna fuck these one day, honey.”
Breath hitching, I clench around nothing, bucking erratically as I chase the building high.
Hunter’s deep chuckle reverberates bone-deep, and I whimper as his stubble scratches just right. “You like the sound of that?”
When I don’t reply, too lost in the statement to focus on the question, too shy to give the honest answer, teeth sink into the fleshy swell of my boob. Hard . A silent reprimand that I hear loud and clear, and react to accordingly. “ Yes .”
Hunter grips my thigh as he picks up the pace. His strokes become faster, harder, and I almost go off right then and there, my vision blurring as I bow off the bed, my mouth opening in a silent scream as I imagine what it would be like if…
“You have no idea how much I wanna be inside you right now,” he practically growls, toying with the frilled hem of my shorts, slipping his fingers beneath it. “It would be so fuckin’ easy. Could just rip these off and fuck you right now.”
I wouldn’t mind. I wouldn’t protest one bit.
“But I know you're not ready.” He snuffs my horny hopes and dreams before reigniting them. “Gonna get you ready, though. Promise. Gonna wait until you want it bad enough to ask politely with that pretty mouth. Nice and loud so I know exactly what you want.”
Loud he wants, and loud he gets. My cries echo off the walls as I come hard—harder than the last time, so hard I stop breathing. He doesn’t stop, not once, chasing his own high and it’s all I can do to hold on and take it. Take it and take it and take it until I think I can’t anymore. Until I see stars again. Until, for the first time in my life, I experience the wonder of multiple orgasms.
Hunter grunts, groans, moans , and then he’s coming too, with a ferocious shudder, hips pumping sloppily as his forehead presses to my sternum.
One last guttural noise leaves his lips before he stills. Our panting melds together, our bodies quivering in unison. An indeterminable length of time passes before Hunter blows out a breath and flops onto his back beside me, keeping one hand firmly clasped around my thigh. Our heads turn at the same time, opposite cheeks resting on a shared pillow, our faces only a few inches apart.
It’s odd, so very odd, how after what we just did, this is the part that feels overwhelmingly intimate. No touching, just looking. Really looking. As though he can see right through me, see everything. This is the part that rattles me the most.
Except, of course, for when I avert my gaze and realize my freaking boobs are still hanging out, my legs are still splayed, and my shorts are shoved so far to one side, they may as well not be there. Cheeks ablaze, I hastily fix my clothes.
Rolling onto his side, Hunter mouths against my shoulder, “If I shower, are you still gonna be here when I get back?”
I frown. “Of course I will be.”
“Good.” Relief flickers across his face, so quick I can’t be sure that’s really what it was, before he kisses the corner of my mouth. “What did I say about that head?”
“I know.” I sigh, wondering if he’s really good at reading me, or if I’m just easy to read. “Stay out of it.”
“Real good, honey,” he croons, praising me with a kiss too. One that quickly riles me up enough to leave me panting by the time he pulls away, his forehead hot against my cheek. “You know what.” A hand slips between my back and the mattress. “Just to be safe, I think you should come with me.”
I shriek when he rolls me on top of him. I wriggle like a fiend when he lifts me as he stands. I protest when he carries me into the bathroom and drops me on the counter beside the sink.
Funnily enough, my fight pretty much dies the second he drops to his knees.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
Twirling his car keys around his fingers, Hunter feigns innocence. “Like what?”
He knows exactly like what . The way he’s looking at me right now, the way he has been all morning. All crookedly upturned lips and roguish mirth and smolder . Like he’s seen me naked—which he hasn’t. Not really. Not completely . I might’ve been blissfully light-headed by the time he got off his knees, but the second the shower turned on and his hands went to the waistband of his boxers, I regained enough sense to flee.
He’s doing it on purpose, I swear. He enjoys flustering me so thoroughly, I’ve walked into at least four different pieces of furniture; it’s a miracle I’ve made it out the front door without a broken bone. “Quit it.”
“Can’t.” A tug on the back of my dress stops me from descending the porch steps and draws me back against a broad chest. His hair tickles my jawline, his stubble scraping my skin as he nuzzles my neck. “Changed my mind,” he rasps with a wet, warm brush of his lips. “Not goin’ to work today.”
It takes a herculean, a truly godly , effort not to disintegrate right then and there. “You’re already late.”
Very late. The sun’s already high in the sky, and he only has the morning off, not the entire afternoon. I don’t want him to get in trouble, and I certainly don’t want to be the reason he does. Even if lazy, long mornings with your not-boyfriend are pretty great.
Wriggling free, I skip down the steps and start towards my truck only to be twirled and smushed against the hood of Hunter’s. A hand by each of my hips, gripping the grille pressing into my back, I’m crowded by six-feet-six-inches worth of bonafide cowboy.
Poor me.
There’s something different about him today. Same old boots, tee, jeans—thank God for that—but he looks… lighter. Relaxed. A little younger, with that goofy, crooked smile. Nothing like the sullen grump who stomped into the house last night—I almost forgot about that, what with so much happening in its wake.
So, so much.
“Caroline,” Hunter teases, stooped low so I bear the full force of his smirk. “Stop lookin’ at me like that.”
My nose wrinkles with embarrassment as I swat his bicep. “Get out of here.”
With a lingering, too-heated-for-the-light-of-day kiss, he does. He doesn’t make any promises to see me later as he gets into his truck and drives away, and that’s fine by me. A night alone is probably what I need. Some time to detach. To remind myself of the casualness of this all.
A long whistle echoes through the air, making me cringe even before I spot the woman puckering her lips and making obscene noises. Skipping down the porch steps of the next cabin over with a laundry basket propped on her hip, Lux is the epitome of mischief. “Well, well, well. Late start today?”
I almost make an excuse. I almost blab a blatant lie about spending my morning at the store—y’know, doing my actual job rather than playing house on Serenity—instead of admitting what I was really doing. Protective instincts, I guess. Pointless instincts, considering I’ve been caught red-handed.
I scuttle after Lux as she dumps the laundry basket in the bed of the truck I didn’t even notice until now and starts towards another cabin. “Need help?”
“No.” Lux bumps her hip against mine, dark eyes glinting. “I need details. Many, many details.”
Yeah, no . Not quite sure I’m there yet. “Don’t you have work to do? A child to raise?”
“I have people for that,” she jokes with a playful roll of her eyes—never mind the fact she’s here, cleaning guest cabins right before my very eyes. Ushering me inside one, she wastes no time putting me to work helping her to strip beds. “C’mon. Fill me in. I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”
The comment makes me falter, a dirty pillowcase slipping from my fingers and onto the floor, which in turns makes Lux frown at me. I hesitate before letting the retort on the tip of my tongue spill free—surely, I didn’t use up all my bravery in the bedroom.
God, I can’t believe I just thought that.
“Yeah.” Eyes downcast, I slowly stoop to retrieve the dropped linen, needlessly folding it simply to give my hands something to do. “You’ve kinda been avoiding me.”
“What?” Lux scoffs, but it’s stilted. She waves me off, but it’s shaky. “No, I haven’t.”
I lift my gaze, even though the effort makes me itch. “You’ve been weird since Everett James was here.”
It’s Lux’s turn to avoid eye contact. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You know him.” I push a little harder. “Right? Like know him?”
A sharp snap echoes through the air as Lux airs out new sheets a touch too rigorously. “ Don’t .”
It’s a clear warning, but apparently, I’m feeling rebellious today. “I know something’s going on.”
Tan cheeks turn russet, and I can’t tell if it’s that temper of hers flaring, or the stain of embarrassment. “You don’t know anything.”
“Because you won’t talk to me.” Reaching across the bed separating us, I still her fiddling hands, wrapping my fingers around her wrist and squeezing gently. “You can, you know. Whatever’s going on, you can talk to me about it.”
Lux rolls her bottom lip into her mouth, hesitating. I hold my breath, convinced she’s about to tell me, convinced she wants to tell me. And then, like a flash of clarity smacks her across the face, she abruptly snatches her hand away. “I don’t want to, okay? Drop it.”