Chapter 15
Paige
The pool table sat in the center under a low green lamp, casting soft light over worn felt and a couple of abandoned cue balls. The jukebox in the bar still hummed faintly through the wall, but in here it was just us. No windows. No curious eyes to see us from outside.
My butt hit the edge of the pool table as Hunter stopped in front of me, his presence filling the room in a way that made it suddenly feel smaller. Warmer.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low, his hand hovering near my waist like he wasn’t going to touch me until I said yes.
I nodded before I found my voice. “Yes. More than okay.”
Something eased in his shoulders, and then he stepped closer, his palm sliding along my hip. The heat of his touch bled right through my jeans, steady and sure.
I leaned into him; my hands braced on his chest. “But I need to say this before anything else happens. I’m not ready for complicated conversations about what this means. Not tonight.”
“Then we won’t have them tonight,” he said, without a single ounce of hesitation.
Relief loosened something tight in my chest, and I let myself pull him down into a kiss.
It started like the one in the parking lot—familiar and warm—but quickly deepened, hunger curling between us. My fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned against my mouth like he’d been waiting years to feel this.
When his hands slipped under the hem of my shirt, his palms warm against my skin, I broke the kiss just enough to whisper, “Condom?”
He smiled, quick and a little breathless. “I have one.” He stepped back long enough to tug his wallet from his back pocket, the foil packet catching the low light. “Still okay?”
“Yes,” I said, with more certainty than I’d expected to hear in my own voice. “I love how you check in with me. I’m okay, I promise.”
His lips found mine again, slower this time, like he was savoring the moment. Each touch was deliberate—his hands mapping my waist, my ribs, the curve of my back—as if he was trying to learn me all over again but this time beneath my clothes, skin on skin.
When he pulled my shirt over my head, his gaze lingered on me like he was memorizing every inch. “You’re beautiful,” he said, not in the offhand way men sometimes did, but like it was a fact he’d been holding onto for years.
Heat spread through me, and I pulled him closer, wanting to feel his solid strength pressed against me. My legs bumped the side of the pool table, and he guided me back until I was sitting on the edge, his hips between my knees.
The kiss turned hotter, more urgent. He traced his lips in a line along my jaw, down my throat, and my breath caught when his stubble brushed my skin. My hands slid under his hoodie, finding warm, hard muscle, and I felt him shiver when my nails scraped lightly along his spine.
He murmured my name against my skin like it was both a prayer and a warning, and I knew—down to the very center of me—that this was going to change everything.
And I wanted it to. It was time.
He framed my face with his palms, his thumbs brushing lightly over my cheekbones like he was making sure this was real before moving any further.
“Tell me to stop anytime,” he said, and the weight behind those words wrapped around me just as much as his body did.
“I won’t,” I whispered. “I don’t want to.”
That earned me the kind of kiss that stripped the rest of the world away. His mouth was warm and demanding, but not rushed, each movement deliberate—like he wanted to memorize the way I tasted, to study the way I breathed when he kissed me just right so he could do it again.
He eased me back on the pool table, his hands sliding under me to hold me steady.
The felt was cool against my skin where my shirt had been, the edge pressing into the backs of my thighs.
He broke away just long enough to pull his hoodie and T-shirt over his head, and I couldn’t stop my gaze from roaming over him—over his broad shoulders, down the cut of muscle down his stomach, the trail of hair disappearing under his waistband. He was beautiful.
“Lift up,” he ordered, spreading his hoodie out beneath me as I did. “You’re staring,” he said, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.
“Uh-huh, I am,” I murmured, unapologetic. “I’ve earned it.”
That made him laugh, low and rough, and then he leaned back in, kissing me hard enough to make my toes curl.
His hands slid down my sides, gripping my hips as he tugged me closer.
The heat between us sparked sharp and insistent, and I didn’t bother pretending I didn’t want him.
The thought of slow fled recklessly out of my mind.
He unbuttoned my jeans, his fingers brushing along my hipbone as he tugged the denim down.
I helped, kicking them off to land with a soft thud on the floor.
My heart hammered, not from nerves, but from the pure headrush of being this close to him, this bare, wanting more and knowing I was about to get it.
He kissed his way down my neck, over my collarbone, his breath warm against my skin. When his hands slid over the backs of my thighs, urging them apart, I gasped—half from the shock of it, half from how right it felt. He dipped his head, kissing the inside of one thigh, then the other.
“Hunter, please,” I gasped right before he tasted me, gripping my thighs and spreading me wide to lick me from my opening to my clit. Never had I felt this way, ever.
I ran my hands into his hair to pull him closer. He knew what he was doing; he gripped my ass tight, fingers digging into my flesh as he licked into me and swirled his fingers in slow, deliberate circles. I cried out, falling apart embarrassingly fast.
“Fuck, the way you taste. The way you feel. So soft. So perfect. I can’t wait to get inside you…”
“Hunter.” My head spun from his words, his hands on my body, but mostly because of the way he looked at me. Like he was desperate for me, maybe even loved me a little bit. I had to stop thinking and get back out of my head. This was too much. “I’m saying yes. I want you. Please. Now.”
I sat, tugging at his jeans, my fingers fumbling at the button until he helped, shedding them along with his boots. And then there was nothing between us but the air, charged and thick.
“Still okay?” he asked again, his voice quieter now, a little hoarse.
“Yes,” I said, without hesitation. “Hunter, I want this. I need you.”
The way he looked at me then—like he’d been waiting years to hear me say that—sent a shiver straight through my entire body. He reached for the condom, tore the foil open with his teeth, and rolled it on without breaking eye contact.
When he lowered himself over me, his forehead pressed to mine, I could feel his heart racing against my chest. “If this changes anything for you tomorrow, tell me. I’ll handle it.”
“It’s not going to change how I feel about you,” I whispered. “If anything, I’m afraid it’s going to make it stronger.”
“Same for me. I’ve never wanted anything more.”
“Hunter…” His name was a confession on my lips, hope and fear tangled together.
He kissed me softly, and in that quiet, I realized there was no turning back. Every part of me was open, vulnerable, and it wasn’t just my body he was holding—it was all of me, laid bare and trusting him to cherish it.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he murmured, and then he kissed me as he eased into me, slow and steady, giving me time to adjust to his size.
The first movement stole my breath. The second had me gripping his shoulders, my nails digging into warm muscle as he found a rhythm that felt like we’d been made for it.
Every shift, every thrust was measured, intentional—not just chasing release, but building something that felt a lot like trust, like love and history, and what had always been meant to be finally being allowed to happen.
I gasped his name when he shifted slightly, hitting a spot that made my back arch off the table. His hand slid up my side, fingers splaying over my ribs, holding me there while his mouth found mine again and his thumb traced over my nipple.
Somewhere between his low, rough murmurs in my ear and the way his hips moved with that deliberate, devastating precision, I stopped thinking entirely. I let myself feel every inch of him, every shiver, every sigh he breathed against me.
When the wave finally broke over me, I clung to him, my whole body trembling. He followed moments later, his forehead dropping to my shoulder, his breath coming in hard, uneven bursts.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was the faint hum of the jukebox and the slowing beat of our hearts against each other.
He brushed a kiss along my jaw, then my temple, before pulling back just enough to look at me. “You okay?”
His question broke through the haze, grounding me gently.
I managed a shaky laugh, nodding as I brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
“Yeah. More than okay.” My voice was softer than I meant it to be, full of all the things I wasn’t quite ready to say out loud yet, but I saw the understanding in his eyes.
He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close as our breaths slowly evened out together, the quiet between us comfortable and safe.
His smile was small but certain, and he pressed one more kiss to my lips—gentle this time, almost reverent—before helping me sit up and reach for my clothes.
As I pulled my shirt back on, I caught sight of our reflection in the dusty mirror on the far wall. My hair was a mess, my lips swollen and red, and Hunter was watching me like he’d just discovered his favorite view in the world.
And that was the moment I knew—whatever came next, however complicated it got—I would never regret this.
He met my gaze in the mirror, his expression softening into something impossibly gentle.
Neither of us spoke, but the silence was full—heavy with promise, with meaning I didn’t need to put into words.
I reached for his hand, fingers threading through his, and for a moment, it was just the two of us suspended in the quiet aftermath, the world outside forgotten.
It felt like the beginning of something new, even as we stood in the familiar shadows of the bar.
Hunter found my jeans and undies on the floor before I did, holding them out with a half-smile that was a little smug and a lot tender. “These are yours, I think.”
I rolled my eyes, tugging them back on while trying not to smile too much. “You’re lucky I’m too blissed out to sass you properly.”
His low laugh rumbled through the room, warm and easy. “Guess I’ll take advantage of that while I can.”
We didn’t rush. Not in that awkward, fumbling way you sometimes did after something like this.
He tossed the used condom in the trash in the corner, slipped into his jeans, then leaned back against the pool table, watching me smooth my shirt down.
There wasn’t any distance in his gaze, no regret—just that steady Hunter way of looking at me like I’d hung the moon.
I grabbed my hair tie from where it had fallen to twist my hair back up, but his hand caught my wrist halfway.
“Leave it,” he said softly. “I like it down. It’s beautiful.”
For reasons I couldn’t quite explain, that made my chest ache in the best way. I let the tie fall to the table.
We finished getting dressed, then moved around the space together without talking—me stacking the last few clean glasses, him grabbing his jacket from the hook by the door, switching off lights as he went.
It was easy. Comfortable in a way that didn’t make sense for what had just happened, but maybe that was the point.
In the main bar, the jukebox had shifted to a slow song, the kind that made the room feel warmer even in the dim light. He shut it down, and I flicked the back room light off. The faint scent of chalk dust lingered behind us as we crossed the floor to the door.
When I turned the deadbolt on the front door, he was already waiting with my coat. He held it open, and when I slid my arms in, his hands skimmed down my sleeves before settling at my waist.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, voice low enough to make the air between us feel heavier.
“Yeah,” I said, meeting his eyes. “I’m sure.”
He studied me for a beat, like he was checking for cracks in my answer, then nodded. “Good. Then let’s get you home.”
He bent to press a soft kiss to my forehead before letting me go, a silent reassurance that lingered even after he stepped back.
There was a comfort in those little gestures, a gentleness that never asked for more than I was willing to give.
For a moment, I let myself lean into it, let myself believe this could be easy, that being wanted didn't always have to come with strings or shadows.
The night air wrapped around us as we stepped outside, the cool crispness of it a shock after the warmth of the tavern. The neon sign buzzed softly above, casting us both in violet light.
Hunter locked up behind me, his keys jingling as he pocketed them. He didn’t move toward his truck right away, but he fell into step beside me as we crossed the gravel lot to my car.
“You’re going to let me follow you home,” he stated.
I gave him a look. “You think I can’t make it a mile and a half without you behind me?”
“I think,” he said, leaning one arm on my open door, “that I’ll sleep better if I know you made it there without Eli lurking around or your radiator exploding.”
My lips curved despite myself. “Fine. But only because you said, ‘sleep better’ and not ‘keep you safe.’ I can take care of myself. I only want you for you, not your protection.”
His grin was quick and a little wicked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I slid into the driver’s seat, my heart doing that strange, dangerous thing again. The thing that felt like hope. And as I pulled out, his headlights came on right behind me, steady in my rearview all the way down Sycamore Street.