Chapter 17 Paige
Paige
Hunter watched me like I was the only thing worth noticing, his hand still wrapped around mine. There was nothing impatient in the way he looked at me—just steady heat, a promise that I could take as much time as I needed. But we had to be fast; the bar was about to open, and the door was unlocked.
“I’m sure,” I told him before he could even ask again. “I want this. I want you.”
Something in his shoulders loosened, and the smile that ghosted across his face made my stomach flip. He stepped in closer, hands settling at my waist like they’d been made to fit there, his thumbs brushing against my hips.
The kiss that followed wasn’t tentative. It was the kind of kiss you give when you’ve been waiting half your life to have someone’s mouth on yours. His lips were warm, firm, coaxing me deeper until I had to brace myself against the desk.
“You’re sure?” he asked one more time, his voice rough.
“Hunter,” I said, smiling against his jaw, “if I weren’t sure, you wouldn’t be standing this close. We have like twenty minutes until opening. Hurry.”
That earned me a low, satisfied sound that I felt right down my spine.
He kissed me again, slower this time, like he wanted to memorize the shape of my mouth before he let himself rush.
His hands skimmed up my sides, over my ribs, then back down again, lingering at the waistband of my jeans until I nodded.
He made quick work of the button, the zipper, and then his hands were warm on my bare skin.
I tugged at his shirt until he pulled it over his head, my fingers immediately finding the soft hair at the back of his neck. He was solid heat and muscle under my touch, and when my palms slid down over his chest, he caught my wrists gently, holding them there for a moment.
“I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” he murmured as he took the condom out of his wallet.
“Maybe I’ve known that all along,” I whispered back.
The rest of our clothes fell to the floor in a slow, tangled trail. He rolled the condom on, his eyes never leaving mine. And when he stepped in, pressing me back against the desk again, I wrapped my legs around him without thinking.
The first push of him inside me stole my breath. I held onto him, nails curling against his shoulders, my head tipping back as he groaned into my neck.
“Paige,” he said, like my name was the only word he knew.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
He didn’t. He moved with me like we’d been doing this for years, finding a rhythm that was as much about closeness as it was about heat.
His thumb made circles over my clit, while he brushed his lips over my cheek, my jaw, catching my lips between each kiss, and his hands gripped me like I was something precious.
Every sound, every shift of him inside me, pulled me closer to the edge. And when I came, it was with his forehead pressed to mine, his breath mingling with mine, and my name falling from his lips like it belonged there.
He followed soon after, holding me close, his hands gripping my hips like I might break if he let go too fast.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. My legs were still wrapped around him, my arms looped around his neck, and the world beyond the office door could have been a thousand miles away for all I cared.
When he finally eased back, his lips brushed over mine in something softer, almost reverent. “Are you all right? Was that too hard? Too much?”
I smiled—small, tired, and maybe a little shaky. “It was amazing. You are amazing. It was perfect.”
We were quiet together for a long moment. My legs were still hooked around his hips, my fingers resting at the back of his neck where his hair was just starting to curl.
His breathing evened out, the warmth of him still wrapped around me like I could keep it forever if I didn’t move. And I didn’t want to move.
He kissed me again—soft, unhurried—and I felt my body melt all over again. This was dangerous. The kind of dangerous where you want more before you’ve even let yourself process what you already had.
Reality seeped in, uninvited, like cold air under a door. The office wasn’t soundproof. My crew could start arriving at any minute. And the pool room wasn’t exactly a fortress against nosy eyes if anyone wandered back here.
“I think we should…” I trailed off, glancing at the pile of our clothes like they were evidence.
“Get dressed?” His mouth curved, but he didn’t make a move to let me go yet.
“Yes. Before someone comes back here and finds us like this, I’m not ready to have Eliza reporting back this level of material from the coffee shop gossip circuit.”
Hunter chuckled, low and warm, then kissed me once more before stepping back.
The moment his heat left my body, I felt the air rush in, cool against my skin.
I pulled my clothes back on, trying to do it in some kind of dignified order while he made zero effort to hide the fact that he was watching me.
“You’re staring,” I muttered, tugging my shirt down.
“I’ve waited years for you to let me,” he said simply, pulling his shirt over his head.
Well. That shut me up.
Once we were both decent again, he stepped close, catching my hand before I could open the office door. “Paige,” he said, and his voice was so steady, so sure, I felt it settle deep in my chest. “This doesn’t have to be complicated unless we make it complicated. We’ll figure it out.”
I swallowed hard, searching his eyes for a second too long. “Okay.”
He gave my fingers a squeeze, then released me.
When I pushed the door open, the bar looked exactly the same as when we’d left it—the soft glow of the neon beer signs, the low hum of the jukebox. No one behind the bar. No one at the nearest tables. I let out a breath and allowed myself to relax into this moment.
“See?” Hunter murmured behind me. “Flawless exit.”
“Mm-hmm,” I said, grabbing a rag off the counter to give my hands something to do. “Let’s hope we’re that lucky next time.”
He stilled at my words, and when I glanced up, the look in his eyes told me exactly how much he liked the idea of a next time.
Which, if I were being honest with myself, I did too.
Hunter lingered while I continued setting up, his big frame leaning against the end like he was perfectly at home here. He didn’t offer to help—probably because he knew I’d tell him to go sit down if he did—but he stayed. Just close enough that I could feel the weight of him in the room.
The first of my crew trickled in not long after, along with the first of the evening customers.
Routine settled quickly, the familiar rhythm of orders called and glasses clinking, a dozen small stories weaving themselves across the gleaming surfaces of the bar.
For a few hours, it felt almost easy—us together, moving in sync, the outside world held at bay as I ran through the evening by rote.
As the clock pushed closer to midnight, the crowd thinned. Last call faded into the scrape of chairs and happy goodbyes. One by one, the crew peeled off. Soon it was just me, Hunter, and the echoing quiet of a bar that always seemed a little larger when empty.
When the last glass was dried and the till locked, I tossed the rag into the laundry bin and turned to find him already holding my jacket.
“Thanks,” I murmured, slipping my arms through the sleeves.
He followed me to the door, waiting while I locked up, the purple glow of the Twilight Tavern’s sign painting the walkway in soft light.
The night was crisp, the kind of cool that hinted at rain without any actual clouds overhead. I tucked my hands into my pockets as we started toward my car.
His hand brushed mine—just barely, like he was testing the water—and when I didn’t pull away, he laced our fingers together.
We walked the last few feet in silence, and I could feel the warmth of him even through the space between our bodies.
At my car, I turned to face him. The neon caught in his eyes, making them look impossibly dark and bright all at once.
“Hunter…” I started, not entirely sure what I meant to say.
He stepped closer, one hand lifting to cup the side of my face. “I’m not going anywhere, Paige. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not unless you tell me to.”
I felt something in my chest go soft and unsteady. “I’m not telling you to. I won’t.”
That earned me the smallest smile, and then his mouth was on mine—nothing rushed, nothing frantic. Just the kind of kiss that says I see you. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
When he pulled back, his thumb brushed my cheek, lingering there for a moment before he stepped away.
“Get home safe,” he said quietly.
“You too.”
I watched him walk to his truck, his shoulders broad and sure in the neon haze, and for the first time in months, I didn’t dread tomorrow. Because whatever was coming, I wasn’t facing it alone anymore.