Hunter
thirty-three
She knocked out in my car almost as soon as I put her inside.
When I got to my place, I had to carry her up in the elevator.
She barely stirred as I took off her clothes and tucked her into my bed.
Knowing she’s safe has soothed some of my anger, but I’ll never forget the rage I felt when I heard her yelling and found her in that frat douche’s room.
She’s going to be the death of me.
Her drunk comments would’ve been funny if I hadn’t been so angry and confused. And relieved that I got to her in time. The last few weeks have been almost unbearably stressful. I need a fucking break.
I’m in my kitchen making my protein smoothie and convincing myself I don’t need to go to the bedroom every five minutes to check on her. She’ll be fine. She’ll wake up and I’ll make her breakfast and make her drink a gallon of water and give her some Tylenol.
I lean against the kitchen counter and drink my smoothie without tasting it.
I check the notifications on my phone, but they’re not distracting enough.
I head back to the bedroom and sit down on the edge of the bed.
Stevie looks mostly peaceful but there’s a small furrow between her brows.
The urge to smooth it away is strong but I keep my hands to myself.
It takes another 15 minutes before she stirs and her eyes flutter open. She doesn’t see me right away and looks confused as she rubs her eyes.
“Hey,” I say. “You’re in my room.”
Her eyes focus on me and she frowns. “Why?”
“Do you remember last night?”
“I think so. I got drunk.”
“Yup.”
“And you came into the room.” She grimaces. “Ugh. I was with some guy.”
“Yup.”
“Gross.” She looks miserable as she looks up at the ceiling. “But I didn’t sleep with him.”
“No. I would’ve killed him if you had.”
“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”
“Damn right I am.”
She pushes the covers down and looks at herself. I put her in one of my hockey t-shirts. She touches her face. “Is my makeup all smeared?”
“No. I wiped most of it off.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
Neither of us says anything for a minute.
“It’s been a crazy few weeks,” she says finally.
“Yeah.”
“Hunter…”
“What, princess?”
“I need to get strong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like…” She plays with the hem of her t-shirt. “Mentally. And maybe physically too. I’m always afraid to stand up for myself. I need to learn how to fight back. And…”
“And?”
“And be more assertive. Like when my stupid boss attacked me. Or even last night. I should’ve kicked that guy in the nuts.”
“You were drunk. He shouldn’t have been taking advantage of you. It’s not your fault.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
She looks at me and the ghost of a smile touches her lips. “I must look so bad right now. Can I take a shower?”
“Can I watch?”
Her eyebrows shoot up at my request. I grin and pull the covers completely off her. Her sexy legs make my dick come alive, but I don’t give in to the temptation. Not yet. She gets out of bed and runs to the bathroom, giggling.
I reach the bathroom as she’s whipping off my hockey shirt and turning on the water. The lines of her body are perfect, her ass beautifully round and plump. I adjust myself as my dick twitches again.
“Get in,” I tell her.
She gives me an impish smile and darts into the shower.
It’s huge, with limestone mosaic tiles in a herringbone pattern and gold metallic accents.
Stevie turns on the rainfall shower and as soon as she steps under it, she’s completely drenched.
Her face is tipped up, eyes closed. She runs her hands down her neck and chest, over her beautiful tits.
Maybe this was a bad idea, because I think I’ll come in my pants before she even gets to the shampoo.
She turns around and reaches for the body wash first, pouring a generous amount onto the loofah I use.
It’s such a turn on to have her in my personal space, using my stuff like they’re her own.
She works up a lather and runs the loofah slowly all over her body.
I lean against the bathroom counter as I watch, already painfully hard.
She knows she’s giving me a show, and she’s loving every second of it.
She rubs the loofah over her tits. Lifting a leg onto the built-in bench inside the shower, she slowly runs it up and down her thigh. Her hands reach between her legs and she rubs herself there, throwing her head back.
Jesus Christ.
I’m going to die.
She looks at me then, giving me a wicked little smile.
“You like being naughty, don’t you?” I ask.
She sticks her tongue out at me. Grabbing the shampoo, she lathers her hair. As the water washes over her in rivulets, she looks like a real-life mermaid. I could stare at her for hours.
When she finally turns off the water, it’s too soon. I grab a towel and hold it out as she steps out of the shower. I wrap the towel around her and pull her close, kissing her slowly, letting the feel of her heal the cracks in my soul. “You’re so fucking beautiful, little mermaid.”
“Did you enjoy that?”
“Feel my cock and tell me if you think I enjoyed that or not.”
She smiles, looking shy all of a sudden. I kiss her on the forehead. “Let’s go. You need to eat breakfast and drink some water.”
“Okay.”
I leave her to get dressed in a pair of my drawstring sweatpants and hoodie while I get everything ready for breakfast in the kitchen. I chop up onions, champignon mushrooms, and bell peppers. I grab the shredded cheddar cheese, sausage, and eggs. This omelet is going to be a masterpiece.
Stevie pads into the kitchen. “Oh my god, it smells so good in here.”
I smile. My clothes are huge on her, but she looks so cute.
“Do you have any bananas or strawberries?” she asks.
“I have everything.”
“Can I make a smoothie?”
“No. Sit down. I’m making everything.”
She rolls her eyes but pulls out a chair and plops down on it. “You’re so bossy.”
“I’m the boss.”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t act like you don’t like it.” I place a perfectly folded omelet onto a plate and slide the plate over to her. Then get started on her smoothie.
“Maybe you should forget about hockey and become a chef,” she says, taking a bite of the omelet. “It’s like an orgasm in my mouth.”
I stare at her. She grins, taking another bite.
I shake my head and hand her the smoothie, then get to work making my own omelet.
“I never apologized to you,” she says after a minute.
“For what?”
“For blaming you about the rumor in the newspaper. For pissing you off by coming to your game with another guy. For making you lose that game and get suspended.”
I don’t look up from the frying pan. “You’re sorry about all that?”
“Yes. I was an idiot.”
“I found out who sent that tip to the newspaper, by the way.”
“You did? How? Who was it?”
I look at her then. “Your piece of shit rapist former boss.”
She looks stunned. “Joe?”
“Yup. Got the IP address of whoever sent the tip to the paper. Got Jamie’s cop cousin to trace it. It was Joe’s IP address.”
“You did all that…for me?”
“I’d do anything for you.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
I flip the finished omelet onto a plate and pull out a chair, sitting down next to her. “I just don’t know how that prick found out about our arrangement. I’m trying to track him down so I can ask him and then beat him to death.”
“You sound serious.”
“I am.”
“Hunter, he’s not worth it.”
“Let me worry about that, alright?”
We eat in silence for a few minutes. I think about what Stevie said, about needing to get strong. I actually do know what she means. Because my whole life I’ve felt like I was never able to stand up to my dad. It fills me with deep shame.
Lately I’ve been thinking that strength is more mental than physical. I might be taller and more muscular than my father, but I revert to a four-foot-tall third grader anytime I’m around him. It’s pathetic, and yet I seem powerless to stop it.
“You don’t need to get strong. You are strong,” I tell Stevie. “You just need to believe that about yourself.”
She shifts in her seat, looking down at her food with a somber expression. “I never told you that Joe has been harassing me.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry! I just didn’t want to make it your problem.”
I throw my fork down. “Stevie.” I take a deep breath through my nose to try and calm down. “Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?”
“Don’t get mad.”
“Too late.” I grab my plate with the half-eaten omelet and throw it in the sink. The plate shatters and Stevie flinches. “Fuck. Can this month get any worse?” I face Stevie. “What has he been doing?”
She won’t look at me. “He keeps showing up in different places and threatening me. He was…at your dad’s reception.”
My jaw clenches so hard I think my teeth will break. “What did you just say?”
She looks at me finally, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “He was one of the waiters somehow.”
“Fuck!” I’m going to tear that motherfucker limb from limb.
Stevie starts sobbing, and I realize I’m scaring her. I walk over to her and gently lift her from her seat. I wrap my arms around her and press her to me. She buries her face in my chest. I rub her back and make soothing noises even as rage churns inside me like lava.
Joe is a dead man.