Chapter 6
Hunter
I don’t know much about logrolling, and I’ve never tried it personally, but watching Isabella Gonzalez nail it on the first try is one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen.
While she’s dancing on a log with that loud Latino music filling the arena, no one can keep their eyes off of her and her cousin. The other teams pause in whatever they’re doing. The cameramen all redirect their lenses to the pair. And I realize that I’m watching a reality star in the making.
Standing just inside the arena, I overhear Nat tell Isabella and Beto that they are team number two. So when they re-enter the arena for their backpacks, shoes, and socks, I call out to her.
“Hey, Bella!”
She turns around.
“Bravo!”
Her lips wobble for just a second before she flashes a smile at me. “Thanks.”
I tilt my head to the side and give her a look that other ladies have cited as sexy. “Can I buy you a drink back on the ship?”
Her smile disappears as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Why?”
“To celebrate. You came in second.”
She looks away from me for a beat, then raises her dark eyes to mine. “Not necessary, Hunter. I don’t need your pity.”
My…what?
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not broken,” she says, turning on her heel and running to catch up with her cousin. She passes by me a second later on her way out of the arena but makes a concerted effort not to make eye contact with me.
I’m about to yell, “It’s not pity!” when another team arrives at the arena, looking exhausted and frazzled.
“We tried the carving thing!” cries one of the Barbies.
“But she cut her finger!” complains the other, rolling her eyes.
“This is so haaard!”
These young women, who looked so hot and flirty when they arrived yesterday, look like a train wreck now. They are not—as Kit and I predicted—going to last. I’d be surprised if they make it to tomorrow.
“Just do your best,” I say, feeling a little bad for them. “Go to whatever station doesn’t have a line.”
Outside, I hear two more teams check in with Nat. They must have finished the carving challenge, and they already made it back to the pit stop. The Barbies are way behind. And sure enough, two hours later, when they’re still trying to chop a log together, Nat enters the arena to tell them that they can stop. They’re the last team to check in, and they’ve both been eliminated from the race.
We share a van back to the ship, and they cry bitterly, fighting with each other and swearing that they wish they’d never met. They’re a sad sight trudging back to the ship in their wilted, hot-pink tutus and matching hot-pink sneakers that are still wet from this morning and squish loudly with every step.
As for me, I’m distracted by thoughts of Isabella as I return to my room, grateful that Rick is nowhere to be found.
I don’t need your pity. I’m not broken.
As I lie back on my bed, I remember what I said to her last night and wince at the memory. I literally told her that I felt sorry for her—that the fact she didn’t believe in true love or magic was “the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Shit.I guess I hit a nerve.
I’m going to need to repair it before my dreams of a second fling can come true.
***
“What’d I tell you about the Barbies?” asks Kit, as we sit side-by-side at the bar that evening. “No way they were going to make it very far.”
I gesture to the bartender to bring us another round. “I saw them pack up and leave the ship an hour ago. Do they go home now?”
“Nope,” says Kit. “Last leg of the race is up in Utqia?vik. The show buys out a hotel up there and anyone eliminated before the end of the show has to go stay there until production is finished.”
“So those two were headed to…” My eyes widen. Utqia?vik, formerly known as Barrow, is the largest city in the North Slope region of Alaska, located above the Arctic Circle. It’s the most remote town in the United States. And cold. In June, on a normal day, the high might reach 50°F. Might.
“Utqia?vik. Yeah. And get this—the show gets worried about eliminated contestants sharing spoilers about the race, so they aren’t allowed to have phones or tablets or anything. They can go on the computer in the hotel’s business center, but only under supervision.” Kit is trying not to smile. “Tough break for those two, huh?”
I can’t help it; I bust out laughing as I picture those girls in Utqia?vik with no internet or social media. I don’t imagine they’ll be very happy. I’ve never been to Utqia?vik myself, but I’ve been to other small, remote Alaskan towns, where there are two or three restaurants, a hardware store, a grocery store, and maybe a church or two. No shopping. No movie theater. Not much to do. It’s going to be a looooong three weeks for Team Barbies, and that’s a fact.
“I guess they’ll have to get their Netflix on?”
“I’d Netflix and chill with them anytime,” adds Kit between giggles.
I’m hooting with laughter at this point.
“What’s so funny?”
I look over my shoulder to find Rick looking back and forth between me and Kit. Seeing him is sobering. Just his presence squashes the mood.
“Oh, nothing,” I say. “I just didn’t realize the eliminated teams were exiled north.”
“You wouldn’t think it was funny if it was you,” says Rick with a sour expression. “They were hot. I’m pissed they’re gone.” He flags down the bartender. “Three shots of tequila with salt and lime.”
“None for me, thanks. I don’t drink tequila,” says Kit.
“It’s not for you, Butch.”
Kit’s smile disappears, and her eyes go wide. Now, Kit can be fierce, no doubt, but physically, she’s petite. Rick’s got at least fifty pounds on her. Andtechnically, he’s our boss. Calling her names is way out of line.
“Hey, man,” I say. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
“You’re telling me what to do? That’s cute.”
“I’m telling you that it’s not appropriate to call her that. Don’t do it again.”
“Or what?” he asks.
“Do it and find out,” I say, sliding off my barstool and straightening to my full six-foot three-inch stature. I fist my hand and crack the knuckles with my other hand, the noise sharp and menacing.
“My dad’ll be pissed if you lay a hand on me.”
“Your dad’s not here,” I point out. “Apologize.”
Kit raises her head. Rick glides his eyes to her, looking pissed.
“Sorry…Kit.”
“That’s not going to cut it,” I tell him, cracking the knuckles on my other hand and taking a step in his direction.
“Sorry, Kit,” he says quickly, easily cowered, like most bullies. “Jesus. I was just kidding. Learn how to take a joke, okay?”
He slides his tray of shots from the bar and backs away, mouthing “fuck you” to me as he heads over to Team Soul Sisters, twins who attend Tulane and look less-than-thrilled that Rick’s returned to bother them.
“You didn’t have to do that,” mutters Kit.
“Yeah,” I say, putting my hand on her shoulder. “I did.”
She shrugs me away, her cheeks pink. “I can fight my own battles.”
“I’m sure you can. But that one wasn’t fair.”
“Whatever.” She jumps down from her stool. “I’m going to bed.”
“No! Don’t do that. Come on, Kit…”
But she’s already headed for the door, leaving her seat vacant. I look sadly at her now-empty stool, noticing—for the first time—that Isabella Gonzalez has been sitting on Kit’s other side.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” I say back, feeling a swift and certain zing! to find her suddenly near me.
“I’m glad you said something,” she tells me, toying with the cocktail napkin under her wineglass. “If you hadn’t, I would’ve.”
“How long have you been there?” I ask, grabbing my half-finished beer and taking the seat beside her.
“A little while. You didn’t see me sidle up.”
“I guess not.”
“I was listening to you guys talk about the Barbies’ exile when that monumental asshole appeared.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about exile,” I say. “You guys looked pretty strong out there today.”
“Beto’s strong,” she says. “I’m just along for the ride.”
“Nah,” I say, picturing her dancing on the log while the production crew blasted music in the arena. “You kept up, Bella. I watched. I saw.”
“Thanks.” She takes a sip of her wine before looking at me with narrowed eyes. “I’m not sure what to make of you, Hunter.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you seemed really, really pissed with me at Ken and Tanner’s wedding, and you didn’t seem very pleased to see me yesterday,” she says. “But suddenly, you’re being nice to me. I can’t tell if it’s genuine, or if you’re just trying to get my guard down so I’m an easier target.”
“Yes, I was pissed at you for breaking things off between us. But after you explained things last night, and I understood how differently we see romantic relationships, I realized that it wasn’t personal. I started to feel a lot better.”
“Really?”
“Really.” I tilt my head to the side, giving her a charming grin. “Don’t get me wrong…I definitely think you’re missing out. True love…falling in love…that magical feeling? In my opinion, it’s awesome.”
“It’s not that I don’t have feelings, Hunter,” she tells me. “I feel love. I just prefer being practical about my love life.”
“And like I said, I get that. You do you.”
Holding her eyes, I tilt back my bottle of beer, letting the amber liquid slide down my throat. I grin at her when I place the bottle back down on the bar, lightly brushing the back of her hand with the back of mine.
“Okay. What is this?” she asks. “What’s up with you?”
“I have no idea—”
“What’s with you trying to help me today? And asking to buy me a drink tonight? And the flirty way you just drank your beer? What’s going on, Hunter?”
I lean closer to her, my knees pressing against hers and my lips near her ear. I lower my voice when I speak.
“I want you back.”
“H-Hunter,” she says, that slight tremble in her voice setting my body on fire. “I already told you that long-distance—”
“Only for the next three weeks,” I murmur. “I know you don’t want anything serious, so just until the race is over…I want you back, Bella.”
***
Isabella
Only for the next three weeks…I want you back, Bella.
His nose, just the tip, nuzzles the soft, sensitive skin beneath my ear, and I swallow back a soft moan. My eyes flutter closed. I squeeze my thighs together. My clit is throbbing, and the pressure of squeezing heightens the sensation.
Jesus, I want this man bad.I never stopped wanting him.
He was just too far away.
“Yes,” I whisper without thinking. “Yes.”
“Your room or mine?”
“Mine,” I say, opening my eyes.
“What about your…?”
“He’s playing poker with Team Outlaws, Pop from Mom and Pop, and Roy from the Newlyweds. He won’t be back until later.”
His fingers thread effortlessly through mine. He tugs lightly, pulling me from my perch. Then he looks down and quickly releases my hand.
“What’s—”
“It’s not allowed,” he says.
“What’s not?”
“Crew and talent…”
“Fucking?”
His pupils dilate, and his eyes go from blue to black in an instant.
“Yeah.”
“So you’re telling me this is forbidden.”
His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.
“Pretty much.”
“Fuck, that’s hot,” I say. “Follow me.”
I leave the lounge behind, heading down the short hallway to my room, and unlocking the door with the keycard. It closes behind us with a light thunk.
His hands reach for me in the dim light, pulling me back against him. I can feel his cock, rigid and straining, behind the fly of his pants. He presses his hands flat against my pelvic bones, pushing me against him, into him. Then, gliding beneath my tank top and over my stomach, his fingers find the front clasp of my bra and flick it open.
I sigh as my breasts are freed, as he cradles their weight in his palms, his thumbs rubbing over the already-erect nipples. As I lean my head back against his shoulder, his lips find mine. He sweeps his tongue into my mouth, claiming it like a starving person, like a man who hasn’t kissed anyone since the last time he—
“Hunter,” I ask, placing my hands over his to still them.
“What?” His teeth bite the lobe of my ear before he sucks the tender skin between his lips.
I gasp softly, trying to remember what I was about to say.
Oh! Right. “You’ve, um…been with other women…since we were together…right?”
“Does it matter?” he asks.
Does it matter?I ask myself.
Not waiting for an answer, Hunter slides his hands from my breasts to the waistband of my shorts. He twists the button open, then pulls down the zipper. His hand slides down, over my panties, cupping my sex.
“You’re soaked, Bella.”
“I know.”
“You want this.”
“I do.”
But I also want to know if he’s been with anyone else since we were together. I don’t know why it matters, but my head—and my heart—insist that it does.
“Hunter…”
“No,” he whispers, nuzzling my ear before biting it again. At the same time, he repositions his hand, slipping it under the elastic of my panties. His middle finger slides unerringly into the slit that hides my clitoris, and I gasp with pleasure as the digit rolls over the slick nub. “Since you…no one else.”
I swallow, leaning my head back against his shoulder as my knees grow weak. I want to process this information and what it means for me, and him, and what’s happening between us all over again. But his finger rubs in circles, then long strokes, building my orgasm with every flick, every gentle slide.
When I cry out, his free hand reaches for my jaw, and he turns my face so that my lips collide with his. He eats my climax. He swallows my moans and cries. My knees threaten to buckle, and he feels it. He moves his other arm under my breasts, the smell of my cum on his fingers as he holds me tightly against him.
“Fuck me,” I demand, pushing my shorts and panties over my hips. They pool at my feet, and the cool air in the room suddenly kisses my cunt.
“Get on the bed,” he tells me, his voice gruff.
It’s only two steps to the bed. One knee bends, then the other. I crawl toward the headboard. I know he’s got his eyes glued to my ass. I can feel the heat of his stare. I revel in it. I could come all over again picturing how exposed I am and knowing that he’s watching me.
I’m still on all fours, but behind me, I hear him undressing. A shirt pulled over his head reveals the memory of his cut abs. The sound of his zipper being lowered reminds me of the many times I unzipped him, taking him into my mouth the second he was bare. I hear the rest of his clothes whoosh to the floor, like a whisper, like a promise.
He’s naked.
Though I’ve already climaxed once, I feel my next orgasm building. It swirls within me, chaotic and demanding. This chemistry. This pyretic fucking heat I can only seem to generate with the man standing behind me. It’s terrifying. It’s dizzying.
“Shirt off,” he instructs me, his voice gravelly and low. “Now, Bella.”
I sit back on my haunches, still facing away from him, and raise my arms over my head.
“You do it,” I say, my body all but aching for his touch.
His index fingers land softly on the rounded swells of my hips and slide slowly upward, claiming the fabric of my tank and bra as they hook and rise. I track his progress with my eyes closed: under my arms, dipping into the valley of my inside elbow, trailing slowly to my wrists. He plucks the garments from my fingertips and throws them aside.
I’m completely naked now.
Just like him.
“Down, Bella,” he says, his palm landing on my back. “I want to fuck you from behind.”
Yes. Oh god, yes.
I lean forward, my ass in the air, my hands flattening on the bedspread.
He smooths his hand down my back, sliding it between my ass cheeks, then into the valley between my thighs. The finger that stroked me wet before slides without pause or permission inside my body. I push back against him, wanting more, needing to be filled. He withdraws the finger, and I mewl at its absence, only placated when two fingers fill me again, and a third rubs the pebble of my hard clit. His arm slides under my body, his other hand cupping my breast, his thumb and index finger squeezing my nipple until the sensation is so sharp, I cry out. I cum on his fingers, riding them with abandon as waves of pleasure crash over me.
He pulls his fingers from my body, and his hands land on my hips.
“I’m going to fuck you now.”
“Please,” I beg him. “I need you. I need—”
“I know what you need,” he says, thrusting the entire length of his rock-hard cock into my pussy.
Oh. My. God.
He fills me. How he fucking fills me.
Holding my hips, he pumps into me, rocking my body with the force of his thrusts, with the raw strength of his Viking-god body. When I think he can’t possibly get deeper, he draws back and pushes into me all over again. I reach for my pussy lips and spread them wide so his balls rub against my clit with every thrust, and—fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—I feel my third orgasm growing.
He leans against me, his breath in hot puffs on the back of my neck. It’s animalistic, like a stallion breeding a mare, and I find myself so turned on by the rawness of our coupling that I tell him I’m about to come again.
“Wait,” he murmurs. “Hold on. Come with me.”
His fingers curl into my skin, almost to the point of pain. I spread my knees a little wider, and he buries himself impossibly deeper into my pussy. We are rocking in tandem now. He isn’t withdrawing anymore, just relentlessly rubbing the walls of my sex with his length in a rhythm our bodies share. He’s hard and pulsing within me, and just when I’m positive I can’t bear anymore, I feel his teeth on the back of my shoulder.
“Now, Bella!” he demands. “Now!”
Starbursts explode behind my eyes as I climax again. His seed, hot and wet, floods my pussy. Wave after wave, he pumps his cum into me, and the relief I feel—the sweet fucking perfection of the raw and feral heat we share—makes me weak.
My knees give out, and I fall flat onto the bed with Hunter on my back. Gently, he rolls onto his side, still panting from exertion and pleasure. So much fucking pleasure.
In order to share this tiny bed, I have to roll to my side, as well. We face each other, my sensitive nipples brushing his chest with every breath we take.
Our eyes lock and hold, and I feel a sudden tenderness for him that makes my heart throb. As though he feels it too, he leans forward and gently touches my lips with his. When he draws away, he stretches his arm under his head and stares back at me, looking happy.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I pillow my arm under my head and blink at him.
“Okay? ‘Okay’ doesn’t begin to cover it. Holy shit, that was hot.”
His eyes widen, and his lips curve into a cocky grin.
“Better than ‘semi’ decent?”
My pussy is still pulsing, still throbbing with lovely little aftershocks. I take a deep breath and let it go slowly.
“Way better. I’m still humming,” I tell him.
“Me too.”
“I can’t believe we just did that.”
“Why not?”
“Because yesterday you hated me.”
He flinches, then nods. “Yeah, I guess I did. I thought you broke up with me because you didn’t like me enough to give me a chance.”
It hurts me to hear him say this. It’s not true. Not at all.
“I never said that, Hunter.”
“But it’s a logical conclusion to draw,” he points out, “when someone doesn’t want you anymore.”
But I did want you,I think. It hurt how much I wanted you. That’s part of the reason I had to let you go.
“It wasn’t you,” I say. “It was the distance.”
He drapes an arm over my hip, his touch light but comforting.
“Right. But you also said you didn’t want me to get hurt. I interpreted that as a kind, but thinly veiled, rejection.”
“You’re remembering it wrong,” I say gently, understanding where our wires crossed. “I said I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. That included me, Hunter.”
His eyes narrow. He doesn’t believe me.
“What?” I ask.
“Come on,” he says. “You were talking about me, right? You didn’t want a long-distance relationship, so you were trying to let me down gently.”
The warm sand. My hand in his. Te adoro, cari?a.
“You’re wrong,” I say. “I was talking about me, too. I wanted you, Hunter. I still want you. But living without you was painful, and I—I was letting people down. I was reminded that…well, that long-distance relationships don’t work for me. Letting you go was as much about self-preservation as it was about protecting you.”
“I wasn’t your first long-distance relationship,” he says, staring at me intently. “You tried it before, didn’t you? Dating someone far away?”
“Not really,” I answer honestly. “I had to let him go, too. But I was young, and the lesson stuck: make your life where you live.”
“I get it,” he says softly. He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He’s still for a second, then looks at me over his shoulder. “So…you sure you’re up for this?”
“Three weeks of mind-blowing sex?” I grin at him. “Yeah. I’m down.”
“It has to be a secret if I want to keep my job.”
“You want me to be your dirty little secret?” I purr.
He chuckles, then stands up, crossing the tiny cabin to grab his boxers from the floor and slide them on.
“The dirtier the better,” he says, throwing on his polo shirt and pulling up his shorts.
“Tomorrow night?”
“Every night, Bella,” he says, leaning over me, his lips a breath away from mine. “Every fucking night, you’re mine.”
He kisses me hard—a kiss meant to sting for a second even after he leaves. A kiss meant to remind me that for the next few weeks, I belong exclusively to him. And I fucking love it.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, heading out the door.
The door closes with a soft whoosh, and I’m left alone in a post-orgasmic haze, counting down the hours until I see him again.