20. Hunter #2
Sutton yanks her foot back and is suddenly kneeling on the bench seat between us.
She wraps one hand around the side of my face while kissing along my neck.
I always figured it was bullshit when people say they get tingly when someone touches them, but I shit you not, when she tugs at my earlobe with her teeth, my entire face goes numb.
I couldn’t hold in the moan that escapes me even if I tried.
“You like that?” she whispers.
“I like anything you do to me.” I adjust myself, trying to lessen the pressure my Wrangler’s are causing.
“How about this?” She presses her palm against me and squeezes me through my jeans.
My hips rise involuntarily toward her.
“You know,” she pants, kissing along my cheekbone, “you never did pay up.”
“Pay up?” I’m barely able to hear anything over the buzzing in my ears from her touch, let alone figure out what she’s talking about. She must see my confusion.
“You lost our bet,” she says, eyes full of fire and want.
“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
I look at her. Her emerald eyes are flaring, and I can practically see the war battling in her mind.
“I want to touch you.” Her eyes never stray from mine.
“So touch me.”
Sutton leans forward and unsnaps my shirt buttons. The more she exposes my chest, the more transfixed she becomes. Her right hand dips beneath the fabric of my shirt and smooths over my pectoral muscles. We moan at the same time.
“You like this?” She pushes my shirt off my shoulders.
“Sutton.” I lay my head back against the seat. “You could be throwing darts at me, and I think I’d like it.”
This makes her giggle. “I won’t throw darts at you. Promise.”
My shirt gets stuck at my elbows, but she leaves it there, instead pulling the waistband of my jeans. When her hands drift lower, my stomach trembles. Fantasies don’t hold a candle to how it feels having Sutton touch me like this.
Her voice quivers, barely mumbling, “Can I?” She nods toward the bulge in my pants.
“Yes,” I say through clenched teeth.
With one hand, she unbuckles my belt and pops the button on my jeans. She slowly slides the zipper down. I grip the steering wheel so hard I think I might tear it from the dashboard.
“I always wondered . . .” She trails her fingers through my chest hair.
I groan at the touch. “Wondered what?”
“If you had hair—” She makes a gesture from my chest hair down to my pelvis, making me chuckle.
“That’s what you’ve been wondering all these years? Whether I man-scape or not?”
She snorts and looks me in the eye. “Yes, but also . . .” Her voice fades off.
“Baby girl, you’re killing me here.”
We’re breathing so quickly I’m certain one or both of us may pass out at any moment.
When her fingers trail down my chest and stomach and dip below the band of my briefs, I freeze. Sutton’s fingers tremble, her touch too light, like maybe she’s nervous, so I take her palm and shove it down my jeans. She moans as her hand closes around my warm flesh.
“Holy fuck,” we say in unison.
Neither of us say anything as she squeezes me. It’s almost painful not being able to touch her.
“Hunter.” The way she sighs my name as she strokes me should be illegal. Her palm covers the crown, but the confines of my jeans make it difficult to do much else.
“This would be a whole lot easier at home,” I groan out.
“I want you now,” she says. “Lift up.”
I slow the truck down, more than happy to oblige, and lift up. She lowers my jeans and briefs as far as she’s able.
“You okay over there?” I ask.
She mumbles something to herself.
“What’d you say, baby girl?”
She studies me for a long moment. “I think I made a mistake.”
At her words, my heart plummets. “It’s okay. We can stop.”
“I don’t want to stop. I knew you were big from that time on the couch, but now, seeing it up close?” She shakes her head slowly. “This suddenly feels like a wildly optimistic life choice.”
My rapidly beating heart slows a fraction, and I burst out laughing. Soon, she’s doubled over, snort-laughing with me.
She reaches down and strokes me from base to tip, pulling a low, deep growl from me. I grip the steering wheel. “We’re going to need more room.”
Our house finally comes into view. Rain falls steadily again. I’m not even fully in the driveway when I throw the truck in park, fling open my door, and jump out. My jeans are haphazard, so I’m fully aware my bare ass is hanging out for all to see, but I couldn’t care less.
I pull her to the edge of the bench seat, and she hooks her ankles together behind my back like she has no intention of letting me go. Her hands slide into my hair. I palm her ass and lift her out of the truck.
“Shit,” I say when my boots sink into the soft mud and I almost drop her.
“Here,” she wiggles, “put me down. I can walk.”
I ignore her completely and waddle our way to the front porch. She licks and sucks at my neck. I’m sure Chief will love it when I walk in with several hickies.
The front door is already unlocked when I turn the handle and push. It thuds against the interior wall.
But before I step into the house, Sutton exclaims, “Hunter Michaels! Don’t you dare walk on these brand-new floors with muddy-ass cowboy boots!”
I toe off one boot, kicking it behind me, but can’t get a good grip on the other. “You sure we can’t mop ’em later?”
“No.” She purses her lips and unwraps her legs, placing her feet on the deck. “Here, let me help.”
I don’t even have time to pull my pants back up before she’s impatiently gesturing for me to lift my foot.
When she gets my boot wrangled off, she unceremoniously tosses it to the side and stands, facing me.
I pull my jeans back to my hips. We’re both panting, neither of us making a move toward the other.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, startling us both. Rain drums against the metal roof. The storm builds again as a broad smile spreads across her face. My shoulders drop. I know exactly what she’s got planned.
I take one step toward her.
She takes one step back.
“Sutton.” I take another step.
She takes another back. “Hunter.”
Sure as shit, she runs down the stairs into the yard. I whirl around, button my pants, and step out into the storm with her. Mud and water seep through my socks.
With her head tilted to the sky and eyes closed, Sutton holds her arms out and spins in a circle.
For the briefest moment, she’s once again the teenage girl with wild red curls, a face full of freckles, dancing in the rain in nothing but her pajamas and purple rain boots.
My heart stutters hard enough that I press a hand over my chest to steady it.
Sutton opens her eyes and catches my gaze. She smiles and laughs so loud it rivals the storm. “Dance with me, cowboy.”
I step into her space and wrap my arm low on her back. She presses her body to my bare chest and wraps her arms around my shoulders. I pull her closer, lifting her from the ground, our clothes practically soaked through.
“All you need is your purple rain boots.” I press a kiss to the apple of her cheek.
“I loved those things. Wore the soles right out of ’em.”
“I remember the day you lost them in the creek.”
She looks up at me with furrowed brows. “You weren’t even there. How could you remember that?”
“I came over after you and Luke got back from fishing, and you were sitting on the back porch sobbing your eight-year-old heart out. Luke told me later what had happened. I swear, I looked for those things for days but never could find them.”
“You looked for my boots? Why?”
I kiss the tip of her nose. “Because I knew how much you loved them, and I hated seeing you sad.”
For a moment I just look at her, rain sliding down her cheeks and catching in her lashes. I want her. God, do I want her, but we’ve waited this long to get here. I’m not about to rush the moment now that I finally have her.
Sutton slides down until she’s balanced on tiptoes. Her smile softens as she closes her eyes, leans toward me, and kisses me so suddenly she steals my breath away.
She pulls back enough to look at me. “I didn’t think it was possible to love you more than I already do.”