21. Sutton
Sutton
My confession hangs in the air between us. He doesn’t say anything as he palms my cheek, thumb caressing the delicate skin around my eyes. The seconds tick by, a heavy silence surrounding us. My stomach hums with anticipation. “Hunt—”
“Say it again.” He pulls my face closer to his.
My heart thumps wildly against my ribs. The old me would have tried to tug the words back and bury them deep inside. But not this time. I smile.
“I love you, Hunter James Michaels.”
The final threads that have kept my heart under control shred, sending it soaring.
He closes his eyes. “Again.”
“Hunter,” I say, standing on tiptoes to place a kiss along his jaw, the corner of his mouth, and finally, tilting his face down to mine, onto the middle of his forehead. “I love you.”
He wraps me under his arm and walks me back to the house. Disappointment and confusion niggle at the back of my heart. Why didn’t he say I love you back? But I remain silent, letting him lead us in the moment.
Hunter opens the front door and steps over the threshold. I look at the mud covering the foyer and grimace.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll clean it later.”
I smile. “How do you always know what I’m thinking?”
“Because,” he says, swinging the door closed, “you and I? We were made for each other.”
Muddy socks land with a plop by the door. Lacing our hands together, Hunter guides us to the staircase, the rain still pattering on the roof.
“Hold on!” I shout. “Let me just—” I side-step and grab a rag from a pile near the door. “I’m pretty sure it’s an actual crime to track dirt and water all over these new floors.”
“You’re killing me, woman,” he mutters, voice rough like he’s trying very hard to behave himself.
I wipe my feet off and toss the rag to Hunter, who catches it with a grin. When we’re done, he links our fingers together again and leads me to our room.
Hunter opens the door and drops my hand.
His eyes are wide as he spins slowly, taking in the oversized chairs, the view out the window of low clouds sitting heavy on the mountains in the distance, the steady rain blurring the glass, and my carefully curated touches.
His face is stoic, utterly silent, yet I feel him absorbing every detail.
He leads me into the en suite, his eyes scanning the double vanity and the updated freestanding tub. They linger on my tray of beauty products by the sink, and I catch him swallowing hard. “Sutton, it’s perfect,” he whispers, intensity in his gaze. “It’s us.”
My heart skips a beat at his assessment. He’s right, the room is us. A little rustic, a little romantic, soft palettes but hard edges. I can’t take it another minute and allow the smile I’m trying to hide to escape. “I was worried for a second that you’d hate it.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners, a soft smile forming on his lips. “I could never hate anything you do.”
Hunter leans down, his mouth finding mine, slow at first, then hungry. His hands skim down my sides, and he lifts me, carrying me toward the tub. It gleams under the soft light, already begging to be filled. He sets me gently on the edge, his gaze never leaving mine.
Rainwater drips from the ends of my hair. My shirt clings to my skin, my legs streaked with mud from the yard.
He tugs at the hem of the soaked fabric. “You’re a mess, babe,” he teases, voice low, fingers brushing my ribs.
“It was worth it,” I whisper, my breath catching as the fabric peels away.
I haven’t done anything this spontaneous in so long. It feels electric. Goosebumps rise along my body as cool air kisses my damp skin. His eyes linger, darker and more intense than ever, as he gently lifts my shirt over my head. The heat in his gaze makes my breath catch.
He kneels, motioning for me to stand. He unbuttons my black jeans with a tenderness that undoes me more than any kiss.
Inch by inch, he tugs my rain-soaked jeans down my thighs until I’m able to step out of them, leaving me in nothing but my black bralette, dangling from my shoulders, and cotton panties.
“Sorry,” I say quietly as he reaches to turn the water on. It steams, curling upward as he strips off his own shirt.
“What are you talking about?” Hunter steps into my space and wraps his hands around my low back.
“If I’d have known this is where today would end,” I say, peering up at him, “I’d have made it a point to wear something slightly less ‘It was laundry day and all I had left.’”
“You’re perfect.”
He pulls me until we are chest to chest. Instantly, all apprehension melts from my body, leaving my limbs heavy and relaxed.
I breathe deeply and wrap my hands around his back.
His masculine scent calms me further. I reach up, tracing the line of his spine, then the curve of his ribs.
Each strip of skin is both familiar and suddenly new.
“May I?” His voice is low, eyes dark with desire, as his hands slide over my shoulders and catch the loose straps of my bra.
I nod, and he eases the lacy fabric down until it falls to the floor between us.
His hands trace lightly over my collarbone and each breast. My breath catches, trembling at the touch.
“My turn,” I smile, reaching for his waistband. Piece by piece, the mess of rain-soaked clothing falls away until there’s nothing left between us but the sound of our breathing. “You’re beautiful,” I say.
His chest rumbles with soft laughter. I’ve seen him a million times in swim trunks, but seeing him like this, in the hazy light filtering through the window, I can truly appreciate the beauty and strength of his body. Broad shoulders, wide chest and back, taut stomach, and . . .
“Baby girl, if you keep looking at me like this, it’ll be over before we’ve even gotten started.”
I swallow deeply, hands curling around my middle. “I’m nervous.”
It’s not just him, it’s everything. I’ve wanted this for so long. All the hours I spent wondering if Hunter would ever see me as more than a friend swirl through my mind in a mix of excitement and fear.
“There’s no need to be nervous.” He shakes his head, reaching for my hand. “It’s just us.”
“I know, but—”
“Sutton,” he says, suddenly serious. “I know you. You know me. Stop worrying. Stop thinking.”
He leans forward, places a gentle kiss to the corner of my mouth, and turns back to the tub. My heart hammers, and I realize I’ve never felt this unraveled, this alive, this utterly sure of someone.
Hunter steps into the water first and holds out his hand to me.
I take it, letting the warmth of the water and his presence wash over me.
I’m scooting back to the opposite side of the tub when he suddenly pulls me to him, settling me across his lap.
All of him pressed against all of me. Heat folds through me.
“You’re staring,” I murmur, biting back a smile.
“Sure am.”
His lips find my shoulder, my throat, my mouth, each kiss deeper, hungrier, until I’m clinging to him, my knees bracketing his hips. The water splashes over the rim as we move. Our laughter breaks through and dissolves into something more desperate.
“Hunter . . .” My voice cracks, my desperation for him outweighing everything else.
He pulls back enough to cup my face. “Nothing else matters when you’re with me.”
My skin flushes, body tingling with need. I widen my knees, pressing against him, pulling a moan from us both. Hunter’s hands grasp my hips and tug me forward and back along his length. I drop my head to his shoulder, relishing in the sensation. “Oh god,” I whisper.
Heat pools low in my belly as nervous anticipation tingles up my spine. I’ve never reached this point so easily before with anyone, but with Hunter, everything feels different.
“That’s it, babe,” he murmurs.
My eyelids flutter open, the last bit of my control disappearing at his encouragement.
His head rests along the tub’s rim, sweat dotting his forehead, hair curling at the ends from the steam.
When his gaze latches onto mine, it refuses to let go.
I lean closer, one hand braced on his chest and the other gripping the porcelain edge.
“Hunter.” My voice trembles with need and relief all at once.
His hand brushes a stray strand of wet hair from my face, thumb tracing the line of my jaw.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve pictured you like this,” he says, his voice low and raw.
Every word, every glance, every brush of his skin against mine sends electricity zipping through my body. I press closer, feeling the warmth, the strength of him, and I don’t hold back. When Hunter reaches down and brushes his fingers against my electrified flesh, I gasp.
“Does that feel good?” He presses a knuckle into me.
“Yes.”
His lips twitch in a slow smile.
I melt into him.
His touch finds me exactly where I need him. My body responds without hesitation.
“You’re close,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Hunt—” I lose my breath as my orgasm cascades through my body. My stomach trembles and my face flushes. The sensation is so delicious I can’t even keep my eyes open.
“You’re fucking stunning,” he says as the waves of pleasure subside and my eyelids flutter open.
“I—wow, that was . . .” I smile shyly at him, at a loss for words.
“It was,” he growls, reaching around to palm the flesh of my backside. “And we’re just getting started.”
My stomach drops at his declaration. He’s got to be crazy to think I’ll orgasm again so soon.
Hunter rolls his eyes. “I can hear you thinking.”
I slap his shoulder. “Oh, shut up, I was just—”
“What did I say before?” His eyes narrow in silent command. “Stop worrying. Stop thinking. I’ve got you.”
“Okay, okay, I know you do.” A soft smile tugs at my lips. “But isn’t there research about refractory periods?”
He presses closer. “We’re going to finish this bath, which gives you plenty of time to recoup, so I can have all of you next.”
We take turns washing each other’s bodies. It feels like a torturous game each time his hands caress the sensitive parts of my body. Refractory period my ass. I’ve never wanted or been more ready for a man than I am for Hunter.