Chapter 15
MAGGIE
Iwoke to sunlight spilling across my room. I stretched into it and felt the unfamiliar pull of new aches and a tenderness in my body that mapped the night before.
Hunter.
His smell was everywhere. I breathed in the leather, his cologne, and something underneath I didn’t have a word for. It moved through me low and slow and made my stomach tighten.
I rolled onto my back, put my arm over my eyes, and let the night come back.
The feel of his hands on my body, the sound of my name on his lips, and the desperate way we clung to each other like we’d lose every bit of it by morning.
I could still feel the press of his weight, the rasp of his stubble on my neck, and the taste of him on my tongue.
I blinked against the sunlight and ran shaky hands down my body.
There were light bruises in the shape of his fingers on my hips and an ache that had settled, deep and insistent, that flared when I shifted against the sheets.
I pressed my fingers to my mouth, still swollen from his, and dragged them slowly across my lower lip.
The memory of his mouth made my pulse trip and stumble.
My thighs pressed together under the sheets, and I couldn’t help the little sound that slipped out, a soft, aching whimper that would’ve humiliated me if I had any pride left.
But I didn’t. Hunter Calloway had burned it out of me last night, left nothing but raw want and the wild ache of being owned by him, even now.
I stared up at the ceiling, light fracturing across it like broken glass, and let myself feel everything I was supposed to regret. The way my body had bent so easily to his hands. How good it felt to give in, to be ruined by the one man I’d never been able to shake.
I let my hands drift lower, tracing over the bruises he’d left on my hips.
They were evidence, proof that last night happened, that I hadn’t been some coward, that I’d taken what I wanted for once.
My skin was hot and hypersensitive under my own touch, as if he were still there, palms splaying over my waist while he groaned my name.
But he wasn’t.
The realization burned through me as I pushed up on my elbows. The other side of my bed was empty, and the hollow ache that followed was instant, a tidal wave of disappointment that crashed through my chest and left me breathless.
Of course he was gone.
Why wouldn’t he be? It didn’t matter that my sheets were still warm from his body or that every inch of me felt like it was made for his hands.
I was still alone, Hunter was still exactly who he’d always been, and my chest tightened at the thought of him regretting it.
I stared at the side of my bed where he’d been, at the mussed sheets and the imprint of his body, and tried to convince myself it was better this way. No awkward morning after, no false promises, no seeing the look in his eyes when he remembered who I really was.
I didn’t have to give him the look that I’d perfected over years of pretending that wanting him was nothing but a harmless little crush, some fever that would burn off on its own.
I rolled onto my side and burrowed deeper under the covers.
I remembered him slipping out of bed in the dark and coming back with a warm cloth, gently wiping away the evidence of our bad decisions from between my legs.
We’d been stupid not to use a condom. I knew that.
But I couldn’t make myself care, not after feeling him like that, nothing between us at all.
Not when he crawled back into bed, and fit himself against my back. His arm slid around my waist, hand spanning my stomach like he was claiming territory, and he pulled me flush against him. There was not a word or an inch of space between us.
I pressed my palm over my eyes and tried to breathe. I needed to get up. I needed to shower, scrub the smell of him from my skin, get dressed and go downstairs to the bakery, and spend the rest of my day like last night had been a fever dream.
I reached for my phone, almost hoping for a message from him, but the only texts were from Ella and my mother. I stared at Ella’s name on my screen and my finger shook as I clicked on the message.
Ella: Hey, can you call me after work? Need to talk about dress shopping with Mom.
Guilt sat heavy in my chest, but I still couldn’t bring myself to regret it. I closed out her message without answering and clicked on my mom’s message instead.
Mom: We’re going dress shopping for Ella next week. You need to be home.
She didn’t ask if that worked for me. There was just the assumption, like always, that I’d drop everything and come running home for Ella.
I stared at the phone until the screen went black.
I let the silence in the room settle around me, pressing down heavier with every breath.
I wanted to be angry but all I felt was this hollow, nagging guilt that burned every time I thought of my sister, every time I thought of what I’d done.
I forced myself upright, legs swinging over the edge of the bed, and a shiver ran through me as my toes pressed against the cold hardwood floor.
I stood and something snagged on my toes.
I froze, breath stalling as my gaze locked on Hunter’s T-shirt, left abandoned between the bed and the door.
His boots were gone, and the spot where his jeans had been was empty now.
I crouched, fingers curling around the shirt, and I pressed it to my face.
The scent of him filled my lungs, and for a second, every bit of that guilt I’d felt before slipped away.
I should’ve thrown it in the hamper, or hell, even the trash, but I didn’t.
Instead, I pulled it over my head, fabric soft and thin from too many washes, and let it hang loose over my bare skin.
The cotton fell to mid-thigh, and I just stood there drinking in the proof of last night and breathing him in with every fractured inhale.
I stepped out into the hall, and the air was cold and startling on my bare thighs. My body felt both unfamiliar and more mine, like every inch had been discovered for the first time. I tugged the hem of his T-shirt lower, but it was pointless.
I wandered down the hallway in a daze, trailing my fingers along the wall, and when I turned the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks. The smell of bacon hit me first, then I saw his boots tossed haphazardly by my door, and I took a dozen slow breaths, trying to calm the frantic beat of my heart.
Last night, I could let myself be selfish, but in the morning light, I’d have to face him. I’d have to answer for the way I had clung to him and begged him not to stop.
I hovered just outside the doorway to my kitchen, bracing myself on the doorframe, and saw him standing in front of my stove with his back to me.
His jeans rode low on his hips, and I stared at the planes of his shoulders and the narrow tuck of his waist. His hair was wild and sticking out in every direction, and he hummed off-key as he flipped the bacon in the skillet.
I didn’t say anything. I just watched him for a second, like if I moved or made a sound he’d vanish. But he must’ve felt my eyes burning into him, because he turned, spatula in hand, and grinned that cocky, slow-spreading smile that had undone me before I’d ever let it touch me.
Neither of us spoke. The bacon popped and hissed in the pan behind him, and the kitchen had never felt so small.
His eyes moved down my body the way his hands had the night before, slow and without apology.
He took in his T-shirt before his gaze lingered on my bare thighs, and when he met my gaze again, there was something in his eyes that made my breath catch.
“Mornin’.” His voice was still rough with sleep, and I felt it low in my stomach.
“You’re still here,” I blurted out, my chest tightening as one corner of his mouth pulled up.
He leaned back against the counter and the silence sat between us, comfortable in a way I wasn’t ready for. “I am.”
I stood there, awkward as hell, and realized I had no idea what to do with my hands, my body, any of it.
I couldn’t pretend that what we’d done last night was just sex, not when the look in his eyes said he’d remembered every second of it, every sound I’d made, every time I’d said his name like a prayer.
I felt raw and exposed, like he could see right through me, and it made me want to run and cling to him all at once.
He must’ve seen the panic flicker across my face, because his smile shifted and he set the spatula down without looking away from me.
He reached back and turned off the burner, and my hands bunched in the hem of his T-shirt.
He took one step toward me, and I took one back.
His lips curved into a smile like he’d been expecting exactly that.
He took another step, and my back hit the doorframe, the jolt of it sending a pulse of need up my spine.
His hand came up and braced against the wood, boxing me in, while his other hand gripped my hip through his shirt.
The press of his palm was hot and possessive, fingers tightening until the fabric pulled taut against my skin.
He leaned in, the heat of his body crowding out all the air in my lungs. My nerves buzzed, hyperaware of the places he touched me and everywhere he didn’t.
His eyes flicked down, tracing the shape of me under his shirt, then his thumb scraped along the hem, teasing up my bare thigh.
“I like this.” His hand stayed where it was, but his thumb traced over my skin until I squirmed and grabbed at his wrist to steady myself.
“Like what?” I swallowed.
He dipped his chin and looked up at me through his lashes, grinning like he could read every thought in my head.
“You in my shirt, Sunshine.” His fingers flexed, pulling the hem a half inch higher, and I felt the prickle of goosebumps start up my legs.
I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just looked at him, searching his face for any sign that he was going to regret this.
But he didn’t look away, not even when I broke and leaned into his palm. His knuckles traced a slow path up the inside of my thigh, and I bit down on my lip hard. He watched my face the whole time, reading every flicker of emotion, before his eyes dropped to my mouth.
“Fuck, Maggie.” His voice dropped to something low and rough that I felt everywhere. “You’re killing me here.”
I pressed my hands flat against his chest, meaning to create some distance, but my hands shook against the quick, harsh rhythm of his heart beneath my fingertips. “We need to talk about last night.”
He leaned in until his mouth was at my ear, his stubble dragging against my cheek. “Do we?” he murmured as his knee pressed slowly between my thighs, nudging them open slowly.
I wanted to stop fighting and just let him wrap himself around me, take the hours and minutes and turn them into another night. But I forced myself to keep breathing, to remember that morning meant the real world would come back.
His hand grazed the edge of the T-shirt where it barely covered me, and he gathered the fabric up, knuckles brushing against bare skin as he bunched it higher on my thigh. The possessive way he touched me sent a jolt through my belly, but I tried to focus on the things I actually wanted to say.
“This doesn’t have to be—” I lost the words when his mouth pressed to the line of my jaw. “It’s not—” Another kiss, this time barely a breath from my lips. “I just don’t want it to be weird.”
He nudged my chin with his nose, forcing my head back against the doorframe, and he pressed another kiss against my neck. “What’s weird about you walking out in my shirt and looking like that?” he asked, voice gone thick.
My hands slipped from his chest to his waist, curling around the hard muscles there. I desperately wanted him to say that last night meant more than just sex, that he didn’t already regret it, but I was too damn scared to know the truth.
“If you want me to go, say so,” he said, voice so gentle it almost hurt.
I shook my head. “I don’t want you to go.”
His hand at my hip cinched higher, and his leg pressed harder between mine until I felt the hard press of his thigh against my pussy.
He tipped my chin up with his other hand and kissed me.
His mouth devoured me in a way that stripped the air from my lungs.
It was as if every regret, every apology, every word we’d ever bitten back for years was funneled through the desperate crush of our lips.
His hands were everywhere at once, as greedy and reckless in the morning light as they’d been in the dark.
He kissed me like he was punishing me for wanting him, his body grinding me back into the doorframe so hard my breath caught and broke.
I clung to him, because I couldn’t think, couldn’t remember what I’d been about to say.
His thigh pressed hard between mine, and the friction pulled a sound out of me I couldn’t swallow back. I tried to shift away from it, from him, but his hand caught the back of my neck and kept me there.
He broke the kiss and looked down at me, chest heaving.
“Just me and you, Sunshine.” They were the same words that he said last night, but they were rougher now as if they cost him something.
Something in my chest came loose. My hands moved up his stomach on their own, feeling every place I’d spent years pretending I wasn’t memorizing. He was watching my face the whole time, and I hated how much I liked it.
I felt reckless and safe all at once, and I didn’t want it to stop.
I clamped my eyes closed, rolled my hips against his thigh, and felt him exhale hard against my lips.
“Just me and you.”