Chapter 10
Hunter
“Open your mouth, Doc.”
Claire’s sitting at my kitchen table, blindfolded with one of my bandanas, her hands folded in her lap like a kid waiting for Christmas.
She showed up for our third date twenty minutes ago in a denim skirt and a blouse that makes her hair look like fire and let me tie the blindfold without a single question about what I had planned.
Trust. That’s what this is. She’s trusting me.
I fork a piece of roasted carrot and hold it to her lips. She opens, takes the bite, chews slowly, her face scrunching in concentration.
“Carrot. Roasted with... thyme? And brown sugar, maybe.”
“It’s honey from Hank’s bees. And you’re right about the thyme.” I set the fork down and lean against the counter. “The veggies are from my garden out back.”
“You have a garden?” Her voice rises at the end like she can’t believe a lumberjack would ever grow something.
“Started it a few years ago. There’s tomatoes, carrots, herbs, some other stuff. It keeps me busy when I’m not at the mill.” I grab another fork and spear some squash. “Next one.”
She takes it, and this time putting her tongue out to catch my fork. My brain short-circuits for half a second as I picture that tongue doing naughty things to before I recover. I shift my stance, already half-hard just from watching her eat. This woman is going to kill me.
“Butternut squash.” Claire’s smiling now, the kind that says she knows exactly the effect she’s having on me. “Also from your garden?”
“Yep.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it. “You’re good at this.”
“I have an excellent palate.” She tilts her head, still smiling behind the blindfold. “What’s next?”
I grab the plate of fish, the bass I caught yesterday pan-seared with lemon and dill. The meat flakes perfectly under my fork. I blow on it to cool it, then hold it to her mouth.
“Careful. It’s hot.”
She takes the bite, and I watch her face as she tastes it. The way her full lips close around the fork, how her throat works when she swallows, the little furrow between her eyebrows while she thinks.
“Some kind of mild fish. Is it bass?”
“Damn, Doc. You’re making this too easy.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Caught it yesterday in the creek that runs through my property.” I set the plate aside, move closer. My hand finds her knee under the table, callused palm rough against her jeans. “You’re not even trying anymore.”
“Maybe I like it when you feed me.” Her voice has dropped, gone softer. “What else do you have?”
I grab the bottle of sparkling wine I’ve been chilling, pouring two glasses. When I bring one to her lips, she sips and some spills down her chin. Without thinking, I lean in and lick it away.
She gasps, her hand flying up to grip my wrist. “Hunter.”
“You needed help.”
“That’s not part of the game.”
“Isn’t it?” My voice is husky as I kiss the corner of her mouth where a drop still clings.
Her breathing’s gone shallow and quick, and I can see her pulse jumping in her throat. The urge to strip that blindfold off and watch her eyes while I touch her nearly breaks me. But I know my patience will pay off.
“What’s next?” This time her question sounds like a dare.
I grab a strawberry from the bowl and hold it to her lips. “Open.” She bites, the juice running down her chin. This time I use my thumb to catch it, then bring my thumb to her mouth where she licks it clean.
I'm rock-hard now, my joggers doing nothing to my cock as it kicks against my joggers. “Christ, Claire.”
“What?” Her voice is sugary innocence, but her foot has found mine, and it’s slowly rubbing against my ankle.
“You’re playing dirty, Doc.” I shift in my chair, adjusting myself. “My self-control is hanging by a thread here.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for. Now feed me.”
I feed her another strawberry, then pineapple, watching her mouth close around each piece.
The game’s dissolving fast, turning into something else entirely.
When I dip my finger in the chocolate hazelnut spread and bring it to her lips, she takes my whole finger into her mouth and sucks, swirling her tongue around my finger.
“Claire.” It comes out like gravel as my free hand grips the table edge so hard that the wood bites into my palm.
She releases my finger slow, then licks her bottom lip. “I can taste the chocolate and something else. Hazelnut spread? Because I know exactly what we can do with that later.”
My control snaps.
I yank her to me and kiss her, my mouth hungry and possessive. I pull back just as quickly. “Noted.”
I’m already reaching for the whipped cream, and when I put some on her lips, I don’t give her a chance to guess. I just lean in and kiss it off her mouth.
She makes this sound in her throat, halfway between a gasp and a moan, and her hands slide into my hair. The kiss goes deep fast, her tongue tasting like chocolate and strawberries and want.
When I pull back, we’re both breathing hard.
“The blindfold,” she says.
“You want it off?”
“No.” Her hands find my chest, fisting in my flannel shirt. “I want it on. Want to feel everything without seeing it.”
And that’s when I know she’s fully mine, even if she hasn’t said it yet. Because asking to keep the blindfold on means she trusts me completely and is comfortable being vulnerable with me.
“Okay,” I manage. “Blindfold stays on.”
I lift her off the chair like she weighs nothing, set her on the kitchen counter.
She wraps her legs around my waist immediately, pulling me close, and I kiss her like I’m starving for it.
My hands slide under her sweater, rough palms scraping against soft skin and the lace of her bra, and she arches into my touch.
I want to devour her right here, spreadibg her out on this counter and making her scream my name loud enough the neighbors two miles away hear it.
“Hunter.” My name sounds wrecked coming from her mouth. “Please.”
I pull her blous off, toss it somewhere. The blindfold’s still secure, and she looks so damn beautiful sitting on my counter in the skirt that’s riding up her thighs and her hair falling out of its clip and her mouth swollen from my kisses.
“You’re gorgeous,” I tell her.
“I can’t see you.”
“I know. But I can see you, and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had in this kitchen.”
She laughs, breathless. “Your kitchen’s seen a lot?”
“Not like this.” I kiss down her throat, feeling her pulse hammer under my lips. “Never like this.”
I get her bra off, then her jeans, until she’s sitting on my counter in just her underwear and the blindfold.
The late afternoon sun coming through the window paints her skin gold, and I take my time learning every inch of her with my hands and mouth.
My scarred knuckles trace her ribs, her waist, the soft curve of her hip, and she shivers under the rough texture.
When I finally pull her underwear off, when I step between her thighs and touch her where she’s already wet and ready, she says my name like a prayer.
“Tell me what you want,” I say against her mouth.
“You. Just you.”
I work her with my fingers, watching her face, learning what makes her gasp and arch and dig her nails into my shoulders. When she comes apart the first time, she bites my shoulder to muffle her cry, and the small pain of it drives me higher.
“Bedroom,” I manage. “I need you in my bed.”
“Yes.”
I lift her off the counter, and she wraps herself around me, her face buried in my neck. I carry her down the hall to my bedroom, the floorboards creaking under our weight, and lay her on my bed—just a mattress and old quilts, nothing fancy, but it’s mine and now she’s in it.
The blindfold’s still on. She’s asked me to leave it on, so I do.
I strip fast, grab a condom from the nightstand, and settle between her thighs. When I push inside her, we both go still.
“Okay?” My voice barely works.
“More than okay.” Her hands find my face, trace my jaw, my mouth, like she’s memorizing me through touch. “Move. Please move.”
I do. Starting slow, I watch her face even though she can’t see mine. Every gasp is louder, every arch sharper. Without sight, she's pure sensation, and I'm the only thing anchoring her to the couch.
Outside, wind moves through the pines, and somewhere in the distance an owl calls. The wilderness pressing close to the stone walls, but in here it’s just us, just her soft body under mine and the sound of our breathing.
“Hunter.” She’s gasping now. “I need—”
“I know. I’ve got you.”
I shift the angle, hitting deeper, and she cries out. Her nails rake down my back, and I grit my teeth against the urge to come right then. This needs to last. Need to make it good for her, need her to know this is different, this matters.
When she comes the second time, she says my name over and over, and I follow her, burying my face in her neck as I empty myself inside her.
We lie there catching our breath. I’m still inside her, still holding her, and she’s running her fingers through my hair like she can’t stop touching me.
“Can I take it off now?” I ask quietly.
“Not yet.” Her voice is soft, vulnerable. “Just... hold me like this for a minute.”
So I do. Hold her in my bed with the blindfold still on and the sun setting through my window and her body soft and trusting under mine. I kiss her forehead, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth, and she tilts her face up to catch my lips.
This kiss is different. Slower. Deeper. Like she’s telling me something she can’t say out loud yet.
Eventually I pull out, deal with the condom, then settle beside her. She curls into my side immediately, her head on my chest, and I finally reach up and untie the blindfold.
She blinks in the dimming light, then looks up at me. Her eyes are bright, almost wet, and something in my chest clenches.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi yourself.” I tuck hair behind her ear. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She traces patterns on my chest, not meeting my eyes. “That was...”
“Yeah.”
We lie there quiet for a while. I can feel her thinking, can practically hear the gears turning in her head, but I don’t push. Just hold her and wait.
“I should probably go,” she says eventually.
My stomach drops. “You could stay.”
“I have an early shift tomorrow.” She sits up, looks around for her clothes. “And I need to... process some things.”
“Claire.” I catch her hand. “Talk to me.”
“I’m fine. I just—” She looks at me, and whatever she sees makes her stop. “I need some time to think. That’s all.”
I want to push. Want to ask what she’s thinking, if she’s running again, if this scared her. But I learned with Jenna that sometimes you have to give people space to figure things out on their own.
“Okay.” I sit up, find her sweater on the floor. “Let me at least make you dinner before you go. Real dinner, not just the taste test.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I really do have to go.”
We get dressed in silence. I walk her to the door, and she pauses on the porch, looking out at the valley where the sun’s almost gone and stars are starting to appear.
“Hunter.” She turns to face me. “Thank you. For tonight. For all three dates.”
The three dates. Right. The deal we made in St. Sebastian.
“So.” I lean against the doorframe, trying to look casual when my heart’s hammering. “Date four?”
She steps close, cups my face, and kisses me. It’s thorough and claiming and says everything she’s not saying out loud. When she pulls back, her eyes are dark.
“I’ll let you know.”
Then she’s down the steps and in her car before I can respond. I watch her taillights disappear down my drive, red eyes fading into darkness.
I stand there on my porch for a long time after, the night air cold against my skin, trying to figure out what just happened.
She’s falling for me. I know she is. Felt it in the way she kissed me, the way she asked to keep the blindfold on, the way she looked at me before she left.
But she didn’t say yes to date four.