Chapter 18
Catherine Celia
After our make out session, dinner was cold. I lay in his bed, warm and boneless, while Hunter traced slow circles over my hip. “You cooked, and I ruined dinner,” I said.
“Worth it.”
“I’m starving.”
“I’ll feed you,” he said.
I rolled onto my back, staring up at his ceiling while my body slowly remembered how to function. My limbs felt loose and useless, my mouth still tingled, and my heart was doing that stupid thing it did around Hunter where it couldn’t decide if it wanted to float or panic. Probably both.
Hunter shifted beside me and pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “I need to feed you.”
“I need a minute.”
“You need water too,” he noted, because he was thoughtful.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The room was quiet except for our breathing.
Hunter’s chest rose and fell beneath my cheek, one of his hands moving slowly through my hair while the other rested warm and heavy at my waist. Then his fingers drifted lower, tracing the edge of my shirt where it had ridden up over my hip.
I lifted my head. “Hunter.”
His eyes were dark again, hungry.
“I didn’t take care of you,” he said.
My stomach flipped. “You took very good care of me in the linen closet.”
“That was hours ago.”
I laughed, but it came out breathless because his hand had slid to the back of my thigh, dragging me a little closer. “You say that like I’m suffering.”
His gaze moved over my face, then down my body like he was remembering exactly how I looked when I came apart for him. “I don’t like leaving things uneven.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” I giggled.
His mouth curved. “I can call it something dirtier if you want.”
Heat rushed through me. He shifted, rolling me beneath him again, his mouth brushing my jaw. “I want my mouth on you.”
My breath caught.
“And I want you in my bed, not standing in a closet biting my shoulder so no one hears you.”
“Hunter,” I squirmed pressing my thighs together.
He kissed the side of my neck. “I want to take my time.”
Oh, that was unfair. My body was absolutely on board with this plan. My stomach, however, chose that exact moment to make a very embarrassing noise.
Hunter froze.
I closed my eyes. “Pretend you didn’t hear that.”
His shoulders shook.
“Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
He lifted his head, and his expression was soft and amused and way too beautiful for someone who had just ruined me twice in one day.
“You’re hungry.”
“I’m also turned on,” I said, because apparently shame had left my body sometime around the linen closet.
His eyes darkened again. “I noticed.”
“But you cooked for me.” I touched his cheek. “And I really do need food.”
He kissed my palm. “I’ll feed you first.”
“First?”
His mouth curved.
I pushed at his chest gently before I lost the ability to make responsible choices. “We can continue where we left off after dinner.”
He stared at me for one second too long. Then he groaned and dropped his forehead to my shoulder. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“No. I’m trying to eat pasta before I pass out,” I countered.
“Very romantic.”
I slipped out from under him. He got up and walked to his closet and took out a T-shirt and shorts, but he didn’t put on a pair of boxers, and his package was very apparent through the shorts. I couldn’t help but look and wonder what it would feel like to ride him.
“You’re having a dirty thought,” he noted.
I laughed. “How could you tell?”
“You’re flushing,” he said.
I walked out of his bedroom, then looked back at him over my shoulder. “Then you better reheat it fast.”
Hunter’s gaze dropped to my mouth. “Kitchen,” he said, voice rough.
“Good idea, because if we stay in here, we’ll end up back in bed, and that won’t solve my hunger situation,” I stated.
“Good call.” He took my hand and guided me to his kitchen. He dropped my hand and placed a heaping plate of waffles in the microwave. The fresh sweet smell hit me hard enough that my stomach made another embarrassing sound. Hunter glanced over his shoulder.
“Don’t say a word,” I warned.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Those waffles smell amazing.”
“They’re my own secret recipe of protein waffles. Although now that I’m thinking about it I probably shouldn’t have admitted that they’re healthy,” he gave me a crooked smile.
“I’m not ten. I can handle healthy,” I giggled.
“Good point. I’m so used to feeding Isla.
But now I’m thinking I like feeding you, too” he said, and my heart beat a little differently.
Things were different with Hunter than they had been with Julian.
Hunter was attentive, sweet, and very giving in bed.
No wonder I hadn’t been able to come much with Julian.
Hunter moved around his kitchen like he knew exactly what he was doing.
He took some freshly cut strawberries out of the fridge and passed me a glass of water and set everything in front of me at the island.
I took one bite and closed my eyes. “Oh wow.”
Hunter leaned against the counter across from me. “Good?”
“Annoyingly good.”
“Why annoying?” he asked, his brows drawing together.
“Because now I know you can cook, and that makes you more attractive. Which is extremely inconvenient for me.”
His mouth curved. “Tragic.”
For a few minutes, we ate like normal people who were dating. We felt like a couple. Hunter watched me more than he ate.
I pointed my fork at him. “You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Watching me like you’re personally responsible for my survival,” I laughed.
“I am tonight,” he replied.
“Nope, only my orgasms.”
“Keep that up and I’ll eat you for dessert on this counter,” he warned.
I was left speechless. He made a mock gasp. “Is it possible that Catherine Celia Davis doesn’t have a comeback right now?”
“No, only yes please,” I managed to mutter.
Hunter looked down at his plate, then set his fork down.
“What?” I asked. It felt like the conversation went from sexy to serious, and that caused my stomach to dip, and not in a good way.
His eyes lifted to mine. “Isla comes home in less than two days.”
My stomach dipped. Real life. Right.
“I know,” I said carefully. “Mila does too.”
Was he breaking up with me? We’d barely had enough time together. Was this all a game to him? Was I not good enough? My old self-esteem issues reared their ugly head.
“I miss her,” he said. “A lot.”
“I’m sure you do.” I struggled to keep my cool, but I wouldn’t show him how my heart was shattering into pieces at the thought of us not being together.
“She sent me a letter to tell me she went ziplining and only screamed once,” he chuckled.
I smiled. “That sounds like Isla.”
“She said Mila screamed enough for both of them.”
His smile faded, and the air between us changed again.
“When she’s back, I can’t do this the same way,” he said.
I put my fork down. The words hurt more than I wanted them to, even though they made sense. Of course they made sense. Isla was his daughter. His world. The person he had built his entire life around.
“I know,” I said.
“I don’t mean I don’t want to see you,” he muttered nervously.
“What does it mean?” I asked, keeping my voice even. At least I thought I was doing a good job.
“I need you to really know that I want you.” His voice roughened. “Because I don’t want you thinking I’m pulling away after tonight.”
“Are you?” I couldn’t help but ask. “I feel like I have whiplash right now.” I had to be honest. I felt like I was in deep with him, and it had only been a short amount of time.
“I’m sorry.” He dipped his head. “I want to take you for dessert on my counter tonight, but it’s obviously not something I can do when my daughter’s home. I’m a single dad. I don’t have the luxury of having the apartment to myself.”
“So what does that mean for us?” I asked.
“Isla is my priority,” he responded.
“I would never ask you to put me ahead of her,” I stated because it was obvious to me. My parents had always put me and my siblings ahead of their needs. I knew what good parenting looked like.
Something in his face eased. “I know,” he said. “But I still have to say it.”
“Okay.” I reached across the island and touched his hand. “Say it. I like that you say it.”
His fingers turned under mine, linking us together.
“The way you love her is one of the things I like most about you,” I said.
Hunter went very still. There it was again. That look. Like I had touched a place in him he didn’t let many people near.
“Catherine.”
“What?”
He shook his head once, almost helplessly. “You make this hard.”
I smiled. “I thought that was your line.”
A rough laugh broke out of him, and some of the tension eased.
“Dirty mouth,” he said.
“You like my dirty mouth,” I said.
“I like it way too much,” he admitted.
“Then feed me faster.”
His gaze darkened. “Why?”
“Because after dinner, I believe we said we’d continue where we left off.”
Hunter stared at me for one long second.
Then he pointed at my plate. “Eat.”
I grinned and took another bite, then another until I had eaten enough. Hunter cleared my plate before I could make another comment about dessert.
“You’re quiet,” I said, watching him rinse the dishes and load them into the dishwasher like we were two normal adults having a normal dinner and not two people actively destroying all reasonable boundaries.
“I’m focused,” he said.
“On dishes?” I questioned because he looked like he was too much inside his head.
His gaze flicked to mine.
“No.”
Heat crawled up my neck.
“Oh.”
He dried his hands slowly, his eyes never leaving me. I was still sitting at his island, full from dinner, warm from wine I hadn’t even drunk, and suddenly very aware of the fact that Hunter Russell had said he wanted me on this counter. Then he walked around the island.
I swallowed. “Hunter.”
“Still want to continue where we left off?” he asked.
My entire body went hot. “You know I do.”
His hands settled on my hips, and he turned me on the stool until I faced him. “Say it anyway.”
My pulse kicked. “I want you.”
His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed serious. “That’s not specific enough.”
I leaned closer, my hands sliding up his chest. “I want your mouth on me.”