Chapter 19 Aurora
AURORA
For three days, Hunter has given me space while somehow always being present. He brings me meals, sits across from me while I pick at the food, and answers every question I throw at him without hesitation or deflection. No matter how painful or accusatory.
“Your father was a good man,” he told me yesterday. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him. And you didn’t deserve to believe he abandoned you.”
I pull myself up from the bed, wrapping the soft blanket around my shoulders. My anger hasn’t disappeared—it’s transformed into something more complex. A deep ache that acknowledges the truth: while Hunter knew about my father, he was twenty-one himself when it happened, trapped in Jax’s web.
The man who’s been caring for me these past days isn’t the unfeeling billionaire I first met on that cliff edge. He’s someone who finally chose to break free of his chains, risking everything he built to find me. To save me. I think of the bullet wound in his shoulder that he barely acknowledges.
“I won’t ask your forgiveness,” he said last night, setting down a cup of tea beside me. “I don’t deserve it. But I will find Olivia, Aurora. I swear it.”
I’ve been processing not just my father’s death but the truth about Hunter. A man capable of terrible things, yet who looks at me with such tenderness it makes my chest ache.
I pad barefoot across the cool wooden floor. The house is quiet except for the distant sound of someone typing. I follow it, blanket trailing behind me like a cape, determined to find him.
It’s time we talked about what happens next.
I follow the sound of typing toward the back of the house, but it stops suddenly. The double doors to the library stand partially open, spilling golden light into the darkened hallway. I pause at the threshold, my blanket clutched around my shoulders.
Hunter sits on the leather couch, his laptop abandoned on the coffee table.
He’s not typing anymore. He’s not doing anything at all—just staring straight ahead at the wall of books, his expression haunted.
The bandage on his shoulder is visible beneath his thin t-shirt, a reminder of what he risked to find me.
Three empty coffee cups sit on the table. Maps and printouts are scattered across every surface. He hasn’t been sleeping while I’ve been recuperating.
I step into the room, my bare feet silent against the hardwood. He doesn’t notice me until I’m almost beside him.
His eyes snap to mine, instantly alert despite the exhaustion etched into his face and the dark circles around his eyes. The hard edges I’ve always associated with Hunter Reed seem worn down.
“You should be resting,” he says, his voice hoarse.
I ignore his comment and sit beside him on the couch, tucking my legs underneath me, keeping the blanket wrapped around my body like armor.
“What are you thinking?” I ask softly.
Hunter’s gaze drops to his hands. They’re clasped together so tightly his knuckles have turned white.
“That I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. “That whatever happens next, I’m grateful I got to know you at all.”
The simple honesty in his words catches me off guard. This isn’t the calculating and dominant man who orchestrated his way into my life. This is a man laying himself bare, expecting nothing in return.
I study his profile in the soft lamplight, seeing for the first time how much this has cost him. Not just physically, but something deeper—as if the foundations of his entire existence have shifted.
I reach for Hunter’s hand. His eyes follow the movement, wary and uncertain—an expression I’ve never seen on him before. For a man who’s always been so sure of himself, so dominating and in control, this vulnerability is striking.
“Hunter,” I whisper, taking his large hand in mine.
I place his palm against my chest, pressing it firmly over my heart.
Even through the blanket, I can feel the warmth of his skin, the slight tremor in his fingers.
“Feel that? It’s yours. It has been since we met on that cliff, even when I hated you. Maybe especially then.”
His eyes darken, shifting from uncertainty to hunger. The tension between us changes instantly, charging the air with electricity.
“Aurora,” he breathes, my name a prayer and a plea.
Hunter pulls me close, nearly crushing me against his chest. I let the blanket fall away as I melt into him. We hold each other in the darkness of the library, the rain still pattering against the windows, creating a cocoon around us. The steady beat of his heart matches mine—quick, desperate.
My fingers thread through his hair as his mouth finds my neck.
The anger that burned inside me for days hasn’t disappeared, but it’s transformed into something equally powerful.
I’m starving for him, for this connection that defies all logic.
My body remembers his touch even as my mind grapples with everything I’ve learned.
“I need you,” I whisper against his ear, feeling him shudder beneath my hands. “Even when I was so angry I couldn’t see straight, I needed you.”
His hands slip beneath my shirt, his touch soft and hungry at once. Every point of contact between us sparks with heat, with promise.
His mouth is hot against my skin, desperate. I push away from him suddenly, my palm flat against his chest. Our breathing fills the quiet room, heavy and uneven.
“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” I say, my voice sharp and clear. “Don’t think for one second that this means everything’s okay between us.”
Hunter’s gray-blue eyes harden, then soften. “I know.”
“You let me believe a lie.” The words tear from my throat, raw and painful.
I straddle him in one fluid movement, pinning him against the couch. My hands grip his wrists, pressing them into the leather on either side of his head.
“I should hate you,” I whisper against his mouth, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. “Part of me still does.”
I grind against him, feeling his hardness between my legs. The thin fabric of my sleep shorts and his sweatpants does nothing to disguise how much he wants this—wants me.
“You’re going to let me take exactly what I need,” I state, releasing one of his wrists to tear at his shirt. “And you’re going to give me everything I ask for. Understand?”
“Anything,” he breathes, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll do anything to earn your trust back, Aurora. Anything you want.”
I grab his jaw roughly, forcing him to look at me as I roll my hips against his erection. “I want to feel you inside me while I remember exactly who you are—what you’ve done. I want to come on your cock while I’m still fucking furious with you.”
A groan escapes him as I reach between us, shoving his sweatpants down enough to free him.
“You don’t deserve this,” I whisper, positioning myself above him. “You don’t deserve me.”
“I know,” Hunter says, his voice breaking. “I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you.”
I position myself above his hard length, my thighs trembling with anticipation. Without warning or gentleness, I sink down on him, taking him to the hilt in one rough motion. The sudden fullness makes me gasp, the delicious stretch burning in all the right ways.
“Touch my clit,” I demand, voice tight as I begin to move. “Make me come while I use you.”
Hunter’s fingers find me immediately, his touch expert and precise. I rock against him hard, setting a punishing pace that has us both panting. My anger fuels every movement, transforming into something primal.
“Harder,” I hiss, grinding down on him. “Faster.”
He increases the pressure how I need it, his eyes never leaving mine. The intensity between us is electric, charged with everything unsaid. I take my pleasure from him ruthlessly, using his body for my release.
When Hunter’s hands suddenly move to grip my hips, I slap them away with a sharp crack.
“No,” I snap. “You don’t get to touch me however you want. Not anymore.” I grab his wrist and place his hand back between my legs. “Fingers on my clit, and one on my nipple. That’s it.”
He groans, a deep sound of both frustration and arousal. “Aurora—”
“No talking either,” I cut him off, rolling my hips in a way that makes us both gasp. “Just do what I tell you.”
Hunter obeys, his thumb circling my clit while his other hand reaches up to pinch my nipple through my thin shirt. The dual sensation sends sparks of pleasure shooting through my body. I control everything—the angle, the depth, the pace. His body is mine to use, his pleasure secondary to my own.
I ride him hard, my nails digging into his chest for leverage. Every thrust is an accusation, every moan a confession. I hate him. I want him. I can’t live without him. The contradictions tear through me as I chase my release.
I grind against him harder, watching his face contort with pleasure beneath me.
There’s something intoxicating about seeing this man—this controlling, powerful billionaire who’s orchestrated his every move since meeting me—completely at my mercy.
Following my commands without question. Taking what I give him.
“Look at you,” I whisper, voice sharp with anger and desire. “Hunter Reed, doing exactly what he’s told.”
His eyes darken at my taunt, but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t try to take control. Just continues the relentless rhythm with his fingers that’s driving me toward the edge.
And God, I hate how good he makes me feel even while I’m furious with him. How can I crave someone who kept such a devastating truth from me or who is capable of such darkness?
My anger begins to dissolve as the pleasure builds inside me. My hips stutter in their rhythm as Hunter’s fingers work their magic, precise and perfect against my clit.
“I hate that I need you like this,” I gasp, feeling my body tightening around him. “I hate that even when I’m furious, you still make me feel so fucking good.”
His eyes lock with mine, stormy with emotion. I want to look away, but can’t. The connection between us transcends the physical—it always has.
“Fuck,” I moan, grinding harder against him. “I’m close.”
Hunter breaks my rule about silence. “Come for me, Aurora,” he whispers, his voice rough. “Give me everything.”
Something about those words shatters my remaining control. My orgasm crashes through me in waves, each one more intense than the last. I cry out his name as my body convulses around him, my hands gripping his shoulders despite my earlier command.
Through the haze of my release, I feel Hunter’s restraint breaking. His hips thrust up to meet mine, his hands moving to grip my waist. This time, I don’t stop him. I need to feel his strength, his desperation.
“I want you to come inside me,” I demand, my voice breathy and raw. “Now.”
Hunter groans, his fingers digging into my flesh as he thrusts deeper. I feel him pulse inside me, filling me completely as he comes with my name on his lips.
We collapse against each other, panting and sweaty. I rest my head against his shoulder, inhaling his scent. My body feels boneless, satisfied in ways only he can provide.
Despite the lies, despite the pain, I know the truth that terrifies me most: I love him.
The realization sits heavy in my chest as I listen to his heartbeat gradually slow.
My anger still exists—a burning ember rather than the raging bonfire from before—but it’s tangled with something deeper, something I can’t deny.
I close my eyes, letting the post-orgasmic haze wash over me. We’re far from fixed, but in this moment, I can admit to myself what I’ve known all along. Hunter Reed and I are like dark and light; neither can exist without the other.