Chapter 20 Zoey
ZOEY
The last five days of my life have been the craziest ever. And that’s saying a lot, after the first bit of chaos Mark caused in my life and my family’s.
Hunter has been home for four days, and he’s healing well. He’s been up and about, refusing to stay on the couch or in bed most of the day. The man has ants in his pants, and relaxation isn’t part of his personality.
You wouldn’t have to twist my arm to make me stay in bed. I could binge the hell out of television series and books.
“Are you sure you two are going to be okay?” Lizzy asks as she zips up her coat.
“I think we’ll manage,” Hunter tells her, rubbing my feet as we both lie on the couch, but on opposite ends.
This feels a little bit like being a kid again and his mom is heading out for the evening but she’s also reluctant to leave us alone.
“You go have fun, but not too much,” Hunter says, turning the tables on her. “And be home at a reasonable hour.”
Lizzy ignores him like all sisters do when their brothers are being ridiculous. “Don’t wait up.” She’s gone a moment later.
“You think she’ll come home tonight?” Hunter asks me as he presses the pad of his thumb into the soft part of my foot.
I nearly melt into the couch as I let out a little moan. “Maybe,” I whisper.
“Don’t make noises like that,” he tells me, his voice rough and gravelly.
“I can’t help it. That feels too good.”
“Damn it. I wish I didn’t have these stitches to worry about.”
I raise an eyebrow as I stare down the length of the couch at him. “Because you’d what?”
“Finish where we left off.”
“We could still kiss,” I offer, remembering the way my toes curled when he did it the first and only time.
“Come here,” he says and releases my foot.
I do my best not to groan in protest because the foot massage was too good. I’m a sucker for a foot rub, and getting one without having to go to a spa is nearly impossible since I swore off relationships.
I crawl over his legs, careful not to touch his middle. He is still healing, and he doesn’t have a follow-up with the surgeon until next week. Light physical activity is allowed, but getting hot and heavy didn’t seem to be included on that list.
And I want Hunter. I mean, I want him. There is a hunger inside me to taste his lips again that I don’t think I’ve ever felt for another human being in my entire life.
My hands are on the couch as I hold my body up, careful not to touch him.
“I’m not breakable,” he whispers as my face gets closer to his.
He may not be breakable, but I’m liable to do some damage if I touch the wrong spot or put too much weight on him.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
He wraps his fingers around my head as he slides his palm against my neck. Goose bumps break out across my skin as I gaze into his deep blue eyes.
I see a hunger burning in them that I’m sure matches mine.
“Baby, you can’t hurt me. Stop talking and kiss me.”
“Kiss me,” I tell him, repeating the words I said before this nightmare began.
He pulls me down, and my lips crash into his, sending a shiver down my spine as his fingertips curl into my scalp.
His lips are soft, and they have a sweetness to them. He tastes like vanilla from the cupcakes I got from Tilly’s shop, which she insisted I bring to Hunter to help in his recovery.
He jolts underneath me, and I freeze. I open my eyes, seeing his wince, but our mouths are still connected.
He’s not going to stop. He wants this as much as I do, but one of us must be the responsible adult and not let our libido control the situation.
I pull back and Hunter groans. “Wait,” he says, not releasing his grip on me. “Don’t stop.”
“We can’t do this.” I study his face as I say those words, telling myself to hold steady and firm.
“We can. I’m fine.”
“I hurt you.” My arms shake as I try to hold myself up high enough that there’s no risk I can hurt him again.
“You didn’t hurt me, Zoey. My muscle pulled a stitch. It happens.”
“It wouldn’t have happened if we weren’t…”
“Kissing?”
“Well, yeah,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes off his face.
“Kissing never killed anyone.”
“I’m sure it has killed someone.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Is there anything I can say to make you kiss me again?”
“No.”
He releases his grip on me, and I push myself back to the safety of my side of the couch. “What’s that face? Are you pouting?”
His frown deepens. “What if I am?”
“Men are so dramatic.”
“I was shot. I’m injured. I’m allowed to be a bit dramatic.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “Now you admit you’re still in pain?”
“I didn’t say I was in pain.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Make out,” he answers with a wry grin.
“Not happening. Pick something else.”
Hunter scratches at his beard, which has become a little unruly in the last few days.
“I could trim your beard,” I offer.
“Will you sit on my lap while you do it?”
I chuckle, knowing he’s going to get handsy, but I like the idea anyway. “Will you keep your hands to yourself?”
He smirks and lifts his hands. “I can’t promise that.”
“I’ll get everything ready,” I tell him before I get off the couch, pulling my sweater tighter to keep out the chill.
I’m over winter, and it’s barely even started.
This is the best part of the season. When the Christmas trees are up and the holiday lights cover the city in an entirely different color glow.
There’s an excitement to the city, but once the new year starts, January comes in like a bear and time seems to stand still.
“Everything is under my sink.”
“Got it,” I call out as I head toward his bathroom.
The layout of his place is the same as mine, which makes it easy to navigate.
His bathroom is surprisingly tidy and clean, unlike many of the guys I know.
But it’s also bland and sterile. Obviously, Lizzy didn’t decorate it.
Everything is white, including the hand towel hanging on the wall next to the sink.
I kneel and open the cabinet under the sink. Everything inside is organized in a particular way. Tallest items in the back and the shortest toward the front. This is something I can only see Lizzy doing.
I grab the electric razor and a pair of scissors and a comb from a cup nearby. Men live entirely different lives. Most of the items in the cabinet are cleaning products. It’s so unlike mine, which is bursting at the seams with makeup, skin care, brushes of every kind, and more.
“Find what you need?” Hunter asks from the living room.
I quickly close the cabinet door, not wanting him to think that I’m snooping through his things. I don’t bother yelling back because it’s only a few short steps until I’m where he can see me from his spot on the couch.
“I think I got everything. Want help up?”
He shakes his head as he starts to move at a glacial pace. He doesn’t wince as he turns his body, but I know he wants to. The level of concentration on his face tells me every movement is measured to reduce the amount of pain.
I’ve never been shot or had surgery, but I’ve fallen on my ass too many times to count. I know when your body’s sore, any little thing can send a slice of pain through you that can take your breath away.
Instead of staring at him, I grab a chair from the dining area and place it near the couch, so he doesn’t need to move very far.
“Shit, I forgot a towel,” I say before running back to the bathroom to grab one.
When I open the linen closet, I’m surprised the big towels aren’t white like everything else in the bathroom. They’re black, which is a stark contrast to everything else. Still not a color, but close enough.
By the time I get back to the living room, he’s sitting in the chair, taking measured breaths.
“Your grandpa was right. Getting shot sucks. But a shot to the ass or the leg would’ve been easier. You don’t realize how much you use your stomach for. This is like the worst abdominal workout ever.”
“Poor guy,” I say as I wrap a towel around the front of him to catch the little hairs, so he isn’t itchy later. I’d seen my dad do this when he needed a last-minute trim before running out the door.
“Sit,” he tells me, patting his legs with a smile.
The man is handsome. And on top of that, he took a bullet for me from a madman. He hasn’t complained once either.
I settle most of my weight on him as I sit on his thighs, but I keep the tips of my toes pinned to the floor so I don’t give him every pound. I’m not a skinny girl, and the last thing I want to do is put more pressure on him than necessary.
His hands settle on the top of my hips near my waist. He pulls me forward, leaving very little room for me to work.
“Hunter,” I chastise and shake my head.
He chuckles. “You were too far away.”
“Now, I’m too close.” I scoot back a few inches and stare down at his face.
His eyes almost take my breath away. They’re dark blue in the dimness of the apartment. They look like a turbulent sea right before a thunderstorm.
He stares into my eyes as I comb out his beard, making sure every errant hair is easy to spot. Every so often, I let my gaze dip to his, and the way he’s looking at me almost takes the air right out of my lungs.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers as his thumbs stroke a small patch of exposed skin between my T-shirt and jeans.
“You’re making it hard to concentrate.”
“That’s the point.” He smirks, moving all the hairs around his mouth.
“You need to hold still. I’d hate it if you needed more stitches.”
“Don’t cut me.”
“Don’t move,” I tell him as I open and close the scissors a few times, making sure he sees them to drive the point home.
I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never trimmed anyone’s beard, but it can’t be that hard. I’ve cut my own bangs hundreds of times, but it isn’t always successful, and I’ve spent weeks with hair that was way too short.
“It’s impossible in this position,” he says.
“I need five minutes.” I lean forward, snipping a few hairs hanging too low around his jawline.
“You’ve got five, and then I get five.”
I glance up, meeting his gaze. “You get five for what?”
“Kissing you.”
I go back to the task at hand, trying to ignore the need in my body. “We tried that. It didn’t work.”
“Oh, it worked, but this is a better position.”
“You’re not in any pain?”
“None.”
“No more talking,” I tell him. “I need to focus.”
“Lips are sealed…for now.”
He’s impossible. Men are impossible. They have one thing on their minds. It doesn’t matter if they’ve had a hole blown in them, they’ll still want sex, no matter how painful the experience may be for them.
I spend the next five minutes working on his beard without looking him in the eyes. I don’t dare focus on anything except the task at hand.
Hunter’s hands don’t leave me the entire time. They’re slowly caressing my body through my jeans, and I want to melt into him, but I force myself to stay upright and focused.
When I’m finally finished, I set the scissors down and lean back, taking in my work. “I think it looks great.”
“Am I pretty now?” he teases, his mouth twitching at the corners.
“You were always pretty.”
“There’s nothing in the world prettier than you, Zoey.”
My heart flutters. The man is laying it on thick. And it’s working. No matter how hard I try to tell myself he needs more time to heal and that I shouldn’t plant my lips on his, I lose the battle because my body says otherwise.
He tears the towel off his chest and drops it to the floor. “Where did we leave off?” he asks, gliding his hands up my back underneath my shirt. His palms are hot, blazing a path across my skin and causing my body to ignite.
“We shouldn’t.”
“We should.”
“Hunter.”
“I earned the kiss. Bullet and all.”
He’s playing dirty. He can dangle that bit of history in front of me forever, and it’ll work too.
“One kiss.”
“A long one,” he adds with a slight nod as he pulls my body closer.
Our middles meet, and I can feel the hard length of him pressing against my center.
The bullet may have damaged his stomach muscles, but this one is perfectly fine.
Better than that. He’s big, thick, and long.
Not obscenely large like he could make adult films for a living with a bunch of women thirsting after an impossible-to-fit size.
I lean forward, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, careful not to push against his stomach. I’m gentle as I press my lips to his, the familiar taste of the cupcakes from earlier meeting my mouth.
He curls his fingers into my back, pulling me flush against him. But this time, he doesn’t flinch or freeze, only deepens the kiss. His lips demand more than I was planning to give him, but I can’t deny him anything.
I open farther, driving my tongue deeper, sliding it against his, and I moan.
Only a few more days until he gets the okay from the doctors. I can hold out that long… Can’t I?