5. Hunter
five
hunter
STEVIE’S BUILDING DOOR opens, and she steps out.
And I forget to breathe.
The dress I bought her kisses every curve, molding onto her hot body like she was poured into it. She looks breathtaking with her delicate features and loose blonde waves. My perfect princess. Every penny spent on that dress was worth it. Thank you, department store personal shopper.
She stops by the threshold, hesitating, then slowly walks over to meet me. I finally exhale when she reaches me.
“You look incredible,” I tell her.
Her big doe eyes are vulnerable as she looks up at me. “So do you,” she says, a delicate blush staining her cheeks. How adorable.
“Thank you.” I place my hand on the small of her back and guide her toward my black Bentley. I get a really nice view of Stevie’s cleavage as she settles into the passenger seat. I’d love to come all over those tits.
I shut her door and round the back of the car. This is gonna be a fun ride.
Neither of us speak as I pull out of her street and head toward the art gallery downtown. Stevie alternately smooths a nonexistent wrinkle in her dress or plays with her crystal necklace, her nervousness palpable. I smile to myself. I love that I’m making her squirm.
I let the silence stretch, wondering how many minutes it’ll take before she can’t handle it anymore.
“Thank you for this dress,” she says at last. “It’s beautiful.”
“No need to thank me.”
“What do you mean? There’s every need. I bet it was…expensive.”
I glance at her. “Nothing I couldn’t afford.”
The statement makes her tense. She smooths her dress with small, nervous movements, and goes silent again.
The power imbalance between us is extremely gratifying.
Everything in life is a power struggle, and I hate not being on top.
It’s easy to lord my wealth over people who have less than me, and Stevie definitely has much, much less than me.
“I can’t accept it,” she says after a while.
“You have to.”
“It makes me uncomfortable.”
“Too bad.”
We arrive at the art gallery before she can protest some more.
A red carpet has been rolled out with a step-and-repeat, and several photographers are already snapping pictures of guests.
I shake my head. Leave it to Uncle Jack to pull out all the stops.
I don’t see my father anywhere, but Jack is out front, shaking hands and schmoozing, puffing on his fat Cuban cigar. The center of attention, as always.
I pull into the valet and help Stevie out of the car. The dress is tight, and she struggles to move in it. But if she even thinks of returning it to me, she’s going to be in for a nasty surprise. I hook her arm through mine and walk towards my uncle.
The moment Jack sees me, his face erupts in a huge grin. “My favorite nephew,” he says.
“Your only nephew.”
He chuckles at the old joke. “Nice tux.”
“Thanks.”
His attention snags on Stevie beside me and I make the introductions.
“Welcome, Stevie,” Jack says. “I hope you like contemporary art.”
Stevie smiles. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”
“Thank you for coming.” He gives her the once-over, then raises an eyebrow at me, lifting his cigar to his lips.
I give him a look that says, shut the fuck up.
Unlike my asshole father, my uncle is actually a decent person.
Mostly. Compared to my father, he’s practically a saint.
We’ve always gotten along, and he’s protected me from my father many times.
I know he wants to grill me about Stevie, because it’s the first time I’ve ever brought a woman to one of our events.
But he’s polite enough not to do it in public.
“Later,” he says in a low voice, and excuses himself to go talk to newly arrived guests.
Stevie turns to me. “You look like your uncle.”
“Yeah. I know.” And thank god for that. I’d rather look like Jack than my dad. Although I resemble him too. We all have the same coloring.
With a hand on her bare upper back, I nudge her forward. “Let’s go inside.”
As we walk into the gallery, I hear one of the photographers shouting my name, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk a fucking red carpet and have my photo snapped. Stevie looks at me questioningly but doesn’t say anything.
I grab her a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.
“Oh, I don’t drink,” she says when I try to hand it to her.
I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah. Plus, I’m only 19.”
“No one’s gonna check your ID here.”
“Honestly, I just don’t like the taste of alcohol, or how it makes me feel.”
I study her face. Her innocence is a heady aphrodisiac. I bet she’s a virgin too.
“I see.”
“You can have the champagne though,” she says.
I beckon a server over and put the flute back on the tray. “I don’t drink either,” I tell Stevie.
Her eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
“Yup. I don’t even know what alcohol tastes like.” Growing up with an alcoholic father, you either turn into an alcoholic yourself or die a teetotaler. I choose the latter.
Stevie seems to be rendered speechless for a moment, but before she can say anything a shadow looms over us, and I’m suddenly face-to-face with Benjamin Cruise, my father.
“You’re late,” he says.
“I’m right on time.”
“Which means you’re late.” He adjusts the lapels of my tux, which need no adjusting, and it makes me want to gag. I hate when he touches me. It’s always some type of power move.
He sniffs and glances at Stevie dismissively. “Who’s this?”
“This is Stevie. My date.”
Stevie smiles politely. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Cruise.”
My dad grunts but takes her hand in a handshake. He’s pretending not to care, but I know he’s dying to know who she is and why I’ve decided to bring a date for him to meet for the first time in my life. I love having the upper hand.
“We’re gonna go mingle,” I tell him, steering Stevie away.
“Don’t leave without telling me,” he says as a parting shot. Fucking control freak. I don’t reply. Any other time, his words would have me fuming, but having Stevie beside me, my hand on her back, calms me somewhat. Strange.
I follow behind her as she takes in the art on the walls. She stops at one painting of a mother and child embracing. The mother is cuddling the child, a daughter, close to her breast, her eyes closed, looking peaceful. Stevie stares at it for a long time, and I drink her in.
I might have invited her to act as a buffer for me tonight, but she’s intriguing me more and more with every minute. I like her quiet demeanor. She doesn’t babble or cling to me or act like a deranged fan. She probably doesn’t even know anything about hockey.
She notices me staring at her and turns away from the painting. “Sorry,” she says, looking sheepish. “I got a little too engrossed in that one.”
“It’s a nice piece.”
She nods. “I like art that evokes a feeling out of me.”
“Some would say that’s the whole point of art,” I say.
She shrugs. “I guess so. But I feel like some people just like the aesthetic or what it might be worth in value, and not necessarily what it makes them feel. If anything.”
“Yeah, like my father. He only gives a shit about art if it’s a good investment.”
“Not your uncle though?”
“No,” I concede. “He actually cares about this stuff.”
“You don’t get along with your dad, do you?” she asks, catching me off guard. It’s obvious my father and I hate each other, but most people are too polite to mention it.
“Not really,” I admit.
“I don’t get along with my dad either. I mean, I haven’t even seen him in years.”
“That’s better than having a dad who’s always in your business.”
She looks at me intently, and it feels like she’s seeing way too much of me. I don’t like it. Not at all. “Come on,” I take her arm. “I want you to meet my grandfather too.”
I have no idea where Grandad is but he’s got to be here somewhere. At 69 years old, he’s still a force of nature. Sure enough, it doesn’t take long before I home in on his booming laughter and find him in the middle of the room, holding court with a glass of champagne in his hand.
“Hunter, my boy,” he rumbles, beckoning me toward him.
“Hey, Gramps.”
He claps me on the back. “Looking good.” He ruffles my hair. He’s the only one who can get away with doing that. I smooth it back down and turn to Stevie.
“Gramps, meet Stevie, my date.”
“Hello,” grandad says politely, his shrewd eyes assessing. He looks at me while shaking her hand. “She’s beautiful.”
Stevie blushes.
“Yes, she is,” I agree, looking at Stevie as her blush darkens. “I’m a lucky guy.”
Grandad pulls Stevie closer and gestures toward a painting. “Tell me what you think of this one, Stevie,” he says. I leave them to it, stepping back. Grandad is a charming motherfucker, and I like observing Stevie. She’s becoming some kind of obsession.
I want to take her home tonight and strip her out of that dress, watch as it pools around her feet.
I want to suck on her glorious tits and pinch her nipples until she cries out.
There’s no way this girl is not a virgin, and I want to be the first to breach her virgin pussy and blow my load inside her and have my cum drip down her inner thighs.
I want to possess her like I’ve never wanted another woman in my life, and I have no fucking idea why.
I’ve been half hard since I saw her step out her door earlier tonight, and it’s taking a lot of effort to control my cock. Sinking inside her is the only thing that’ll sate me tonight.
She walks back to me with a pretty smile on her lips. “Your grandfather is hilarious.”
“Yeah, I like him too.”
“Is there a bathroom around here? I want to check my lipstick.”
“Follow me.”