Charlie
Two weeks later
I wake up slowly, floating somewhere between sleep and awareness, the kind of lazy morning where the world feels soft at the edges.
Warm lips press against the center of my chest.
I hum, still half-dreaming, as the kisses trail lower. A soft press just below my sternum. Another over my ribs. Then lower, across the soft plane of my stomach, where Hunter’s stubble scrapes lightly and makes my muscles twitch.
My eyes flutter open.
Hunter is between my spread thighs, propped on his elbows, looking up at me with dark, molten eyes and the softest smile I’ve ever seen on his face.
Morning light filters through the curtains, painting gold across his shoulders and the scars on his upper arm.
His hair is messy from sleep, and there’s a faint red mark on his neck from my mouth last night.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough, before leaning down to kiss just above my navel.
A shiver rolls through me. “Hi…”
He doesn’t rush. He never does anymore. Every kiss feels like a promise.
He maps my stomach with his mouth; open, wet presses of lips, the occasional drag of his tongue, the gentle scrape of teeth that makes my breath hitch.
When he reaches the sensitive skin just below my belly button, he lingers, sucking lightly until I’m squirming.
“You’re so fucking pretty in the morning,” he whispers against my skin. “All soft and warm and mine.”
The word mine sinks into me like warm honey. I reach down and thread my fingers through his hair. He turns his head and kisses the inside of my wrist when it brushes his cheek.
Hunter shifts lower. He presses a slow line of kisses along the crease of my hip, then the other, teasing, avoiding where I’m already half-hard and aching for him. I’m breathing faster now, hips twitching despite myself.
“Patience,” he teases, nipping the skin of my inner thigh. “Let me love on you a little first.”
I laugh breathlessly, the sound breaking into a moan when he finally drags his tongue up the underside of my cock in one long, wet stripe. My back arches off the bed.
“Fuck—Hunter…”
He hums, pleased, and does it again, slower this time. When he reaches the head, he swirls his tongue around it, tasting the bead of precum that’s already leaking for him, before taking me into the wet heat of his mouth.
The sensation is overwhelming in the best way. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just Hunter loving me with his mouth like he has all the time in the world. He sinks down until I bump the back of his throat, then pulls back with a slick sound, eyes locked on mine the entire time.
I can’t look away. The sight of him—lips stretched around me, cheeks hollowed, dark lashes fanned against his cheeks—is almost too much. I tighten my grip in his hair, anchoring myself.
“You feel so good,” I breathe. “God, your mouth…”
He pulls off with a wet pop and strokes me slowly with his fist, thumb rubbing over the head on every upstroke.
“I love how you taste,” he murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the shaft.
“Love how you sound when I do this.” He takes me deep again, swallowing around me, and the tight heat makes my toes curl.
I moan his name, hips rolling up in tiny, helpless movements. Hunter doesn’t stop me. He lets me fuck his mouth in shallow thrusts, one hand braced on my hip, the other cupping my balls, rolling them gently.
The pleasure builds in slow, rolling waves. Every lick, every suck, every hum of approval vibrates through me. I’m panting now, thighs trembling, fingers flexing in his hair.
“Hunter— shit, I’m close—”
He pulls off just long enough to look at me, lips shiny and swollen. “Then come for me. I want to taste you.”
He sinks back down, taking me to the back of his throat and swallowing around me, and that’s all it takes. I come with a broken cry, hips jerking as pleasure crashes through me in heavy pulses. Hunter moans around me, taking every drop, throat working as he swallows.
When I’m finally spent, trembling and oversensitive, he pulls off gently and crawls up my body, kissing every inch of skin on the way. My stomach. My chest. My throat. My jaw. Until he’s hovering over me, lips brushing mine.
I taste myself on his tongue when he kisses me; it’s so full of love it makes my eyes sting.
“You’re incredible,” he whispers against my mouth. “So fucking perfect for me.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down until he’s blanketing me completely, his weight warm and grounding. Our legs tangle. His half-hard cock rests against my thigh, but he makes no move to do anything about it.
We kiss for a long time. His hand strokes up and down my side, thumb brushing over my ribs, my waist, the curve of my hip. I run my fingers through his hair, down his back, tracing the raised lines of his scars without hesitation.
Eventually, he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, eyes closed, breathing me in.
“I love you,” he says, so quietly I almost miss it. “So much it scares me. But the good kind of scared.”
I cup his face with both hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “I love you, too. All of you. The scars, the history, the man you’re still becoming.”
Hunter’s eyes open, soft and shining. He turns his head and kisses my palm.
We stay tangled in bed for another hour, trading slow kisses and quiet words. Sofia eventually demands breakfast with loud, offended meows, and we both laugh.
Hunter kisses me one last time before rolling out of bed.
“Stay,” he says, pulling on his boxers. “I’ll feed the demon and bring you coffee.”
I watch him walk over to the tiny kitchenette, heart so full it feels as if it might burst. The morning light catches on the scars across his shoulder and upper arm, but they don’t look like wounds anymore.
They look like part of the man I love. He moves easily around my space now, like he belongs here. As though he’s always belonged here.
I pull the sheet up over my chest and just…
watch him. Two weeks have passed since that first full night together, and every single day has felt like a quiet miracle.
We’re not rushing. We’re not pretending everything is perfect.
We’re just… together. Learning each other again in the light instead of the dark.
I watch Hunter from the bathroom doorway as he buttons up his dark shirt in front of the mirror. He looks good—really good—sleeves rolled up to show the scars on his forearms, hair still a little messy from my fingers earlier. But I can see the tiny tension in his shoulders.
I step up behind him, sliding my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek to his back.
“Hey,” I say softly. “You sure you’re okay with going out tonight? There’s going to be alcohol. A lot of it. Lucy’s friends don’t really do low-key.”
Hunter’s hands pause on the last button. He meets my eyes in the mirror, then turns in my arms so we’re facing each other. His hands settle on my hips, thumbs stroking gently.
“I’m sure,” he says. “I talked to Clark this afternoon. We went over some strategies. I’ve got my Coke plan, and if it gets too loud in my head, I’ll tell you.”
I search his face, looking for any flicker of doubt. “And if you want to leave early? Even if we’ve only been there twenty minutes?”
“Then we leave.” He leans down and kisses my forehead. “I’m not going to risk this—us—for a night out. I’ve worked too hard to get here. I’m not going to fuck it up for cheap beer and loud music.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest feel tight in the best way. I rise up on my toes and kiss him properly.
“I’m really proud of you,” I whisper against his lips. “And I love you. So much.”
Hunter smiles into the kiss, hands sliding down to squeeze my ass. “Love you, too. Now, stop worrying and let me take my ridiculously hot boyfriend out so his friends can be jealous.”
I laugh and shove his chest playfully. “Fine. But I’m keeping an eye on you all night.”
“Good,” he says, stealing one more kiss. “I like it when you watch me.”
We finish getting ready, and when we step out into the cold evening air, Hunter laces our fingers together without hesitation. The first snow is coming, you can smell it and taste it with each breath. The walk to the bar is filled with easy flirting that never gets old with him.
By the time we meet up with Lucy and the group, the tension in his shoulders has eased. He orders his Coke with lime right away, and when someone tries to push a shot toward him, he just smiles and shakes his head before I can say a word.
“I’m good,” he says easily, then pulls me closer to his side. “Got everything I need right here.”
“Everything?” I tease, wiggling against his side.
“Everything. Have you met my boyfriend? He’s the prettiest boy in all of New York City. Maybe even the world. I’m the luckiest man alive.”
Lucy grins at us, clearly delighted by how disgustingly couple-y we’ve become. She sets her drink down and slides onto a stool.
“You two are sickeningly cute,” she declares. “I hate it. I love it. Never change.”
Hunter chuckles and pulls me a little closer. “No plans to.”
The night flows easy after that. We laugh, we dance (badly), we tease each other.
At one point, Clay tries to drag Hunter onto the dance floor and Hunter actually goes, shooting me a helpless look over his shoulder.
I watch them from the table, heart swelling as Hunter moves stiffly at first, then loosens up, laughing when Clay spins him dramatically.
He’s happy.
We’re happy.
Later, when we’re back at my apartment and Sofia is demanding midnight snacks, Hunter pulls me into bed and wraps himself around me from behind. His lips brush the back of my neck as he speaks.
“Thank you for checking in tonight,” he murmurs. “Means everything.”
I thread our fingers together over my stomach. “Always. We’re a team now.”
He kisses my shoulder, slow and reverent. “Yeah. We are.”
I fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his breathing and the quiet purr of Sofia curled at our feet, feeling safer and more loved than I ever thought possible.
We’re not perfect.
But we’re ours.
And that’s more than enough.