Chapter Eighteen
Lucas
Hunter slides out of me, my body instantly feeling empty.
He lies on his back beside me, looking at the ceiling, breathing heavily, his body tinged with sweat, one hand flat on his stomach.
I’m counting the seconds, waiting for the inevitable—Hunter leaving.
If he couldn’t handle our blowjob session last week, I can’t imagine what’s going through his head right now.
And I get it, how it can mess with his brain, same as it messes with mine, the difference being, it’s not enough for me to stop.
Never enough for me to stop. Even if he walks out right now and comes back for another fuck tomorrow or the next day, I’ll say yes.
I’m a glutton for punishment. I’ve tortured myself all my life, and I don’t see that stopping now.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
Here we go. That didn’t take long at all. “You should at least get rid of the condom first.”
“Wait. What?”
I look at Hunter. His brows are pulled together, confusion on his perfect, boy-next-door face.
“Before you leave. You should get rid of the condom,” I repeat as if he wasn’t going to do that anyway.
The confusion on his face deepens. “You’re kicking me out?”
“Didn’t you just say you’re sorry because you’re about to bail on me again?
Whatever. It is what it is. We both got an O out of it, so what else is there to say?
” I sit on the edge of the bed, my back to him.
I shouldn’t be taking this as hard as I am.
I knew what this was. How many times have I left after a quick fuck with someone?
“Fuck off, Lucas. You’re being a dick.” He rolls out of bed but doesn’t go for his clothes, instead heading into the en suite.
Keeping my gaze away from him, I grab my pack of cigarettes and light one. I rarely smoke in my condo, but I need one right now.
He comes back a second later, stopping right in front of me, still naked, his pretty cock lying flaccid between his legs.
God, he’s so fucking sexy. I can’t believe I get to see him this way, that I had him inside me.
I wish he’d been able to take me bare, that I’d have Hunter’s load in me right now.
“Lucas.”
“What?” I snap.
He sighs, hooks his finger beneath my chin, and tilts my head up. “I’m sorry for leaving like that last week. That’s what I was trying to say. I freaked out. It’s not an excuse, but I’d think you’d understand why.”
Yeah, I do. I drop my forehead against his stomach.
Hunter stiffens for a moment before his body relaxes. He cards his fingers through the hair at my nape, soothing me.
“What are we doing?” His voice is slightly shaky.
I know what I’m doing. I’m taking what I want, what I’ve always wanted. It’s him I’m confused about. I pull back, take a drag of my cigarette, then put it out. He hates smoking, and I hate smoking inside.
“You have to know we shouldn’t be doing this, Lucas. Why the fuck do we even want to do this?” His voice breaks, all sadness and confusion, when all I ever want is to make Hunter feel good.
“Why did you come over tonight?” I need to know. Hunter isn’t the type to come just for a quick lay—at least, the Hunter I used to know wasn’t, but the Hunter I used to know wasn’t in the news for being seen with different women either.
“I didn’t expect this…or, hell, maybe I did and I’m lying to myself. I’d been flying high from the game. These past few weeks, I’ve felt so good about football again, and I realized I wanted someone to talk to about it, but…the only person I wanted to talk to was you.”
My heart nearly punches out of my chest. I imagine it like a cartoon, breaking free and working its way inside him.
Hunter, having no idea he’s fucking killing me right now, forges on.
“Why did I even want to talk to you about the game? You fucking hate football, and with good reason. But I wanted to share it with you because even though it makes no sense, it feels like you get it…what I’m feeling.
What I’m thinking. It’s confusing as hell. ”
Jesus, this fucking man. Why does everything about him make me feel like this? Like I’m being ripped apart and sewn back together at the same time? It’s always been this way. I wanted to hate him, I’ve always wanted to hate him, but I never can.
I set my hand on his hip, and Hunter starts playing with my hair again, coming easily as I pull him closer. He climbs right on top of me, straddling me, arms around my shoulders, mine around his waist.
“I watched your game,” I admit, tickling my fingers up and down his back, wanting to kiss every single bruise on his torso. The Comeback King. They called him that again.
“I hoped you would.”
Silence grows between us, Hunter’s fingers in my hair, mine all over his warm skin.
“When you opened the door, it hit me, how much I want you. How good you make me feel. I haven’t felt good in a long time.”
Not since my brother, I assume. The thought feels like someone dropped my heart in acid.
“I’ll make you feel good anytime you want,” I tell him, hoping I’m hiding the emotion in my words.
“You’re fucking with my head.”
I wish I could tell him, welcome to my world.
“You’re allowed to feel good, Hunt.”
He flinches.
“You are.”
“I’m betraying Ellis.”
“Ellis is dead.” I look away.
“That doesn’t mean I’m not betraying him, but I’m selfish enough to keep wanting to do this with you.”
“Hunter…you’re the least selfish person I know.” But it doesn’t escape my attention that we’re both grappling with the same emotions. Both feeling selfish, both feeling like we’re betraying Ellis. Does he hate himself for it too? I don’t want him to. I don’t want Hunter to feel bad about anything.
But he said I make him feel good. Me. That means something to me.
“I’m more selfish than you’ll ever know.” He looks away, but I grab his face, holding it so he has to keep eye contact with me.
I’ll have to be the one to do this, I think. And maybe that will save Hunter some pain. If he’s not the one saying the words, the one pushing for us to keep doing whatever the fuck we’re doing, then I’ll carry the burden of our betrayal.
“No. You’re not.” I cup his cheek, run my hand down his neck, then back up again to hold his face.
“If we make each other feel good, we should keep doing it. No one has to know. It’s just sex and friendship.
We fuck, and hike, and I make you eat shitty food and tell you how much football sucks, and when you don’t want to do it anymore, we won’t.
” Shit. I should have said we, not you. But Hunter doesn’t catch on, doesn’t realize it’s all up to him, that I’ll do this for as long as he wants.
“Football doesn’t suck.”
“No?” I cock a brow. “I guess that’s subjective. I do suck, though…and I really, really wanna suck right now.”
Hunter laughs, rich and earthy and real, and fuck, do I love the sound of it.
I flip him onto his back, his head on my pillows, a wide smile on his face.
God, it’s ridiculous and annoying how perfect he looks.
I swear the man belongs in one of those old TV shows with the flawless men who look the part and never do anything wrong.
I hate that it gets me going so much. It wouldn’t with anyone but him.
“I wiped myself off when I was in the bathroom,” he says.
“And you didn’t bring anything for my ass? And here I thought you were a gentleman.”
I bite his pec, then suck the skin there, making Hunter hiss. “Damn it. I’ll go get something.”
I chuckle. “I’m giving you shit. My ass is off-limits for the rest of the night anyway. It’s been a while since I bottomed.” I keep kissing and licking my way down his body, taking my time at his bruises, trying to make them better with my mouth.
“Hey,” he says, and when I don’t respond, he takes my face in his hands so I’m looking at him.
“I want to suck your dick, Hunt.”
“Did I hurt you?”
My heart stutters. “No. You didn’t hurt me.” Not yet, but he will, and I’m not talking about my ass.
“Good.” He gives me a gentle smile. It’s wild to me how he can be so good, so kind; that he’s spent his life in the toxic world of sports, yet never let that toxicity seep into him.
Maybe the Hunter now is more bruised than the one he used to be, a little dinged up—or at least, I think he probably sees himself that way.
As though the partying and hookups are something he should be ashamed of.
But they’re not, of course, and somehow, he’s sensitive and bighearted even in a world that tells men they shouldn’t be.
Even with a man like my father telling him he shouldn’t be.
“Can I suck your cock now? Think I can get one more load out of your balls tonight? I wanna swallow this one down. The condom got it all last time.” I poke out my bottom lip, pretending to pout.
“You’re so fucking wild,” he says, but strangely, it’s like he’s beaming when he says it.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” Hunter answers.
I drop my head to his lap, sucking his half-hard dick into my mouth. He moans, his fingers finding their way into my hair again. Is that something he likes? Something he does with all his lovers, or only with me?
But that kind of thinking is dangerous.
I play with his balls, licking and kissing his shaft before sucking him again. It doesn’t take me long to get him hard. His skin tastes salty and so fucking delicious, and I take him deep, want to inhale every single part of him. Hunter hisses, thrusting his hips slightly, fucking into my mouth.
“Christ, Lucas. You’re so fucking good at this. You look so hot with my dick in your mouth.” Then, softly, reverently, “I can’t believe I’m here with you.”
That makes two of us, but instead of telling him that, I try to show him with my body how much I appreciate him, that I’ll worship at the altar of Hunter King for as long as he’ll let me.
Soon, his thighs tense, his hand in my hair tightening as he says, “Look at me. I want to look at you when I give you my load.”
It reminds me of when he was fucking me, how he changed positions, and how intense his gaze on me had been. Like somehow he’d needed it.
We make eye contact, his deep-blue eyes holding mine.
“Fuck…yes, Lucas,” he says, just before his cock jerks and spurts into my mouth. The first salty burst of cum on my tongue wakes up my senses, making me crave more.
I swallow down every bit that he gives me, savor it like my last meal, and when Hunter pulls me to him, holding my face in his hands as he kisses me, I realize how screwed I am.
Hunter King is going to break my heart…and I’m going to let him.