Chapter Twelve
Dylan
It’s dark by the time we get back to the inn. There’s no sign of Nancy or Jim, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. Not that they aren’t lovely people, but after everything with Kirkland, I just don’t have the energy for small talk.
Once we are back in our room, I collapse onto the bed, while Hunter shuts and locks the door.
He lets the strap of his laptop bag slide down his arm and sets it carefully next to the desk.
After finding things moved in our room yesterday, Hunter refused to leave anything valuable behind while we were out today.
There’s no way he’d leave his computer, or anything else of value in our room now.
“God, I’m tired,” I say while trying to stifle a yawn at the same time. “What time is it?”
Hunter slips his phone from his pocket, glances down at the screen. “It’s nearly eight.”
“That can’t be right. It feels like midnight.”
He chuckles and sits down on the corner of the bed next to me. “It’s because we ate so early.”
After Kirkland tossed his cash on the bar and walked out, Hunter and I settled into one of the booths and ate dinner, the food surprisingly good. Neither Hunter nor I said much while we ate, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
“Did you know Matthew wasn’t using his first name?” Hunter asks, getting to the questions I knew were coming.
I shake my head. After tonight, I realize just how little I knew about Matthew. I sure as hell didn’t know he was a documentary filmmaker, for instance.
As if reading my mind, Hunter asks, “Did he ever mention making a movie?”
“No, never.”
“What about equipment?” Hunter shifts a little on the bed so he’s facing me. “Did he leave anything behind in the apartment?”
“Nothing,” I tell him. “He didn’t bring anything with him besides a suitcase. I helped him unload his car the night he moved in, and he only had a suitcase. Nothing else.”
Hunter rubs his chin with the back of his hand thoughtfully.
“Do you think Kirkland might have made the whole thing up about Matthew making a movie?” I ask. “So we wouldn’t think he had anything to do with Matthew’s disappearance.”
Hunter shakes his head. “I’m not sure, but it’s a weirdly specific lie. Someone left bruises on Matthew’s neck, and given Kirkland’s history, he’s still our best bet.”
Before I can say anything else, a yawn catches me off guard, nearly swallowing my face. “I don’t care what time it is; I’m exhausted.”
“Me too,” Hunter says. “It’s been a long day.”
We take turns in the bathroom, showering, brushing our teeth, and getting ready for bed. I let Hunter go first, even after he offers the bathroom to me. I’d like to say it was for all altruistic reasons, but going last means I can take my time without worrying about someone waiting.
When I come out of the bathroom, Hunter is already in bed, the covers are pulled up to his waist and his bare chest visible. Maybe we’ll have a repeat of last night. My cock twitches at the thought, but as I slip into the bed next to him, his next question kills any hope of that.
“Last night,” he says, sounding unusually hesitant. “When you asked if I was seeing anyone, why did you look so surprised when I said I wasn’t?”
My stomach sinks like a stone, and for a second, I consider lying. I’m not proud, but telling him that it had been so long since we’d last been together, just assuming there would be someone, would be so much less humiliating than the truth.
Still, I can’t lie to him now. Not again. I’ve already lied to him too much, and I don’t want to ever again.
“I know you were engaged,” I say. “And I thought you would be married by now.”
Hunter turns, so he can face me head-on. “How did you know I was engaged?”
My face burns. “When you were shot, I read about it, and I guess I just panicked. I drove to the hospital to see you.”
“You came to see me in the hospital?” he repeats as if he were trying to make sense of my words.
I nod. “When I got to your floor, I saw your mom. She was talking to a woman our age, reassuring her. When I saw the ring on her finger and the way she looked at you, I knew she was the woman you planned to marry, and I didn’t want to interfere.”
At the time, I knew I should have been happy for Hunter. She was beautiful, and marrying her meant he’d have the life I always wanted for him. Instead, I felt hollow inside, and I hated myself for it.
“I decided to leave. She obviously loved you, and you would recover, and no doubt be very happy together. I didn’t want to disturb any of that.”
“Jenna,” Hunter says, his expression impossible to read.
It is the same unreadable calm he wore earlier when we talked about Matthew, and it leaves me unsure of what he is really feeling.
“Her name is Jenna, and she called off the wedding. She didn’t think I was invested in us.
She said I was holding a part of myself back. She was right.”
My stomach churns, listening to Hunter’s flat voice. He must hate me, blame me for our breakup, making it hard for him to trust.
It wasn’t bad enough that I’d fucked up my own life, but I fucked up his too, and I hate it.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly tight, and roll onto my side away from Hunter. “Good night.”
“Good night,” he says, then the lamp on the nightstand clicks off, and the room goes dark.
I close my eyes and will myself to fall asleep, but my brain won’t shut down. Instead, it cycles through the day, returning to Hunter’s unreadable expression while he lies next to me in the bed.
Unlike last night, when I couldn’t keep my eyes open, tonight the pillows feel too soft yet too lumpy at the same time, the covers are too hot and the bed so cushy it feels like it’s swallowing me.
I kick the covers off and roll onto my back, but within minutes, I’m too cold, and I pull them back on, rolling back onto my side.
Next to me, Hunter sighs, and I force myself to lie still, since the last thing I want is to keep tossing around and wake him again. I’m probably pissing him off. He rolls over, his chest pressed against my back, one arm lazily tossed over my waist. I freeze, forgetting to even breathe.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks. His warm breath teases the skin on the back of my neck.
I shake my head and whisper, “No.”
“I can help you.” His voice makes the fine hairs on my body stand on end, and I can feel the rumble from his chest against my back.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask.
He grinds his cock, already half hard, against my ass. My eyes close, and I let out an embarrassing whimper.
“We didn’t get anything,” I remind him. We never did pick up lube or condoms.
“There’s other things we can do.” His finger traces the skin just above the waistband of my pajamas. “If you want.”
“I want,” I say.
The words barely leave my mouth, and Hunter’s peeling my t-shirt over my head, dragging my pants down my legs. I kick free of them, and his hand is already on my cock, stroking me slowly while I thicken in his grip.
I push back against his groin. He’s taken off his underwear, and his cock slots between my cheeks rubbing against my hole and driving me half out of my mind with need.
His firm grasp on my cock falls into a steady rhythm, twisting when his palm drags over the head and has me achingly hard and fucking into his fist with abandon. We’ve just started, but I know if I don’t slow things down, we are going to be finished sooner than I want.
“Wait,” I say, and his hand stills immediately.
I roll towards him, forcing him to let go of my cock, push him onto his back before settling on top of him. My mouth finds his, and we kiss each other as if we haven’t kissed anyone for years, decades, centuries. We are all hands and mouths and teeth and tongues and can’t get enough of each other.
I trail kisses down his throat, his chest, circling one nipple with my tongue, teasing it with my teeth, then I move on to the other one.
His chest rises, pushing against my lips, a soft hiss escaping his mouth.
I continue my exploration of his hard body, tasting his hot, salty skin, melting into his scent, pine and musk that’s just him.
I lick and suck at the skin near the junction where his thigh meets his hip.
He moans, hands gripping the sheets on either side of him.
I glance up at him. His eyes are closed, head thrown back, and a thrill lights inside me knowing that I could do this to him, bring him to the edge in spite of the past stretched out between us like a field of landmines.
No matter what, he still wants me.
I drag my tongue up the length of his cock, circling around his thick head and catching a dribble of precum with the tip. Then suck him into my mouth, swallowing him as far down as I can. My nose is pressed against his neatly trimmed pubic hair.
He gasps, and his hands tighten in my hair on both sides of my head, tangling in the strands, making my scalp burn.
I bob my head a few times before sucking him to the back of my throat, and pulling a low groan free from his lips while I rut against the mattress, dragging my aching cock against the sheets desperate for the friction.
“Fuck, Dylan,” he grinds out. “I’m going to cum.”
He’s warning me, but I don’t care. Instead of backing off, I swallow him down until I feel his tip thud against the back of my throat. I want this, him, all of him. He tenses and spills into my mouth, down my throat, and I swallow down every drop.
“Holy shit.” His voice, barely more than a whisper, trembles.
I slide my mouth off his softening cock with a pop and grin up at him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He huffs out a laugh and reaches for me. “You should. You really should.”
Hunter pulls me against his chest, his mouth catching mine in a slow, languorous kiss, while his hand wraps around my cock.
I’m already teetering on the edge, and it doesn’t take long for him to send me over.
My balls pull tight, invisible pressure settles low in my back, and I spill over Hunter’s stomach.
For a long moment, we lie wrapped in each other’s arms, each lost in our own thoughts. Eventually, I get up, clean us both off with a warm washcloth before I climb back into the bed and into Hunter’s arms.
His breathing deepens, his chest rising and falling evenly under my ear.
I’m slower to give into sleep. My mind is still spinning, but this time it’s with the realization that I want Hunter back in my life, although I doubt he will ever be able to forgive me for what I did to him, no matter how much I wish he could and I don’t blame him.