Chapter 7 Hunter
CHAPTER SEVEN
HUNTER
Her mouth is hot, soft, and a hundred times better than any of the fantasies that have shredded my self-control since the day I moved in.
The taste of her—coffee, sugar, some innocent hint of vanilla—hits me like a punch to the chest. I want to take it slow, but there’s nothing patient about the way I cage her face in my hands, tilting her head just right so I can fit my mouth to hers again and again.
Months of holding back. Months of pretending I didn’t want her.
It all explodes out of me in this one moment.
She goes stiff, then melts, body collapsing into mine.
Her hands scramble up my chest, knotting in the collar of my shirt with such desperation it drives me wild.
The need in her is just as raw as mine, and that fucking destroys my control.
I slide my hands down, thumbs grazing the hot pulse at her jaw, and she lets out the smallest, softest noise.
Fuck. That sound causes my pulse to pound.
She gasps into my mouth, and I take the opportunity to sweep my tongue along her lower lip, tasting, demanding, begging her to let me all the way in. Her lips part and her tongue flicks against mine, and it’s like every nerve ending I’ve got just lights the hell up at once.
Buster’s wet nose nudges my ankle, but I’m too caught up in her to react. I ignore everything except her.
I’m not good at this. I’ve never been the guy who knows what to do with something delicate.
But she’s not delicate, not exactly. She’s soft, yes, but there’s a stubborn core in her, a challenge in every single motion.
When she finally breaks away, she’s panting, lips swollen, eyes gone electric blue and hazy.
For a second, we just stare at each other, the air thick and tight.
The only sound is our frantic panting. Her cheeks are flushed.
Her fingers tremble against my chest. I want to haul her right back in, pin her to the kitchen wall, and taste every inch of her, but I force myself to loosen my grip and step back just enough to let her breathe.
She looks up at me, lips quivering like she might start laughing or crying, or both. I swipe my thumb along her jaw, tracing the flushed heat there. My hands shake, and for once, I don’t bother hiding it. I can’t.
I don’t trust myself to say anything. Words were never my strong suit, and right now, I’m pretty sure if I opened my mouth, all that would come out would be a grunt or, God forbid, a whimper. Instead, I let my hand linger on her cheek, steadying both of us.
Buster’s had enough of our drama. He starts pawing at Iris’s shin, doing his little beagle whine like he’s the one who needs attention. She breaks the tension first, dropping her forehead to my chest and laughing, breathless and shaky.
“I think he’s jealous,” she whispers, her voice muffled by my shirt.
“Too bad,” I rasp. My voice is rough with something bigger than just arousal. “He’ll have to wait his turn.”
She makes a sound—a mix of a snort and a giggle—and I feel it vibrate against my ribcage. For a minute, we just stand there, clinging to each other, her head pressed to my chest, my arms around her like a vise.
I have no fucking clue what comes next. My brain is fried. All I know is that I want more. I want to know what she looks like when she’s sleepy and unguarded, what she feels like under my hands with nothing between us, what she feels like when I’m deep inside her sweet pussy. All of it.
But I also want her to know she’s safe. That she can trust me not to break her, that she can give me her heart. “Wow.” She steps back, putting a little distance between us.
I clear my throat, fighting for steady. I’m not ready to let her go, but I also don’t want to come on too strong and scare her away. “Would you like to spend the day with me? We could take Buster out for a walk and let him run off some energy.” My voice is so gravelly I barely recognize it.
She nods but doesn’t let go. “Yeah,” she says, breathless. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
Buster, ever the opportunist, hops up and manages to plant his paws on Iris’s thigh, tongue lolling, tail helicoptering.
She bends down to scoop him up, the motion dislodging her sleep shirt and giving me a flash of bare skin at her shoulder.
I look away, because if I don’t, I’m going to do something reckless and neither of us is ready for that.
“I need a quick shower.” She holds the dog awkwardly in one arm and starts fussing with her hair with the other, hands fluttering like she’s not sure what to do with them now that she isn’t holding on to me.
“Give me twenty minutes to get ready, and I’ll come over to your place and get you,” she tells me.
I nod, jaw so tight it hurts. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
I force myself to walk to the door, each step heavier than the last.
By the time I make it into my own apartment, my hands are still shaking. The echo of her lips is everywhere on my skin, in my bloodstream, seared into the roof of my goddamn mouth. I close the door behind me, lock it out of habit, and just stand there a second, letting the silence crowd in.
I rip my T-shirt off and head straight for the shower. The floor is freezing under my feet, a jolt that doesn’t even register against the noise in my head.
I strip the rest of the way and step under the spray, cranking the dial to Arctic.
Water slams down on me, and I brace my forearm against the tile, drop my head, and let it hammer the back of my neck.
It should shock me back to myself, but it doesn’t do a damn thing.
My mind is stuck on repeat. The way she whimpered when I deepened the kiss.
The heat of her fingers in my shirt. The feel of her melting against me like she'd never even thought about pulling away.
My cock is so goddamn hard, it hurts.
I want her. The real, desperate kind of wanting that doesn’t care how old I am or what bullshit stories I’ve been telling myself about being happy all alone.
Fuck. I brace both hands against the slick tile and squeeze my eyes shut, fighting to get a grip. The water’s so cold it should hurt, but all I feel is a full-body burn that doesn’t let up. My cock is stone-hard, throbbing, practically begging for relief. I grit my teeth.
I wrap my hand around my cock and stroke, slow at first, then rougher, chasing the ache.
I can’t stop thinking about her. Iris, all soft curves and blue eyes, wild hair spilling down her shoulders when I finally get my hands in it.
The way she looked up at me, lips swollen from my kiss, like I was the only thing she saw.
Fuck. My grip tightens, and the next pump has my hips bucking forward, desperate for friction.
All I want is to spread her out on my sheets and taste her everywhere. I want to hear her making sweet little whimpers when she’s coming apart for me. I want to see her lose that shy smile, tipping her head back and moaning my name. Christ, I want to ruin her for anyone else.
I jerk off, fist working my cock hard and fast. Every muscle in my body is strung tight, like I’m seconds from snapping. I imagine her on her knees in front of me, blue eyes wide, that sassy mouth parted, looking at me like I’m the only man in the world. The only man who’s ever mattered.
Fuck. I want her so bad my brain just blanks out.
I stroke my cock harder as she fills my mind. I picture her naked and flushed, squirming on my bed, begging for my hands, her sweet pussy slick and desperate for me. I want to pin her wrists, spread her out, and make her come until she sobs. I want to own her, body and soul. Every fucking inch.
An orgasm tears through me, brutal and raw, and I groan her name into the steam. The world goes white around the edges. For a second, every muscle is locked as I spill over my knuckles, the tile, everywhere.
I squeeze shampoo into my palm and work it through my hair, fast, rough, almost punishing. Every motion is a distraction, a way to keep from fantasizing about her. I scrub down, rinse off, then shut off the water and stand there dripping.
After toweling off, I yank open the closet and pull on clean jeans and a gray T-shirt, glancing at the time.
Ten minutes. I could have been ready in three.
Instead, I’m pacing the apartment, checking my phone even though nobody ever texts me except the guys at the station and the occasional building update.
The urge to pace is so strong I actually give in. I stalk circles in my living room like a caged animal, tension fizzing in my veins. I check the clock. Seven minutes have passed. I check it again. Thirty seconds. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I acting like a moron over her?
I want her. Bad. I want her in my bed, in my arms, in my goddamn life every second. I want her so much I can’t see straight.
But I also want her to feel the same way.