Chapter 5 Hunter
HUNTER
Sierra sits curled up on my couch, one leg tucked under her, a thick blanket draped around her shoulders.
Outside, the snow keeps piling up against the porch railing.
She’d been here for four days already, and I still don’t know how to handle it.
I’d assumed she’d stay one night, the storm would ease up, and I could send her on her way.
But the snow hadn’t stopped, and there was no way in hell I could send her out there alone. I wasn’t that big of a dick.
Plus, she made my big dick stir. And I like it.
No, I don’t.
Yes, you do.
That damn angel and devil that’s been sitting on my shoulders, hasn’t stopped whispering about her since the moment she walked in.
She’s hot. Have some fun. It’s her fault she got lost.
Then, quieter—
She’s been through something. She’s looking for solitude. Leave her be.
I can’t stop stealing glances at her. She’s beautiful with soft blonde hair, full red lips, and a body with curves I’d love to trace with my tongue. I imagine her beneath me, in front of the fire. Or straddling me right here on the couch.
I start pacing to escape those thoughts, but of course she notices.
“Do you always stalk the room like you’re expecting an ambush?” she asks softly.
I stop and give her a look. “Old habits.”
“Yeah, well, it’s making me nervous. Sit.”
I stand still. Her touch earlier had stirred something restless inside me.
It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to anyone—let alone a beautiful woman.
I notice the way she uses humor to deflect, hiding herself behind jokes, probably because too many people had made her feel like being a plus-size woman meant she wasn’t enough.
But she’s more than fine to me.
Sierra pats the cushion beside her. “I don’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.”
My brow twitches in amusement or maybe annoyance, who knows anymore, but the twitch in my jeans tells me all I need to know. After a long moment, I cross the room and lower myself onto the far end of the couch like it might detonate under me. Silence stretches between us as the fire crackles.
“You used to be in charge of a lot of people, didn’t you?” she asks gently.
I don’t answer right away, but I know it’s time to talk. The memories have been bubbling up more and more lately, maybe it was the time of year, maybe it was just the quiet, but Sierra has a way of asking that makes it easier for me to talk about.
“I had a team,” I say finally. “I trusted them. They trusted me.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
I look away, staring into the fire. My hand strokes through my beard, trying to ground myself. “I gave an order that cost a friend his life.”
She doesn’t rush to fill the silence, and maybe that’s why I keep talking.
“It wasn’t just his death that got to me.
It was what happened afterward. Life just…
went on. I guess it had to. But not under my watch.
No one blamed me out loud,” I continue, my voice low, like if I can barely hear it, it might not count.
“But they didn’t have to. I couldn’t look in the mirror without hating myself for missing the obvious. ”
I flick my eyes toward her. Her stare is steady. It makes me feel seen, and that scares the hell out of me. I look past her, and fixate on a spot on the wall. “After that, I didn’t want anyone relying on me again. Didn’t want to care. So I finished my time, got out, and came up here.”
Sierra nods. “And you’ve been punishing yourself ever since.”
“Don’t pull any therapy shit on me, Sierra,” I snap.
“I’m not.” She shifts closer on the couch, her voice soft but firm. “I’m just saying—you don’t have to live a certain way to make up for past mistakes.”
“And you? What are your past mistakes?”
“Not caring enough about myself. Not walking away sooner.”
Her answer surprises me, though it shouldn’t. She’s been an open book since the moment she stepped inside. I just wasn’t prepared for how easily she said the things I still couldn’t.
“Well, if people treat you like shit, they don’t deserve you.”
“No, they don’t,” she agrees. “But people still deserve respect and kindness. That’s our job, to give it, even if we don’t get it back.”
The air between us tightens. My eyes drop to her mouth, I can’t help it. She notices, of course, but fuck me, I can’t look away.
“You always talk like that?” I ask, my voice rough.
“Nicely?” she teases, smirking. “Only when I mean it.” She tilts her head, and my heart pounds like a drum. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” My hand rises almost of its own accord, rough fingers brushing a curl from her cheek. “I keep thinking if I touch you, maybe it’ll leave me with some new memories instead of the old bullshit that won’t quit.”
“That’s sweet. Me or bullshit. Sounds like a tough choice.”
Her cheeky grin pushes me right over the edge. That sweet, sarcastic voice is everything I didn’t realize I've been missing. She pushes my buttons, and I like it.
Without thinking, I lean in, and our lips meet. The kiss is soft, until she nips at my bottom lip. I growl low and deep, letting her know exactly what she’s up against.
She giggles, tracing my lip with her tongue before kissing me again. Even then, I move slowly, not wanting to scare her. But when she sighs against my mouth, my restraint cracks.
The kiss deepens. My hand slides along her jaw while the other grips her hip, pulling her closer. She clutches the front of my flannel, anchoring herself as my mouth claims hers with hunger.
It’s not neat. It’s not polite. And my body aches with how much I want her. I tell myself it’s just lust, that it’s just been too much time without a woman looking at me like she is, but when we finally break apart, breathless, our foreheads pressed together, I know better.
It’s not just want.
It’s her.
Neither of us speaks, the echo of the kiss lingers in the air, both of us wondering who’s going to be the first to push for more.