“I never really thought about kids,” he answered honestly. “I mean, I always thought I’d have them, but I didn’t put much thought into it.”
I shrugged. “It’s different for men. You can have kids much later in life than women can. Thirty-three isn’t old, but if I want kids, I’m running out of time. If I date someone for even six months, take another six months before I get married, and then start trying to get pregnant, I’ll be considered high risk just because I’ll be thirty-five before delivery if I get pregnant with a honeymoon baby. Assuming I can even get pregnant.”
“Wow,” Hunter breathed, “you really have this all figured out.”
I took a bite of my pasta to stall for a few seconds. I’d never talked to any of them men I dated about getting pregnant. Sure, I mentioned that I wanted a baby, but laying out the timeline wasn’t anything I’d shared. It hit home with me when Riley had Pauline. Riley was only twenty-nine when Pauline was born. She had plenty of time to have another child before her eggs were considered old. I, on the other hand, did not.
I knew it was the curse of living with a sister who dealt with women who couldn’t have kids, or struggled to have them if they were lucky. I knew the statistics. I knew the risks. I knew the gamble I would take if I waited much past thirty-five to try to get pregnant. As it was, I’d be lucky to have one kid. Two would be a miracle. Anything more wasn’t something I even considered.
“I know talking about kids on a second date isn’t normal. It’s crazy. But it’s my reality. I’m not asking for a sperm count today, or a promise to be a father to my children. I only ask that when you decide you’re done, you let me know.”
He held my gaze for a long moment before finally nodding.
We ate in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. My stomach wasn’t cooperating and I mostly pushed my food around. I noticed Hunter wasn’t eating much more than I was and knew I had to do something to salvage the night.
I set my plate down and went to the canvases stacked in the corner of his studio. I glanced back at him with a question in my eyes. He nodded, and I crouched before the paintings, flipping through them one by one.
His style varied tremendously. I knew very little about art, but I understood design well. He had a good blend of colors, using cool colors on some, warm on others. He varied with contrasting colors and complimentary colors. In every single one, I could see the emotion behind the piece. Whether it was a painting of a local landmark, of a person, or simply a painting with no discernible object.
“What do you think?” he asked.
I glanced back at him over my shoulder. His eyebrows were pulled together, his cheeks pulled in. His shoulders drew up with a breath he sucked in, and held.
“They’re amazing,” I said honestly.
He exhaled and grinned. “Thank you.”
I nodded and went back to flipping through the art. I heard the rustle of the blanket as he rose. His footsteps were soft on the plywood that served as the floor. He stopped next to me and looked at the painting I was staring at.
“It was one of the first ones I did when I decided to become an artist.”
It was beautiful, but made me sad for some reason. Blue dripped down the canvas like teardrops. Bright yellows and oranges in the background reminded me of the sun. A lopsided square made it seem like I was looking through a window at the scene.
“Why did you paint it?”
He smiled. “Most people ask what my inspiration was.”
I caught the look in his eye, questioning me. I shrugged. “I’m not a normal person.”
He nodded once, then smiled sadly. “When I told my mom I wanted to be an artist, she cried. She’s an artist.”
I smiled, but he didn’t.
“When I was in high school, I barely spoke to her. She was the crazy woman in town. My friends all made fun of her. She had this studio in our basement. She would sing to herself while she painted. If she came upstairs when my friends were over, she was barely cognizant of us. So I just stopped inviting friends over. I spent all my time at their houses.”
My heart broke for him. I loved my parents, but as a kid, I definitely had many moments where I wished they were a little different. Or a lot in some cases. As an adult, my sister became that person I was embarrassed of.
Which was something I never admitted to anyone.
“She cried when I told her because it had been so long since we’d spoken, really spoken.”
“Is that why you didn’t want me to know you were an artist?”
He nodded. “No one respected my mother. She was the wild woman who had her head in the clouds all the time. When she would get into a painting, she would forget about everything else. My dad learned to cook when I was little because my mom didn’t. When she wasn’t working on something, she would take care of me and the house and my dad, but if the mood struck, she was off in her own little world.”
“My sister is the same,” I confessed. “She forgets to eat. She comes home worn out all the time. She’s one of the many reasons I didn’t want to date you when we first met.”
“You thought I’d be like her?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“And now?”
I smiled. “I like the laid-back guy a lot more.”
He curled a finger at me, and I willingly went into his arms. His lips met mine softly, a taste and a tease. We both smiled into the kiss and parted our lips. His tongue eased between my lips, seeking mine. One hand cupped my cheek, drawing me closer, the other on my hip. I leaned into him, threading my arms around his neck.
Slowly, our kiss heated up. A suck on my lip, a nip on his. A tightening of his fingers, a brush of mine. One step closer, and a spin. My back pressed against a stud, and a stud pressed against my front. Breathing picked up and movements followed.
The hand on my hip rose, lifting the edge of my shirt. Fingertips touched my bare skin, and I broke our kiss with a gasp.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.
I shook my head and pulled his lips back to mine. Fingers climbed my back until they reached my bra, then skidded to my spine and pressed us tighter together.
I had to touch him, to feel his skin. I tugged at the edge of his shirt, letting my fingers explore the warm skin beneath. His palm settled against my back while I touched him. He broke our kiss to yank his shirt over his head, baring his chest to me.
My mouth watered. I’d always loved a hairy guy, and Hunter did not disappoint. Dark hair went from one nipple to the other and narrowed with his waist until it disappeared beneath his waistband. My fingers eased through the silky hair, letting it tickle my palms. I ran my nails over his muscles, enjoying the way they jumped at my touch. He groaned, and my panties flooded with the knowledge I could make this sexy man ache for me.
“You’re killing me, Vicki.”
I smiled up at him. “Feeling’s mutual.”
My shirt came off next, fluttering to the ground. His hands cupped my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples through the cotton cups. He dipped his head and claimed one of my nipples, right through the fabric. I moaned, and my head fell back, resting on the stud behind me. He moved to my other nipple, and my knees softened. His arm circled my waist, holding me right where he wanted me.
Hunter’s lips came back to mine, and he spun me. We walked backward until he stopped and lowered us to the ground. The blanket was beneath me, Hunter on top of me. Who needs a bed?
Chapter 11
My bra was gone before my back hit the blanket. Hunter settled between my thighs, his cock hitting me just right. I moaned, loudly, when my thrust into me. A kiss and a stroke. A palm on my breast and a tweak of my nipple. I knew I’d sleep with him if he tried.
When he went for the button on my shorts, he stopped. “We’re not having sex today. Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t want you to think this is just sex for me. I didn’t plan on you.” He smiled to himself and shook his head. “The timing
of this is all wrong for me, but I can’t stop thinking about you. Or wanting you. I need to touch you, Vicki. I don’t think I can’t wait any longer to feel you.”
His eyes begged for me to agree. My body did, too. His words made me think, but my body told my brain to shut up and I nodded.
He made quick work of my shorts, leaving me on the blanket in only my panties. He stretched out next to me, running his fingers over my body. His erection dug into my hip, reminding me how deliciously hard me was for me.
Hunter leaned forward and kissed me, dipping his fingers beneath the edge of my panties at the same moment. His chest rose with his breath as he toyed with my curls. He kept moving lower, his kiss becoming more heated with each inch toward where I ached for him.
When his finger finally brushed my bare skin, we both gasped. “Shit, you’re wet.”
I nibbled my lip and nodded. I couldn’t say anything. My mouth just wouldn’t work. But it didn’t matter, Hunter kissed me again.
His tongue dove between my lips, thrusting harder. His finger teased me, circling my clit, but not touching it. I wanted to tell him to get on with it, but it felt so good I didn’t care. It had been months since I’d been with anyone, and I was more than ready for some action.
He propped himself up on his elbow, leaning further over me, and his fingers sunk lower, spreading me open. He eased one finger inside me, then drew it back up to my clit, circling it again. I groaned, and he pulled back.
“Problem?” he asked with a smirk.
“You’re teasing me,” I said, feeling like I could say anything to him. I wasn’t normally very vocal with men. I hesitated to tell them what I wanted. With Hunter, I felt like I could say anything.
“You don’t like being teased?” he asked, his fingers slipping around me, filling me, then teasing some more.
“No,” I groaned.
He laughed. “How wet you are says something a bit different.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear. “And how hard you’re breathing makes me think you like it. As much as you liked me playing with your nipples.” He pulled back, easing his hand from my panties. “I could go back to playing with them instead.”
I clamped down on his wrist and he laughed. I was strung as tight as a bow, and he was laughing. Well, two could play that game.
I kept his wrist held tight and slid my free hand into his shorts. He sucked in a breath, giving me access, and I wrapped my hand around his cock. It was long and silky, with a thick patch of hair around the base. I stroked him once, then again, and he moaned.
“That’s not fair,” he whispered against my ear.
“With how hard you are, and the way you’re breathing, I figured you liked being teased.”
He choked out a laugh and moved his hand into my panties again. “You’ll give in first,” he growled against my ear. “You’ll want to come before I do.”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but it’ll take you a while to get me there without all your concentration.”
I stroked him again, swiping my thumb over his head. He jerked in my hand and stopped teasing me. I did it again, and again, until he pressed forward and kissed me, hard. With each plunge of his tongue into my mouth, he stroked over my clit, not staying long enough to get me where I wanted, but launching me closer with each brush. He circled me, then dove a finger in deep, keeping his thumb near my clit.
Damn, he was good.
I stroked, he played. We kissed and nipped and teased. I could tell he was getting close, but I was, too. I wanted to come so badly, my body burned. I knew I had to give in or neither of us would win. He was clearly one of those men who refused to come before the woman did.
I liked those men. A lot.
I slowed my strokes, but kept my fingers around him. He took advantage of it, as I hoped he would, and swiped his thumb over my clit. His fingers thrust in deeper, and I broke our kiss with a gasp that bordered on a scream.
“That feels so good,” I moaned, my eyes rolling back in my head. “Please don’t stop.”
He chuckled against my ear. “Never.”
Thumb on my clit, fingers buried deep inside, he ran his tongue from my ear to my nipple. He pulled my nipple into his mouth and within seconds, I was screaming his name.
My body shook with the force of my orgasm. I spasmed like I was having a seizure. It was a little scary, but it felt so good, I didn’t care. He didn’t ease up, just kept playing with me as one after another orgasm crashed over me. I finally had to beg him to stop, but I could tell he didn’t want to.
I panted hard, my entire body heaving with each breath. Hunter eased his fingers out of me, dragging them over my clit and making me shake again.
I was addicted to him, and felt like I was in withdrawal. I’d never come that hard in my life, and I knew there was no going back after a Hunter supplied orgasm.
“That was sexy as hell,” he whispered against my ear. “I can’t wait to see you do that again.”
“I’ve never done that in my life,” I confessed. “I never knew orgasms could be that good.”
He snickered. “I told you you’d like being teased.”
I laughed with him, then stroked his cock, still in my hand. “Yeah, well, I don’t think I’m the only one who enjoyed being teased.”
He groaned, loud and long in my ear. “I don’t have anything to clean up with,” he said, sounding like it pained him to admit it.
I shrugged and rose to my knees. “Then we better not make a mess.”
I pushed him to his back and undid his shorts. He helped me tug them and his boxer briefs off, letting his cock spring free. It was long and lean, like he was. His abs rippled, tightening as I devoured him with my eyes.
Dark, curly hair circled his cock, like a nest. I trailed through it with my nails, smiling when he jumped. I cupped his balls and toyed with them, holding his gaze.
“You’re going to tease me, aren’t you?” he groaned.
I smiled. “No. I just want to touch all of you. And you’re stretched out so nicely for me.”
He tried to smile, but I tugged on his sack and he groaned instead. His eyes fell closed and I took advantage of him not being able to see me. I cupped my breasts and brought them up to both sides of his cock. His eyes flew open, then widened when he saw what I was doing.
“Jesus, you feel good.”
“Enjoy it now, because you’re not coming like this.”
He groaned, reaching for my breasts. He tugged on both nipples, and I ached to come again. But it was his turn, and I was going to make sure he enjoyed it.
He fell back, too close to be able to stay upright. I let my breasts fall away and took him in my mouth. He thrust up into my throat, making me moan. I loved feeling him out of control.
He was too long to fit all the way in, but I added a hand to his base. I stroked with my hand and my lips, smiling when his hands threaded into my hair. He guided me, urging me faster and faster until he held my head down. His hips jerked up with his orgasm. I cupped his balls again, and he yelled my name as he came.
Slowly, reluctantly, I released him. I swallowed, and looked up to meet his eyes. His were still closed, but he had a peaceful, content grin on his face, and he was reaching for me.
I crawled up his body until I was laying on top of him. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight against his chest. We laid like that for a while, until our sweaty skin cooled and our breathing calmed. I moved to roll off him, but he wouldn’t let me go.
“Stay. Just a few more minutes,” he said, brushing hair from my neck and kissing my forehead.
I nodded and rested my head back on his chest. I listened to his heart thump and wondered why I couldn’t see the man beneath the suit. I vowed, right then and there, not to judge the next guy by the way he looked.
No, I didn’t want there to be a next guy. I already knew I liked Hunter too much. Which always meant it would end. As much as I wanted to believe he would end up the one I’d spend my life with, I was jaded and a little
bit cynical. He said the timing wasn’t right for him. Which meant things would end eventually. But I was too addicted to him already to walk away. I knew I’d get hurt. I knew I’d wish things could be different. But I knew I’d regret walking away.
So I stayed there as long as he wanted me to. I stayed in his arms until my limbs felt like jello, and my brain stopped trying to talk me into leaving. Until I fell asleep and never wanted to leave.
“Where have you been all weekend?” Peyton asked me Sunday night. I baked chicken and made macaroni and cheese and veggies to go with it. It was one of those nights I felt the need for comfort food, and mac and cheese always made me feel better.
“I went out with Hunter.”
“Friday and Saturday?”
I nodded.
“How many dates is that?” she asked, glancing between me and the TV. We were watching HGTV, one of the shows about building tiny houses. Peyton mentioned more than once that she was envious of the people who could just pick up and leave. I always wondered how they earned money because they obviously didn’t have location dependent jobs if they traveled all the time.
“It was our second and third dates.”
“You must really like him.”
I nodded but didn’t elaborate. I didn’t want to tell Peyton that I liked him far more than I was comfortable with.
“You haven’t been on a third date in months.”
“Yep.”
“Is something wrong?” she asked, concern slipping into her tone.
I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry. I just really like him.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. I’m sure eventually it’ll mean I get my heart broken, but it’s not a problem now.”
“Why do you think he’s going to break your heart?”
I laughed. “Because I like him so much.”
“Are you in love with him?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t know him that well. But I think I could fall for him without too much of a push.”
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