“Why do you look so sad, Hunter James?” I ask, eliminating any space between us. He doesn’t answer me. He looks conflicted. Bringing my hands up to his face I cup his cheeks and watch his head lean into my palms. “Is everything okay?” I begin to worry at his mood change.
“I need to know more about you. What’s your favorite popcorn? Favorite movie? Childhood memory?” he urges, beginning to look distressed. I raise my hands, threading my fingers into his hair as he closes his eyes enjoying my touch.
“Extra butter, Goonies, and pretending I could fly and jumping off my bed,” I answer him. My words bring his eyes back open, allowing me to gaze into his rich emerald eyes. It’s then that I see confusion.
“Lexi?”
“Yes, Hunter?”
“What the hell is Goonies?”
He didn’t.
At that, I gasp. “You didn’t just ask me that.”
“I did since I don’t know what in God’s name Goonies is.”
“Have you been living underneath a rock your whole life? It’s Goonies! Like as in ‘Hey yoou guuuuys.’”
Yep, nothing. I huff in annoyance at this worldly man who seems to know absolutely nothing about eighties movies. I step out of his reach. “Get up.”
“What? Why?”
“I said get up. Now.”
“No. Why? We are not done here.” He looks nervous.
“Oh yes we are, until we resolve this whole, I’ve never seen a single movie from the eighties, catastrophe. Now get up.” He just stares at me as if I’ve grown two heads.
“Okay. How about I put it in simpler terms. We need to take a time-out from painting, and watch some movies. Two specifically. Then, we can continue our painting session. Unfortunately, it might extend our time together, but your lack of movie knowledge is simply unacceptable.” I stand there with my hands on my hips.
Hunter takes a minute to interpret my words, but once he does, he startles the crap out of me as he jumps off his stool. He practically knocks me over, but before I lose my footing, I am lifted and thrown over his shoulder.
A partial squeal, partial laugh sounds from my mouth. “If you put it that way then we better get to it. Paint shop is officially closed until further notice,” he says and then slaps my ass. I laugh even harder as he carries me over to the couch, dropping me into the plush cushions. I'm still laughing as I swipe my crazy hair out of my face. I find him looking down at me with an amused expression. “You know, I haven’t seen any movies from the nineties either. So you better get comfortable, we could be here for a while.”
And with that, his heart stopping smile returns and he bends down, stealing a kiss from my lips and grabbing the remote.
“That definitely is not how you tried to do it.”
“Yes, it is!”
“Um… no, it is not. You got about five feet away from me and dove at me. That girl clearly had a little bit more finesse.”
I smack Hunter in his chest. Which only ends up hurting my own hand since he is built like a solid rock. We weren’t able to get Goonies but we did find Dirty Dancing. Once we made it through the whole movie, Hunter insisted he missed parts and we had to re-watch it. I knew better though. He also managed to send the concierge down the block to the local candy shop and retrieve the largest bag of buttered popcorn I have ever seen. Not putting a single thought to my normal struggle about fat and carbs, and with a smile on my face, I devoured half the bag.
Hunter grabs my retreating hand and turns to me, giving me the look. He lifts his hand, swiping his thumb across my lower lip. “You have butter all over your lips.” I pull hastily at my hand and wipe my mouth.
“I do not!” I argue, trying to lick my lips.
“Whatever you say. So… are women really into male dancers like that?”
“Bad boy male dancers,” I correct him.
“What about bad boy artists?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. Oh God, are we ever. I want to seriously eat him alive.
I feign nonchalance. “I don’t know. They are okay. I mean it’s that dance though. The way he picks her up and spins her. It’s just so…” I moan as I close my eyes, pretending I am visualizing the scene. The cushions shift and I open my eyes to see Hunter jumping from the couch.
“Where you—”
“Get up.”
“Why? I was joking, Hun—”
“Get up. I want a redo. Get up.” His tone is serious, but his eyes tell a different story. That he has secret motives. I offer him my best “you’re on” smile and jump up.
“What do you have in mind, Hunter James?” I purr while taking my fingers and grazing them down his chest. Quickly snatching my fingers, he crushes me against him. Pulling my hand up to his mouth, he takes my assaulting finger and places it in his mouth. And sucks.
Okay holy shit, I like bad boy artists, I like bad boy artists.
“I may only have one shot to get this right, so don’t go diving at me this time, okay?” He spins me back around and smacks my ass. Giving me a little push, he instructs me to walk in the opposite direction. I know he can’t see me but I am smiling from ear to ear. I skip down the foyer, getting way too giddy over this. Everyone wanted to be Baby in that movie, and dammit, I’m going to make my one chance count.
I turn once I am a solid fifteen feet away from him. He gives me a come hither signal and I book it. I make it to about two feet from him when I jump. Dammit, more like dive. They make it seem so much easier in the movie. Thankfully, Hunter is prepared and he catches me but he doesn’t lift me up, more like picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder.
“Hey! That’s not how it’s supposed to go! You’re supposed to twirl me!”
“Next time, next time,” he says while carrying me down the hallway. He doesn’t stop until he makes it to the bedroom. Okay so maybe I am not going to complain, knowing where this is leading. Just when I think he’s about to toss me on the mattress, he takes a swift left and turns away from the bed, passing the dresser and into his closet.
Well, all righty then.
I know everyone has a fetish, but closet sex? Whatever. I’m totally into it. My body is already humming at the thought of what he plans on doing to me. Once we are fully inside, another door appears. “Watch your head,” he says as he grabs for a door handle. My senses kick up a notch. Um… so maybe no closet sex? I’m totally into whatever’s happening right now but these turn of events kind of make me nervous. I’ve read about this shit. That secret room with all that spanking and hair pulling. As much as I want to get banged sideways by Hunter, I really don’t want to be tied up upside down while getting whipped and screaming “Yes, Daddy.” I mean, not that I haven’t ever screamed ‘daddy.’ I’m about to argue when Hunter opens the door and from an upside down vantage point, I witness our new surroundings.
Before us is a small plain room with nothing but white walls and an easel displayed in the center.
“What is this?” I ask, now gawking at the room space.
“My secret studio,” he says, carrying me further into the room, flipping me upright and placing me on a wooden foldout chair. “The hotel is old, and back in the day, they used to have secret rooms to hide people. Whores, immigrants, you name it. Some would hide slaves in here as well. Now I use it to have some private space to paint.”
I take in my surroundings, not sure if I am amazed or creeped out.
“This hotel has some great history behind it. Maybe when we’re done, I can offer you a tour.” He winks and turns, walking toward the easel. My smile widens at his banter. I take another look around. “But what are we doing here?” I still question. I seriously thought our plans were headed in a very different, very horizontal direction.
“We’re making art,” he states matter-of-factly.
“Now?” I whine. Sex. Must get sex. I begin to stand when he comes at me.
“Don’t move. I need to do this. I need to capture this moment,” he commands quietly. His eyes are filled with determination. Hunter’s words
force me to stay put, and I cannot deny the matching desire I’m sporting. But definitely not for art. He turns toward his easel and picks up some paints. bringing them to his side and walking back toward me.
“I want you to undress,” he orders, his voice soft but firm. A part of me itches to provoke him, because there is nothing sexier than enjoying a little game of cat and mouse. So I do. I stand slowly, adjusting my arms to the back of my off-white summer dress. I undo the ties and then grab for my zipper, and without taking my eyes off his, I pull the clasp and sensually lower it until the air hits my lower back. I release the clasp and roll my shoulders, slowly removing the dress. Once away from my upper torso, I elegantly slide the material down my body. Releasing mid hip, it slips gracefully down my legs, onto the ground. I’m rewarded by Hunter’s sharp intake of breath, confirming he is affected by the view and most definitely approves, not that the thickness in his pants doesn’t already prove it.
Point for me!
“God, it’s like seeing you for the first time, every time. You are absolutely magnificent, Lexi.” Okay so point for him because dammit he has a way with words. Normally this is the part I usually I love—using what God gave me to lure in the prey. Except right about now, I’m unsure as to who the prey is.
“What next?” I breathe, trying to maintain my sultry voice.
“Stay extremely still,” he says moving away from the easel and closing the minimal space between us, bringing his palette into view. He fiddles with a brush which leaves me curious as to his intentions. He is so close but doesn’t touch me. God, I wish he would. Shit, point for him. Sexy bastard. He raises an eyebrow at me as if in challenge. As if he could hear my thoughts. “I want this body to be mine. All mine. And I want to make it my paradise,” he says, his plump lips moving in to brush lightly against my own. I lean in to chase his kiss, but he denies me, making his way down my chin, past my collarbone, and ends with latching onto my full breast. Oh God, point for each team there. His mouth opens wider, taking in my hardened nipple and he sucks, reigniting the flames from every other time he’s had his mouth on—“Oh Hunter,” I pant. “I can’t take anymore,” I beg, threading my fingers into his hair and pulling his head closer, hoping for more pressure. Just when I start reaching the edge, he pulls away.
“I want you against the wall. Legs spread,” he demands, his voice as tight as a bowstring. I don’t question him. With how bad I’m throbbing between my legs right now, all I can do is follow his orders and pray that he is finally going to put me out of my misery. I eagerly prowl over to the wall and place my hands against it, offering him my bare back, while spreading my legs in position, secretly crossing my fingers for a very inappropriate frisk search.
Hunter steps forward. I hear his measured steps as they pad through the enclosed space. I can feel his body heat, but he doesn’t touch me. “You are divine from every angle” he murmurs as he surrounds me. I hope he doesn’t take too much more time teasing because I seriously need him inside me. Suddenly his body heat leaves mine, and I attempt to move. That’s when the first stroke hits me. I gasp wondering what the hell Hunter’s intentions are. “I said don’t move,” he scolds me, his voice thick with lust as another brush of the cold liquid hits my back.
I stand frozen, waiting for further instruction when the next stroke hits me. It’s then that I realize what he’s doing. He is painting. Me. I shift my head until I’m able to catch the glaze in his yes. His dilated pupils lost in a world of lust while he places pigments of color along my naked back.
Every trace of the brush as it touches my skin sends tingles throughout my body that reach between my legs. “So beautiful,” he whispers while he walks around to my side. His eyes are blazing while he’s lost in his work. I can see how bad he wants me. My hands strain against the wall as I force myself not to let go and grab for his straining cock. Taking the paint brush and dipping it into a deep blue mixture, Hunter swipes it to my side, the soft bristles teasing up my torso until he stops just under my breast. I’m fighting the pressure that’s building as he torments me, but a small moan escapes my lips.
“You are truly the perfect muse,” he praises, his voice sounding too strung. I can’t take it any longer. If he slipped his fingers between my thighs they would come back soaking wet. I quickly turn, feeling the wet paint smear against the wall. Slowly spreading my legs I grab for my swollen breasts, squeezing them together as I manage to smear paint between my fingers.
“What are you doing?” he says, and I catch his eyes widen when they drop to my hands.
My breaths are coming out sharp and hollow. “This is called inspiration. I’m inspiring you to paint. Giving you an emotion. A feeling. A sensation.” While I fondle my breasts, I take the paint from my body and begin spreading it up the center of my breasts, making a line up my throat. “I want you to see all the ways you turn me on and paint them.” I coax him as I continue smearing the vibrant blue up my neck. “I want you to paint the places I beg you to be.” Working my shaky finger up and along my lower lip, I continue, “And I want you to remember how these feel when they are wrapped around you.” Lowering myself to my knees, I move to maneuver him out of his pants. Once I have them unbuttoned, I lower them, along with his briefs, his hard cock sliding out, and standing up for attention. Once they are completely down, I allow him to step out of them. His whole body shudders at my boldness, his expression pinching tight as though my touch were equal parts torture and ecstasy. I take my hand and wrap it around his silky length and begin to stroke him into my mouth. Surprisingly he doesn’t stop me. He brings his hand into my hair, gently putting pressure onto the back of my head. Working him in and out of my mouth, I tease his tip until I am rewarded with his pre-cum. Add two points for me. I know I have him right where I want him. Until he attacks me.
My hands and mouth are ripped away, and in seconds I am pressed against his hard chest. “I need to be inside your pussy. I need to fuck your mouth. I need all of you.”
And that’s when he breaks.
He shoves my body up against the wall. “Is this what you want?” he questions, pushing his erection into my wet throbbing center. “Yes,” I moan, feeling the pressure of how hard he is against me.
“You make me fucking crazy, you know that?” He grabs my hair, wrapping my long waves around his fist. “I know these games you want play. You want to tease me. To taunt me with this tempting body. Your tight fucking cunt. I’m warning you, my sweet Lexi, I am not a man to be played with. You poke at me, and I will take everything you have to offer. And more.”
My knees practically buckle at his admission. I’m so wet and turned on that I need exactly what he is trying to scare me off with.
“I need you to fuck me, Hunter. I need you to stop talking about it and fucking do it. You want this body? Then take it.”
He presses his forehead against mine. His facial expression strained. “That’s just the thing, Lex. I want this body to ravage and bruise. To torment and please. But I want more than that. I meant it when I said I want all of you. I want this,” he pauses to grab a handful of my breast, squeezing it to the brink of pleasurable pain, “But I also want this.” He releases his hold on me to glide his hand over my heart, pausing shortly, and then moving upward, tapping at my temple.
His words gut me. But in a good way. I want to be done dancing around what we have going on between us. I want to take a chance at this. What might possibly be the start of something real.
“I know you think I’m crazy for wanting this so fast, and I might be, but I’ve never felt so sure about something and it’s that I need you to stay,” he says. “I told you, I don’t know how to pursue someone. I have no idea what you should see in me, but I can’t see past tomorrow without you. Stay.”
Chrissy once told me that in life sometimes you have to take chances. The best things in life are the ones you take risks on. I know after these past few days with Hunter, I am ready to take that leap of faith, all goosebumps and flutters included.
<
br /> There is nothing else to say besides what my heart is screaming.
“I’ll stay.”
Hunter’s body jolts around me, “What?”
“I’ll stay. Fuck knows what that means, but I’ll stay.”
He inhales sharply. “You won’t regret this, I promise,” he vows, his eyes shining with sincerity.
“Well, if you don’t get back to the matter at hand, I might change my mind,” I threaten, thinking about my poor aching love bits. Hunter’s green irises instantly disappear behind the blackness of his pupils. He releases me, ripping off his shirt. He doesn’t bother with buttons as they go flying. He grabs for his discarded jeans and secures a condom before tossing them back to the floor. His gentle smile gone, he grabs for my hips, roughly turning me so I am back to facing the wall.
“Don’t move off that wall,” he orders as I hear the wrapper being torn. My mouth waters with excitement at the mental visual of him rolling the condom over his thick shaft. I brush my ass back against his cock needing friction. I’m half tempted to start touching myself just to release some pressure. But then it happens.
Hunter slams into me from behind.
“Fuck,” he grunts as he hits the deepest of my core. It takes me a minute to catch my breath before he pulls out and slams back into me.
There are no endearments this time. No whispered words of praise. This is what you call fucking. And goddamnit, does he ever. Besides the grunting and constant moans, there is no talking. Just pure fucking. He is hitting my deepest insides and my arms are about to go numb from pure pleasure.
“Keep your hands up,” he growls, his fingers digging harder into my hips as he continues to crush into me.
“Oh God Hunter, fucking harder,” I beg. With all my emotions crossing with sensations, he has turned me into a begging buffoon, but I can’t bring myself to give a shit. The way I feel right now I would do a whole lot more. I would definitely wear generic lip-gloss for this.
Faking It (UnReal #1) Page 12