by Beth Michele
A knock on the door puts an end to my pacing. I try to suppress the smile threatening to expose me, but it’s pointless. With a shaky hand, I open the door—
And suddenly I can’t remember how to breathe.
Hunter looks dashing in a white dress shirt falling loosely over a pair of faded jeans. His hair is slightly mussed, a hint of stubble still lining his jaw. My smile grows bigger when I see what’s in his hand.
“Hi, sweetheart.” He holds out a single red rose. “For you.”
“Hi, back, and thank you. It’s beautiful,” I reply, bringing the flower to my nose, inhaling its wonderful aroma.
“You look lovely.” He comes forward and presses a lingering kiss to my cheek, and I let out a quiet sigh. “You ready?”
“Yup. Let me just grab my purse.”
“So I thought we’d go to Joe’s Place. It’s not far from here and it’s a nice night for a walk, if you’re up for it.” He glances down at my feet. “Will you be okay in those shoes?”
“Yes, absolutely,” I answer, as he holds his elbow out to me and we link arms, taking the elevator down to the lobby.
“I think you’ll like this place. It’s basically burgers and dessert, that’s it. But,” he teases, “you have to eat dinner first.”
“Oh yeah, says who?”
“Says, me.” He reels me into his body, sealing his lips over mine, stealing my breath and all rational thought. By the time he backs away, there’s no fight left in me.
“Yes to everything,” I joke, and he laughs as we resume walking arm in arm through the lobby and out into the night.
There’s a slight chill in the air, a subtle breeze slapping against my skin as we weave through mazes of people, all out enjoying the evening. We come upon a street musician strumming his guitar, pausing to bask in the melodic pull of the strings. Hunter takes out his wallet and throws a hundred-dollar bill in the cowboy hat sitting on the pavement. My head does a double take when I see the size of the bill. It strikes me as extremely generous, but rather unusual. I’m about to say something when his voice alters my direction.
“Tyler used to love to play the guitar. My dad bought him a toy one when he was five, and he played it so much that he had to keep buying him new ones. Sometimes I’d hear him tugging on the strings when he was supposed to be sleeping.” The moon bathes his face in light, baring his sorrow, his regret. “Back then, I remember thinking he was going to play guitar in a band someday.” His eyes travel up to the sky, lost in a memory, a half-smile gracing his lips. “Instead, he’s up there somewhere,” he says softly, and when I thread our fingers together, his somber gaze travels back down to mine.
“Yes, he is.”
Hunter is pensive the rest of the way, and I remain quiet, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts. By the time we arrive at the restaurant, I’m starving of course. We stroll in, and I take an instant liking to the place. It has the feel of one of those neighborhood landmarks that’s been around since the beginning of time. You can tell the people who are regulars here, cozying up with the staff, hanging out at the bar. The atmosphere is laid-back; walls littered with old movie posters, worn red leather booths, an old jukebox sits against the far wall.
The hostess greets us, a tall redhead with a t-shirt stretched tight across her chest bearing the restaurant name. She’s eyeing Hunter like she wants to make him her next meal. My teeth immediately go for my lip, and my fingers fidget with my ring. Self-doubt races through my head, but when Hunter leans in and kisses me on the temple, it all gets washed away.
She leads us to a booth, her hips doing an obvious sway in the snug miniskirt she’s sporting, and my eyes roll at how forward she is. I want to tell her to get a life because he’s taken, but Hunter doesn’t belong to me. There’s a sudden pang in my belly, maybe a small part of me wishes that he did.
Once Red disappears, we get cozy in the booth, looking over the menu which happens to be five pages long. Our shoulders are touching, there’s not an ounce of space separating us. Hunter’s chin rests on my shoulder as we scan over all the choices, attempting to make a decision.
“I’m not going to bother checking out the dessert menu,” he whispers, his warm breath fanning my neck, “because they don’t have anything nearly as delicious as what I intend on eating for dessert. Nothing that will taste as sweet.” His hand gently squeezes my thigh, and with that simple touch, desire explodes between my legs.
“So, what shall we eat?” I sputter, my voice hoarse, body temperature rising as his hand begins massaging me, every nerve-ending tingling with sensation. “Hunter?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I-I can’t focus on food when you’re doing that, and you know how I get when I don’t eat.”
The motion stops, his eyes grow wide with concern, finger tilting my chin. “Are you okay? Feeling faint again?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m fine. I’m kidding. But”—my eyes stray to his lips—“you’re very distracting, and I’m hungry.”
He breathes a relieved sigh, but moves his hand, a devious grin making his lips twitch.
I’m thinking maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
We both order burgers and fries. Not more than a few minutes later, another overly enthusiastic waitress brings our drinks, bending over the table, shoving her breasts in Hunter’s face. I swear there’s drool on the corner of the table when she ambles away.
“I love this place,” I utter, “it reminds me of the restaurants in Brooklyn.”
“You lived in Brooklyn?” He toys with my fingers, twirling my ring around.
“Yes, when I first came to the city. I had a crazy roommate so it didn’t last long. But I loved the community feel of it and it’s got so much character. Hey….” I pause, noticing a photo on the wall. “There’s your idol.”
“What?”
“Bogart.” I point out a picture diagonally across from us, an old black and white shot of him sitting at a piano.
“Oh yeah.” He chuckles.
“So how about another impression?” I encourage, and his brow rises on a smirk.
“How about another song?” he invites, and I purse my lips together, reluctant to draw attention to myself.
“No, I don’t think so.” I cross my arms over my chest. “But you can feel free, I’m all ears.”
“Oh no, this is a two-way street, sweetheart. I’ve got a better idea anyway. How about you tell me more about what you write in those novels of yours? I’m very curious,” he coaxes, drawing my hands away from my chest, his eyes sweeping down to my cleavage.
I grab my drink, the cool hitting my throat, dousing the flames he’s igniting in my belly. “You know,” I cough, “the usual—sex.”
“What kinds of sex? I need a bit more detail, Autumn,” he probes, sipping his drink, and I want to touch him desperately, the alluring tone of his voice weakening my resolve.
He makes me feel wanton, so much so that I’m unable to control the next words that fly from my mouth. “It’s the scorching, hot kind. Like, for example,” I get close to his ear, my lips grazing the lobe as I whisper, “where you have me pinned to the shower wall, your lips pressed to mine, your rigid cock grinding against my pussy, and I’m practically begging you to put it inside of me. So you slip your hands under my ass, lifting my legs to wrap around you, my nipples so hard they’re aching for your tongue, my pussy throbbing and drenched because I want you so badly. Our bodies slick and wet, you find my opening with the head of your cock, slowly thrusting inside of me, in… and… out, in… and… out….” My hand disappears underneath the table, flirting with the bulge in his jeans as he spits water all over the place. “You know. That kind,” I murmur, just as the busty brunette shows up with our food, setting it down, her timing impeccable.
“Can we get that to go, please?” Hunter insists quickly. She nods her head, confused, but turns on her heel, taking away our plates.
“What are we doing?”
“You’re trying to
kill me, Autumn, aren’t you? You can’t talk like that and then just expect me to sit through dinner. It’s not going to happen.”
“Oh.” I hold back a smile, knowing I got to him. It feels good.
“Oh?” His eyes are focused, jaw tense, posture threatening. But I’m not scared. I’m turned on.
The waitress returns with our bag of food and he tugs on my hand.
“Let’s go, Autumn.”
Chapter Eight
~Hunter~
Autumn is going to be the death of me. I can’t control myself around her at all. I’m overwhelmed with the need to touch her, to feel her, to comb through her silky hair with my fingers, trail my lips over the valley of her breasts, spread her legs so my tongue can find that spot that makes her moan, that makes her open herself to me.
Jesus.
I’m dragging her behind me as we make our way out the doors of the restaurant, her heels scraping on the pavement. I stop short, and she bumps into me, laughing, before I look to my left then to my right. “Come on.” I pull on Autumn’s hand and lead her down a narrow alleyway, her squeals of surprise having little effect on me, only making me more determined.
“What are we doing?” She giggles, but continues as I tow her forward.
She won’t be laughing soon.
“I’m going to give you something to write about in your next novel,” I spout, then with anxious footsteps, pull her far enough down the alley that no one walking by will see us, dropping the bags to the ground, backing her up against the rough wall. I place both arms on either side of her head, caging her in. Her eyes are wide, lips parted, breathing rapid. They lock on mine and something passes between us, an electricity of sorts, but it’s more than that. I don’t know what to label it or even if it needs a label. Whatever it is, it’s just there. I felt it on the train. And I damn sure feel it now.
She feels like my safe haven, the one person who I can let everything out with—well, almost everything. But after telling her about Tyler, the way she comforted me, maybe, just maybe, I can trust her. I know one thing, I can’t get enough of her, and I can’t stop wanting her.
“Hunter,” she breathes out, and I’m gone. Lost in that whirlwind of blue, those full lips, that incandescent smile.
I dip down, crashing our lips together, desperate to inhale her, my hands tangling in her hair, body anchored against her own. She’s hungry for me, too, her tongue battling with mine, our moans melting together. My cock pushes relentlessly against my zipper, needing to be inside her.
My mouth breaks from hers, sliding down her neck, tongue trailing over her warm skin. She whimpers as she drops her head back against the wall, giving me better access, anticipating my every touch, every lick. My fingers ease her sweater up, while my lips continue traveling, eyes wandering to the smooth skin between her breasts.
“Christ, Autumn.”
“What?” she responds, breathless.
“This bra,” I utter, trying to catch hold of my breathing, her nipples poking through the racy red fabric, thanking the gods above that she’s wearing a skirt. “Please tell me you’ve got matching panties.”
She grins as her hand flicks the seam of her skirt, teasing me. “No panties… a thong,” she murmurs, her voice deep and sexy, hair a wild mess.
“Show me,” I demand, and she doesn’t hesitate, hiking her skirt up, my breath quickening, teeth clenched.
She lifts her hand away, crooking her finger and waggling it at me, urging me closer. She takes my hand, sliding it inside her panties, and my eyes close on an inhaled breath. They’re soaked.
“I want you to fuck me, right here,” she moans, “right now.”
Christ, she is trying to kill me.
“Jesus, Autumn,” I murmur, as she rests her forehead against mine, our breathing frantic and out of control. “God, I want you so badly.”
“So take me,” she purrs, and no sooner are her words out that I’m yanking her panties off, the flimsy fabric falling to shreds on the ground below.
Autumn watches me, gaze thick with lust, as I take my jeans and boxers down just enough. She leans back against the wall, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, so ready for me to fuck her. Her tongue dances across her lips when she sees my cock, erect and throbbing, her fingers finding their way to the stiff points of her nipples, toying with them. She knows what that does to me, and my hand lowers to my rigid length, massaging it in long strokes.
Our stare is intense, the air around us sizzling with our desire for one another. One of her hands wanders past her belly, slowly, teasingly, and I’m glued to it as it reaches her pussy. She moans when her fingers become saturated with her hot liquid.
“Now,” she pants, “fuck me now, Hunter.”
I’ve never seen anything hotter than the way she looks at this moment, against the wall, nipples hard, thighs spread apart, so greedy for me. Somehow, I manage to get the condom from my wallet, but it almost skids from my hand when she takes a wet finger from her aching center, leans forward, and slips it into my mouth. She moans as I suck and lick the moisture from it, my tongue wanting more.
“Jesus, I love the taste of your pussy,” I mutter, as she proceeds to insert that same finger into her mouth, while I clumsily roll on the damn condom before this is over way too soon. I slip my arms around her, fondling the curve of her ass, and then lift her. “Wrap your legs around me, sweetheart,” I groan, thrusting my cock deep and hard inside of her as she does. She cries out in surprise and pleasure, chin falling back, allowing me to attack her neck, her throat, her collarbone with my tongue, mindless with need, wanting to give, to take.
To stake my claim.
I drive into her with a punishing rhythm as we hold on to one another, skin slapping and sweat building, the pleasure completely overwhelming. She whimpers uncontrollably, nails piercing my back, sex clutching my shaft as she begins to spasm around me.
“Hunter,” she pants, climaxing and pulsing against me, tremors racking her body.
“I can’t hold on either baby, it feels too good,” I groan, breath heavy on her neck, as I let go too, giving her everything I have, before squeezing her tight, smothering her face with my lips.
My phone rings, making me want to smash it into a million pieces. “Fuck!”
“Don’t answer it,” she pleads, so I try to ignore the sound when it continues, until I recognize the ringtone.
“Shit!” I pull out and set her down gently, quickly getting rid of the condom and putting myself back together while I fumble around for my phone. When I unlock the screen and confirm that it’s Rex, I have to answer it. “Rex,” I bark, “this better be important.”
“Hey, man, sorry to bother you, but the fucking pipe burst underneath the sink in the bathroom, there’s water everywhere, and now the place is a fucking shithole. One of the guys at the shop called in, so I have to go do his tattoo. I need you to come by and wait.”
“Really, Rex, now?”
“Listen, bro, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. The plumber said he’d be here within a few hours.”
“A few hours,” I mumble. “Fine,” I snap, “I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, bro. I’ll leave the key under the mat outside the door. Again, sorry to interrupt.” He chuckles.
Yeah he’s really sorry.
“What is it?” Autumn asks as she pulls her skirt back down and retrieves her thong, no longer wearable. I jam the phone back in my pocket, huffing out an irritated breath.
“One of the pipes burst at Rex’s place and he can’t be there so I need to wait for the plumber. I’d have you come with me, but I know my brother, so I know it’s a disaster over there. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“It’s fine,” she assures me with an understanding smile, but my face falls, heart sinking in my chest. I’m not anxious to let her go.
I open the bag of food, feeding her fries as we quietly walk back to the hotel. “Here,” I prompt, handing her a couple, “put something in your stomach.”
&
nbsp; “Thanks.” She flips me a smile, and I feel like I just won a fucking marathon.
My feet are sluggish as we arrive back at the hotel. They don’t want to leave either. I escort her to the double doors then pause outside. “Thank you for a wonderful, albeit brief evening.”
“Thank you,” she replies, the apples of her cheeks still pink from our escapades in the alley.
My eyes roam every detail of her face, wanting to capture it, a snapshot in my mind; the smooth arch of her brow, that splash of blue in her eyes, the curve of her cheekbone, and finally her lips, so soft and sweet.
“I was thinking maybe we could ride back together on the train tomorrow.”
“Sure,” she responds, her finger coasting over the stubble on my jaw. “I’d like that.”
“Great. I’ll come by in the morning around ten.” I step closer to her, inhaling her peach aroma, mapping her bottom lip with the tip of my finger. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight, Hunter.” She tosses me a brilliant smile before disappearing inside the glass doors of the hotel. I watch her until her chestnut strands disappear from view.
She’s so damn sweet.
Chapter Nine
~Olivia~
It’s just past seven-thirty and I’m in no mood to watch television. I’m brooding that the night ended early, but at least Hunter got a tiny glimpse of my lingerie. I shake my head at my lascivious behavior, that I actually did something so torrid in an alley. He brings out this whole other side of me and I’m not ashamed to admit that I love it.
I exhale a sigh, dropping the bag of food on the table before stripping off my clothes, grinning as I put on a new pair of panties.
My briefcase is on the chair and I walk over, prying my computer from the inside pocket before meandering to the bed, fluffing some pillows and settling back against them.
I power up my laptop, and after signing in, check my emails, only to discover that I’ve got two hundred I need to sort through. There’s a note from my publisher that catches my eye immediately, reminding me of the deadline next month for the new novel I’m currently writing. I laugh at the one from Vanessa; a picture of her and Charlie sprawled out on the bed in the guest room.