by Shen, L. J.
“She is not your friend.” She air-quoted the last word, irritated with the stubborn makeup. She turned off the faucet, punching the marble counter and wincing.
“Jealously suits you, CT. Irish chicks look great in green.”
“I’m not jealous! I wish I’d stayed out so you could go all the way and screw up your life. You’d deserve it, too.” She was shouting now, throwing her hands in the air. She dashed for the door.
I blocked her way, full-blown laughing now, my arms on either side of the doorframe.
“Is that right? You’d rat me out, CT?”
“In a heartbeat,” she snapped. “Move along now, pretty boy.”
Another jab. Man, she wanted the Vitamin D.
“Bull. Shit,” I whispered, not buying it for a second. Even if I’d fucked Emily, her imaginary twin sister, and every girl in this building, Sailor still wouldn’t snitch on me. She’d be mad, fuming—and would probably transport every piece of garbage in North America into my room. But she wouldn’t ruin my life.
The realization made me feel triumphed.
I knew it because I knew her.
“I want to leave,” Sailor enunciated.
“Not until you admit you’re jealous.” Why the fuck did I even care? Ego? Blood sport?
Both, probably.
She threw her head back, her laugh rusty. “Even though I’m not?”
“Yeah. Pacify my petty ass. Tell me what I want to hear so we can get it over with.”
“No.”
“Coward.”
She raised her palm to slap me, swinging her hand, but I caught her by the wrist, pressing a teasing kiss to her palm, then licking it base to index finger. I covered half her finger with my mouth, licking and sucking it with a smile. Our eyes were glued together, as if in a trance. I could see her heart pounding through her shirt, and I wanted to squeeze it in my fist and tell her she’d already lost that game between us.
I’d had the pleasure of pleasuring many women in my life. But never had I seen a girl react to me the way Sailor Brennan did while her clothes were still on.
When I was done giving her finger a blowjob, I stepped aside.
“Fine. Run. You have three seconds.”
“Before?” she drawled, her hand still in the air. She’d forgotten to lower it to the side of her body. The zing in her eyes told me she wanted another round of mind-chess.
Enter Player 2.
“I hunt you down and fuck you hard. Not deal-related. Call it hare coursing.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s the point, baby. You’re excused. Unless you don’t want to be. In which case, you run, I chase. Get out if you’re not game. Three.”
Her eyes darted from my face to the door. I studied her every move. We both knew this shit between us—the electricity that had nothing to do with what was going on in the building—was here to stay.
“Two. Leave.”
She took four quick steps to the door, during which my soul swiftly left my body, bailing on my ass and running with her. Then Sailor skidded to a stop, not going past the threshold. She raked her fingers through her hair, producing what I guessed was the mating sound of two deranged emus.
“Shit,” she choked, her feet glued to the bathroom tiles. “What am I doing?”
Me, in a second.
“One.”
She fell to her knees, her back to me, her head slacking forward in defeat. It was like watching National Geographic as a kid, when I’d asked Nanny Number Six why the cameramen and film crew didn’t help the innocent, unassuming zebra when the tigress caught it, dangling it by its neck like a heavy piece of jewelry.
Because this is nature. Only the strong survive.
I almost took mercy on her then.
Almost.
Then I remembered my own goddamn family had an eat-your-young mentality—and the other part Nanny Number Six had mentioned: the tigress’ side. It was hungry, depraved, and wanted to stay just as alive as the zebra.
Hunters needed to eat to survive.
His fingers curled around my topknot from behind, tugging it with an expertise that frightened me until it became a ponytail.
He pulled my head back, extending my neck. I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut.
I believed Hunter hadn’t touched Emily.
But she also served as a reminder of all the girls he would touch in the future. Our six months were going to be up before I knew it, and with them, his undivided attention. He would have other conquests to make, all of them in lands he’d yet to discover, with horizons he wanted to bask in. I was just a small island he was temporarily stuck on. Of course he wanted to sample its fruit.
Worst still, Hunter knew his effect on me, knew I would never rat him out. As much as I loathed how he attracted me, I also felt weirdly protective of him, especially where his father and brother were concerned.
I was going to keep Emily out of my weekly email to Gerald Fitzpatrick, cover up Hunter’s misstep, and pretend it never happened. Since the cameras were solely outside the apartment, and Emily reportedly came in and took off down the stairway, that shouldn’t be a problem.
“Open your eyes,” Hunter ordered sternly. His voice had a way of nestling between my legs, giving the organ between them a pulse.
My eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze. He was a lonely prince—untouchable, yet in need of a hug. Brilliant, yet deeply misunderstood. Sitting on a throne of broken expectations and disappointment.
I wondered if he’d ever know he was smart and brave and goodhearted.
I wondered if I’d be the foolish girl to let him in on that secret.
I realized he was right. I was the archer, but he was the true hunter.
“Admit it,” he croaked, his face descending to mine from over my shoulder, his lips drawing closer, inch by inch, the heat of him tangible, blazing a straight path through my reservations, mortification, and logic. “This is happening. It is happening, and you’re frightened. It’s happening, and I’m not a part of your carefully laid-out plan. You don’t know if you have the endurance, or the guts to see this through when it’s time to say goodbye.”
My throat bobbed with a swallow. It hurt, but he didn’t let go of my hair. “You can survive this,” he whispered into my mouth.
“This?” I groused.
“Us. I have a glass soul, baby. Pretty to look at, but it breaks easily, can make you bleed, and nobody gets attached to it.”
I parted my lips, about to tell him he was wrong, but his mouth closed in on mine, his kiss a drugging potion soaking into me—slow, erotic, and teasing. It was nothing like our first kiss, but somehow twice as bewitching. I felt his hand snaking to my front, skimming past the outline of my breast, moving down until it reached my groin. He cupped and lifted me up to my feet, holding me between my legs, still kissing me as his fingers dug through the fabric of my yoga pants roughly. He pinned my stomach against the bathroom wall, grinding his erection between my butt cheeks through our clothes. A desperate moan escaped me. He swallowed it with another dirty kiss. He kissed everything away.
He is not going to be here to kiss it better when he dumps you after the deal is over.
He shoved his big palm into the front of my pants, and I groaned, disconnecting my mouth from his and pressing my forehead to the cold tiles as heat swirled inside me.
“I’m not a virgin,” I said. I don’t know why I said it. Maybe I wanted to make sure he didn’t go gentle on me. I wanted the full Hunter experience, even if I knew I was going to regret it the minute we stepped out of this bathroom.
His cock jerked between my butt cheeks, his body molding into mine.
“Oh, yeah?” There wasn’t a hint of jealousy in his voice, only curious amusement.
I nodded, my forehead grazing the wall.
“How many?” he asked.
I wondered about the technicalities. Did we really break the celibate rule if Hunter and I just dry-humped? No. Not really. I mean, yes, it was wrong
, but manageable. Besides, Gerald mainly hated how Hunter’s business was hanging all over the media. This would be our secret. Neither he nor I wanted it to leak past these walls. Hunter had his kingdom on the line, and I my career and reputation.
“One.” I gasped when his thumb and index found my clit, pinching it. The rest of his fingers slid past my wet entrance, gathering my need for him and rubbing it against my clit. His finger pads were warm, his stroke leisurely and skillful.
I felt like my insides were melting, one organ at a time. It wasn’t butterflies. No. More like moths, eating at me, consuming me completely.
Hunter kissed his way from my ear to my neck, down to my shoulder.
“Name.”
“Beau.”
“Ex-boyfriend?”
“Something like that.”
“Did you love him?” His fingers did things inside me I couldn’t explain. I just knew no one had ever touched me that way. My whole body shivered, down to my soul.
“N-no.” I couldn’t lie.
“Did you like it?”
The question surprised me. I didn’t think Beau himself had ever asked me that. I planted my palms on the tiles as Hunter yanked down my pants from behind in one go.
“We can’t have sex. We can’t break the rules,” I finally managed to say.
He laughed a devilish laugh, cupping one of my ass cheeks and squeezing hard. Hunter increased his speed, rubbing my clit and guiding his penis between my cheeks from behind. I knew he was watching what he was doing—my bare, white butt being poked around.
My legs began to tremble. I threw my head back, glad it was about to be over. The orgasm began to tickle its way up from my toes to the rest of my body.
Finally, finally, finally.
“Oh, Hunter.” I hated how right his name felt rolling out of my mouth. How moan-able it was. He stopped rubbing me off, taking a step back. It took me ten seconds to realize my orgasm wasn’t going to materialize. I turned around, eyes wide and accusing.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, feeling my face hot with confusion and desire. That had never happened before.
He leaned against the Jack and Jill counter, grinning, his hand shoved in his pants, playing with his very hard, very impressive erection.
“I want to get you off,” he popped the words carelessly, so calm you’d think we were talking about the weather.
“Then do!” I frowned so deeply my eyebrows hurt.
He laughed, a hearty, joyous laughter that rang around the room like a song. “See, but I want to get off, too. At the same time, I respect your inclination not to shit all over the celibacy rule. How about a compromise?”
I said nothing. I knew it wasn’t fair to expect him to get me off if I wasn’t going to reciprocate. But something about kneeling to Hunter felt intensely wrong. Here was a man who may have been a joke in his own family, but to everyone else, he was a deity, and I didn’t want to join his religion. I didn’t want to worship him.
Because I knew he was a god I could believe in.
“I will die before going down on my knees for you.” I jerked my chin up.
He raised his eyebrows, looking both surprised and thoroughly entertained. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re a manwhore with a sex tape. I’m not going to be another notch on your bedpost.”
It sounded ridiculous out loud, but the sentiment was clear. I didn’t want to be one of many, especially knowing he chose me only because he couldn’t have his pick.
“Yet you’d be happy if I got you off?” he asked, so I could face the hypocrisy of what I was saying.
I shrugged. “You’re the one who started it.”
So mature, Sailor.
Laughing, he approached me again, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. Lowering himself, he got rid of my pants gathered at my ankles, dumping them on the floor and leaving me completely naked from the waist down. Next, he reached for the front of my shirt.
“Just for the record,” he said tonelessly, beginning to pull the fabric forward, deliciously slowly, a smirk on his face. “Looking up at me from your knees is a great fucking angle, so you may want to reconsider.”
“No, thank you.” I swallowed, feeling my shirt rip. The slash of the cloth against my skin rang between the walls. He threw the ball of fabric behind his shoulder, lowering me to the bathtub step and prying my legs open with strong fingers. I watched in awe as he reached into my entrance again, gathered my juices, and rubbed them against my bare nipples. I didn’t know why I wasn’t stopping him.
I didn’t know why I even remained in the same house.
Now Hunter was the one on his knees, his elbow propped on the edge of the Jacuzzi, grinning up at me, like he was up to something. He rose, plastering his clothed, muscular body atop of my naked one, erasing my scowl with a kiss. I let him kiss me, feeling his fingers working their way between my open legs again. My body began to hum on cue, grateful for the attention.
Hunter kissed his way down my chest, took one nipple into his mouth, and rolled his tongue around it playfully. I sighed, watching him. He moved to the other nipple, this time tugging a little with his teeth as he rubbed my clit harder. My whole body felt hot and tingly.
His tongue rolled down my stomach, dipping briefly into my bellybutton in a teasing, ticklish swirl, then farther down between my thighs.
“Jackpot,” he murmured as he sucked my clit into his mouth, spreading me open with both his thumbs and stretching me to the max. He blew cold air into me, and I trembled violently with an impending orgasm before he shoved his tongue inside me in one punishing thrust. The pleasure was so profound, my butt scooted up the stair, and I let out a yelp.
“Ahhhhh.”
His tongue flicked my clit, then thrust into me again. My back arched, my entire body jerking.
Flick. Thrust. Flick. Thrust.
This prolonged my climax, which made me both grateful and enraged. But when the pinnacle of pleasure finally hit me, it was so gradual, so intense, every muscle in my body cramped, jolted, and thrashed. I quivered all over, my hands reaching for him, but he drew both my wrists to my sides, pinning me, not letting me touch him.
“Please,” I begged. “Please.”
He raised his body, pushing down his sweatpants and briefs, his raging hard-on right in front of my face. I writhed under him as his knees framed me from both sides, his erection in front of my face.
“Suck it,” he said simply.
I opened my mouth and took him in, feeling embarrassed and gratified as a result. I was breaking my own word—from only five minutes ago—because it felt good. Well, maybe not technically. I wasn’t the one on my knees for him. He’d leveled up with my face. But those were just semantics.
I wondered who the hell I was anymore.
“Coming in your mouth now,” he said before I even had a chance to suck. I realized going down on me alone had gotten him off. I gave him a slight nod, feeling his hand fisting my hair, guiding my head the way he wanted it while he came between my lips. Hot, thick liquid slid down my throat smoothly. I tasted it, salty and warm and sticky.
Hunter pulled his cock out of my mouth and put his thumb inside of it instead, swiping it over my coated tongue. He took the residue of his cum and used it to rub my cheek. Marking me. He tucked himself back in with his free hand.
“See, baby? One-hundred-percent domesticated. I may be a hunter, Sailor, but I think in your case, I’d like to keep you as a temporary pet.”
“I hate you,” I said quietly, feeling so hot with shame I wanted to explode.
He stood up, turned around, and waved his hand dismissively, his back to me as he walked out of the bathroom.
“You know, I’d have probably bought it if it wasn’t for my pussy breath. Also, you’re welcome for the protein shot.”
It was a combination of many things that landed me at the mall.
First, Junsu was giving me two
cold shoulders as my one injured shoulder was recovering. I took physical therapy every day with Dave, the guy Hunter had hooked me up with. I also got my shots and avoided heavy lifting, but Junsu’s irritation only grew. If anything, he was now dodging my calls and always busy when I came to the range. I gathered he wasn’t happy with the Fitzpatricks’ involvement in my career. I couldn’t fully blame him. Stray dogs weren’t loyal, and Hunter was as hungry as they come. Not to mention, his reputation alone would make Scott Disick look like salt of the Earth.
Since I’d gotten a second opinion from another doctor as promised—which matched the initial diagnosis about my shoulder—I chalked Junsu’s behavior up to a bruised ego and decided to give him a few days to chill.
Second of all, there was my dire fashion situation. I was getting more interviews and attending photoshoots, now that Crystal was pushing me around, and I preferred to do it in clothes that didn’t imply I was missing both my eyesight and common sense.
The third reason was, sadly, Hunter. I didn’t want to consider him a factor, but the truth was, I wanted to impress him. I wanted him to think I was pretty, to make him forget about the Emilys and Alices of the world.
Okay, if I was being completely honest, the transformation was ninety percent Hunter-related and ten percent about the mounting attention from the press and my excess of free time. But that wasn’t something I was eager to share with another living soul. It could be mine and my (obviously absent) brain’s secret.
So here we were, Aisling, Persy, Emmabelle, and I, armed with pumpkin spice lattes even though summer temperatures were clinging to Boston’s fall months for dear life, refusing to retreat, carrying our shopping bags.
I’d purchased an entire training wardrobe of tight black pants that were as comfy as yoga pants, but looked sleek and elegant, like cigar pants. My bland, snug shirts had been replaced with cropped, trendy tops featuring lace and patterns and carefully cut designs, and I’d also been successfully bullied into buying a few cute dresses I had no doubt I’d never wear.
I’d sworn to my friends that I’d throw away what they referred to as my “boner-killing” wardrobe—mainly yoga pants that had seen more washes than Michael Phelps’ swim trunks and hoodies that were so frayed, they seemed to have created more sleeves for themselves. To drive the point home, my friends had decided to accompany me to my apartment. They wanted to see for themselves that I got rid of my old clothes.