by Shen, L. J.
I knew they did.
They always waited, watched, cared for me.
Mom and Dad were my summer.
The apartment was dark and cool. There was something clinical and hotel-like about it, due to the air conditioner working overtime and the sleek, sophisticated furnishings that offered no personality. Up until now, I hadn’t known how Hunter could stand it. Now I knew—he had no idea what a real home looked like.
I kicked my shoes off, my heart tap-tap-tapping impatiently, like an index finger over a surface.
I tiptoed my way to his room. The door was ajar. It was always ajar, a constant invitation. I pushed it open, and my heart sank when I realized he was fast asleep, his long, lithe limbs spread lazily on his California king bed. His skin was bronze, his taut muscles extended. Even asleep, he had the face of a sinister devil, framed by the blond curls of an angel.
Inwardly cursing myself for being late and him for being tired, I was about to stumble back to the living room and put something on Netflix, too amped up to go to bed. Just as I took a step back, Hunter’s voice, smooth and rough, came to me through the dark.
“Let me warm you up, aingeal dian.”
I turned back, walking into his room like I was facing death row. With every step I took, I felt like I was shedding, leaving something behind.
Step. Fear.
Step. Anxiety.
Step. Obsession.
Step. Overthinking.
I reached the foot of his bed. He extended his hand to me. I didn’t take it. Not yet. Something stopped me. I knew better than to ask for some kind of assurance, so it wasn’t about that. Still, I was uneasy. On edge.
Hunter sat upright, took my hand in his, and brought it to his heart. His bare chest was warm and hard. His skin smooth behind his chest hair. There was no hint of humor in his voice.
“Cross my heart and hope to die, when I first saw you in that parking lot, I knew your blood type was gold. I think we’ll be a good lesson for each other, Sailor. You don’t know how to live, and I don’t know how to do anything but live hedonistically.”
As he said that, I realized I’d never felt more mortal. But being mortal was being alive. I had so much to lose. So much to gain. So much to feel.
Hunter stood, using his thumb to brush the strap of my dress from my shoulder.
“I hate winter,” I croaked, looking down. “I’ve always hated winter.”
“Me too.” He captured my lips in his, unzipping my dress from behind until I was in front of him in nothing but my bra and panties. He kept kissing me—just kissing—gently, artfully, making me forget myself completely.
I forgot I was in the arms of the most untrustworthy man in America.
A man who promised me nothing but heartbreak.
A man who made me break my promise to his father—a promise laced with my future—simply because he knew how to charm his way out of every situation.
The first rain of fall started beating on the windows outside, and my heart squeezed in my chest.
Send me a signal, God, I’d asked the day Hunter thrust himself into my life. I wondered what fate was trying to tell me now.
He kissed me until my lips were sore, and when he took a step back to scan my body head to toe, I noticed he’d gotten rid of my bra somehow without my even realizing it. My underwear was shoved halfway down my legs, to my knees. I blinked back at him, awaiting verdict.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking at you.” He rearranged the bulge in the center of his sweatpants.
“You’ve already seen me naked.” I scowled, taking a step forward and wrapping my arms around his neck. He dodged me again, still watching my body.
“Not willingly.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Then, you were a bomb waiting to be diffused. Now you’re an offering.”
I gritted my teeth, ready to lash out at him. Every time we were in the same room, the urge to fight him and have sex with him overwhelmed me.
“Well?” I pushed my panties all the way down, knotting my arms over my breasts, arching an eyebrow. “Am I good enough for you?”
“No,” he said evenly. “You’re better than me.”
With that, he pounced, throwing me to his bed, kissing my lips roughly, his mouth traveling down my neck. He stopped at my chest, drawing one of my nipples into his mouth and sucking it so hard I let out a whimper. I shoved his sweatpants down by the waistband, bracketing his waist with my legs and toeing the fabric away like a savage while my hands roamed his back. After sucking my entire breast into his mouth, he moved to the next one while reaching between us and playing with my clit. This time, he bit my nipple, teasing it with his teeth and tongue. I writhed, finding his engorged erection between our bodies, squeezing it hard.
“I’m going to fuck your brains out,” he groaned into my skin, his face sliding down from my tits to my navel. My entire body shook. His ridge slipped from my hand as he moved, leaving me with nothing. I felt empty, buzzing with anticipation.
“Do it, then.” I stomped on his mattress.
He laughed, taking his sweet time and drawing circles with his tongue down to my belly button, lazy strokes that made me thrash beneath him, arching my back, offering more of my body to him.
I wanted to regret the day I’d said yes to this arrangement, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Strangely, I felt this was exactly where I was supposed to be, and who I was supposed to be with.
His mouth clamped on my clit, and he sucked it into his mouth. I moaned, running my fingers through his glorious hair, watching him eat me out with hungry eyes. He looked me in the eye the entire time, and I wanted to cry, because I knew no other man could make me feel the way he did. I felt like a peach, dripping nectar directly into his mouth.
The orgasm crept up on me. One moment I was enjoying his strokes, my body shivering on his bed, and the next each and every one of my muscles clenched, tightened, and tensed, my eyes falling shut as I cried out his name.
It took me almost a full minute to come down from the post-orgasmic fog, and by the time I sobered up, he was already sheathed with a condom, nudging my legs apart, and angling his cock into me, watching as his tip slid in.
I looked up at him. His eyes seared through mine.
“Permission to wreck your uterus?”
I nodded.
“I won’t be gentle.” He flashed one of his infamous half-smirks—the one he’d probably used thousands of times and resulted in thousands of orgasms. It felt dirty to the bone, being with him in a way so many others had. Problem was, no one told me how enjoyable his filthy halo would feel rubbing on me.
“I don’t need gentle. I’m a warrior, remember?” I grabbed his face, bringing him down for a scorching-hot kiss.
He slid all the way in with one thrust, biting the side of my neck like a tiger draining his victim of blood. “That’s what makes you so unfortunately irresistible.”
He thrust inside me in long, deep strokes. With each shove, I felt the bed moving an inch. The headboard slammed against the wall, the mattress squeaking its protest beneath us. Hunter hoisted one of my legs over his shoulder, wrapping the other against his waist while his eyes bore into mine. The bed and I whined in unison.
“Slow down,” I half-protested when I couldn’t understand whether it was me shaking the bed with my tremors, or the bed quaking beneath me.
Hunter was relentless. He was so hard and thick, I wondered if my insides would forever be molded to the shape of his erection. Screwing with him would make for an easier birth experience, I swore. He widened and stretched me, and I’d never felt so deliciously full in my life.
Hunter stopped, grabbed the back of my thigh from his shoulder, and flipped me over on my stomach. Reaching down between my legs, he hoisted my ass up in the air and spread my butt cheeks with his thumbs.
“Indulge me, baby,” he hissed, coating his finger with my juices and sliding it into my tight hole. It squeezed around him
nervously, and he wiggled his finger a little inside, stroking gently.
“Why?”
He kissed the side of my face, the silhouette of his features in my peripheral. He was so beautiful it squeezed my heart, making me want to cry.
“Because I’m your favorite villain,” he whispered.
With that, he withdrew his finger and then slid it back into me, an inch at a time. I cried out, clenching the sheets between my fingers and squeezing my eyes shut. He pushed his fingers into me at the same time. I loved it. All of it. Having him in both my holes. So full of him.
I loved that it felt a dash degrading.
Most of all, I loved that Hunter Fitzpatrick was crazy enough to screw someone behind his father’s back and risk losing his inheritance. Brave enough to fuck the daughter of a mob boss like an animal, knowing the potential consequences.
He was fearless, and a rebel, and a sinner, and a saint.
A prince who’d never wanted his title.
A pure-hearted rake.
He was everything a woman should run away from, personified. And yet here I was, falling deeper.
Overwhelming pleasure coursed between us, and I felt him swelling and jerking inside me as I fought my next climax, desperate we do this together.
“Are you coming?” I panted.
“Baby, I’m about to need an IV after this shit. Permission to be filthy?”
“Granted.” A moan tore from my mouth at the same time he pulled out of me. My knees knocked together. I shook, feeling the loss of him. He ripped the condom off, cupped my pussy with his hand, shoving three fingers into me, and pressed his cock into my sore, tight hole. With my butt up in the air and wide open, I felt the thick liquid of his cum shooting around it in hot ribbons. He pushed his fingers deeper between my lips, covering my entrance completely so his cum couldn’t drip into it. I came, too.
Hunter collapsed on top of me, his chest pressing against my sweaty back, and before we knew what was happening, the bed tipped over to one side, one of its legs breaking. The shattering noise of split wood filled the otherwise silent room.
I rolled down from the tipped mattress, and the only thought that crossed my mind was that my shoulder didn’t need another hit, especially after I was making some progress. But before my body reached the ground, I felt Hunter’s arm wrap around my waist, pulling me back up the bed gently. I clung to him like we were stranded in the middle of the ocean on a piece of wood.
“Jesus,” I groaned. “How’d that happen?”
“Is that a hypothetical question, or can I give you the long, dirty answer?” Hunter murmured into my ear, nibbling on my lobe, making me giggle.
I scrambled to get up on my feet, but he pinned me down, grabbing my butt. He kissed the side of my face.
“Wait here. I’ll clean you up.”
“The bed is broken,” I reminded him. “This is not a movie. I’m not going to luxuriously rest on a bed that’s tilted down.”
He rolled his eyes at me theatrically. “Cramping my style.”
He lifted me, honeymoon-style, and carried me to his en-suite bathroom. In there, he hoisted me on the counter, took a towel, rinsed it in hot water, and cleaned between my legs. I watched him the entire time. There was no way he did that with all of his hookups.
Stop thinking about them. Stop obsessing over the many girls he’s been with. There are more to come, and anyway, it’s none of your business.
“You handled things in a really badass way today,” I said after a while.
The silence was comfortable, but watching his face as his eyes focused on cleaning my most intimate places unraveled me. I still couldn’t believe I’d slept with someone who wasn’t a steady boyfriend of sorts.
Hunter shook his head. “I learned from a young age that women are not here to stay. My parents sent me to boarding school when I was six. I had nannies coming out of my ass whenever I was home. I don’t think my mom consciously knew she wasn’t there for me, but that doesn’t change the fact that she wasn’t. The nannies were interchangeable and frequently replaced. Da made it a point to change them every season so I wouldn’t learn to rely on a woman. I think it scared him to think one of his boys wouldn’t be fully independent. He did it with Cillian, too. Only difference was, Kill was born with a soul ten shades darker than a normal human—his father’s son through and through. We both grew up learning that women were disposable, born to serve us, and sire heirs. Da cheated on Mom. Mom cheated on Da. Kill…fuck knows what goes through his head while he samples his endless string of meaningless flings, but he knows how to do it quietly.”
I touched his face, urging him to say more. I could practically hear the wheels in his brain turn as he thought about it.
“What Da didn’t take into consideration was that I wasn’t Cillian. I wasn’t born a cold-blooded, self-serving degenerate with a taste for pain. So I went for the closest thing—a poor imitation. But it always came off without that Cillian Fitzpatrick shine. My flings are messy and public and, as it turns out, really fucking expensive.”
I laughed at that last part, cupping my mouth. Hunter let loose a tired grin, throwing the used towel onto the floor. The housekeeper would wash it when she came tomorrow morning, just like this was a hotel.
Maybe that’s how Hunter had always felt—like a guest, even in his own apartment.
I hopped down, pressing my hands to his chest. My whole body was sore. From the waist down, I felt like I’d been wrecked. From the waist up, every inch of my skin was covered with a red rash from his unforgiving stubble.
“Thanks.” I kissed the corner of his mouth.
“For what?”
“For being real. I know it’s hard.”
I started to my room, resisting the urge to invite him to my bed, seeing as his was broken. Never mind that we broke it together. I decided to be very careful with Hunter when it came to things that could be viewed as clingy or too relationship-y. Not just for his sake, but for mine, too.
The minute I stepped over his bathroom’s threshold, though, his hand snaked and caught me by the waist.
“Where do you think you’re going, aingeal dian? If you can still walk, that means we’re not finished yet.”
He carried me to my own bed and did unspeakable things to my body three more times that night.
Then fell asleep on top of me, our limbs tangled together.
And when we woke up the next morning, true to his promise, it was almost impossible to walk with the soreness between my legs. It felt like I was peeing fire, and I actually feared to do a number two.
But what I worried about most was my heart, which felt ten pounds heavier, and so swollen I almost tripped over my own feet.
The next six weeks passed quickly.
I was drowning in work and essays, but never missed a chance to fuck my roommate, who—it was safe to admit now—had turned out to be the best roommate in the history of roommates.
Just to be on the safe side, I didn’t get my bed replaced. It made slipping into her bed every night seem more practical and less…whatever. Even after Sailor got back to training full-time and started waking up early again, I still found time to fit in a morning quickie, even if it meant waking up with her.
It really took the edge off the rest of the day.
Bonus points: Da didn’t seem to be pissed at Sailor after that bullshit dinner, so there was no immediate threat to my inheritance. While he was careful not to talk to me, and limited our already-restricted communication, Sailor told me he’d been emailing her more frequently and had even used the term of endearment “sweetheart” (insert throwing up emoji here).
“He said he respected the way I stood up for you and gave him a piece of my mind, but at the same time, he knew I was smart enough not to get involved with you,” she told me the day after that dinner, ironically minutes after I’d used her thighs as ear-warmers and eaten her out for twenty minutes.
My lips were still glistening with her juices when I laughed, throwi
ng one arm behind my head.
“Maybe I’m not that smart.” She nuzzled her head in the crook of my arm as her fingers played with my chest hair. I fucking loved when she did that. I didn’t even know why. Sometimes she tugged at them real hard, but it was an intimate gesture no fling had ever done.
“Maybe he’s not that sharp,” I replied.
“The answer probably lies somewhere in the middle,” she mused.
I took her face in both my hands and kissed her hard. “There’s no way you are less than a genius. Takes one to know one.”
Though I didn’t feel like a genius, no matter what my IQ test indicated.
After that stupid-ass dinner, we went to visit my family or hers almost every weekend. Dinner with the Brennans was the tits.
Sparrow Brennan was a world-class cook (literally), and it was fun watching the infamous Troy Brennan getting the third degree from his spitfire wife and hell-raising daughter. I even learned how to get along with Sam. Sort of, anyway. He was a scary motherfucker.
We talked about every subject under the sun—politics and TV shows and new things to do in the city and the future, but never about money, which felt fresh. Da and Cillian only talked about money. Sometimes Aisling tagged along, which I liked, too, because she was pretty much the only family member I had that I was sure didn’t want to maim me to death with a dildo. But also didn’t like it, because she looked at Sam like he had the world clenched in his dirty-ass, violent palm. Aisling and Sam were a bad idea.
She was the princess in the ivory tower, and he was the punk who was going to steal and corrupt her on his lunch break from setting the world on fire.
He was too everything—old, experienced, and dangerous—for my baby sister.
Sometimes the Penrose sisters were there, too. I didn’t mind them all that much. I told myself they probably had no idea Sailor and I were fucking. They no doubt thought I didn’t deserve her, or worse—that I had no chance with her in the first place. Both were true, by the way.
Things didn’t go as fine and dandy when we had to visit my family, but as long as I kept my interactions with Da to a minimum, I survived. I even shared a few lukewarm words with Cillian that entailed zero profanity—mainly Patriots crap or how the new refinery in Maine was going down the shitters (my words, not his, God forbid). Still, it counted for something. One day at work, Kill even brought a cheesesteak sandwich and a large Coke to my desk when I was studying for an exam and didn’t have time to take my lunch break.