Needing some fresh air, I launch out of the stall, only to meet Maddy’s eyes in the mirror as she reapplies her lipstick. “What are you up to?” she asks, mid-stroke.
“Nothing,” I singsong, walking toward the basin.
“Uh huh. You’ve got that same look you had when you cut off Chloe Taylor’s pigtail in third grade.”
“She was asking for it,” I reply, turning on the faucet and washing my hands. “Ashton asked me to go steady, not her.”
Maddy smiles, the memory a fond one for both of us, as it highlights simpler times. “What’s your beef with Keira?” I raise my eyebrows, pausing from pumping the soap dispenser. “Apart from the obvious.”
“I don’t trust her,” I frankly declare. “She also has the type of face you want to greet with a brick.”
Once Maddy is done applying her pink lipstick, she caps the tube with a smirk. “Someone sounds like a jealous girlfriend.” And this is exactly the reason why I need proof.
“Me? Jealous? I don’t think so.”
“So, you’re his girlfriend then?” Damn, I should have seen that coming. “Hey, no judgment. God knows it took me a while to adjust, but as long as you’re happy…”
I dry my hands on a paper towel, stalling, looking at her as I ponder over her words. Am I happy? I suppose I am. The butterflies are definitely present when Hunter is around, and when he’s not, I miss him. Like a lot.
Maddy bursts out laughing, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. “You’re so screwed.” I don’t bother arguing.
We exit the bathroom, discussing shoes and jewelry and all things white, but both come to a screeching halt when we see two skanks lingering around our table, nothing but trouble following them.
The busty blonde and perky brunette are very openly flirting with our men. Dixon yawns, looking more interested in the game on the TV, but Hunter, forever the ladies’ man, smirks at whatever Malibu Barbie just said.
My insecurity, which has laid semi-dormant, raises its sleepy head. Looking at the scenario, all I get in response is a half shrug and an I told you so. But I refuse to believe Hunter hasn’t changed. There is no way he’d touch this plastic bimbo with a ten-foot pole, but when she sits near him and he doesn’t stab her with his fork, I begin to doubt my certainty.
Maddy and I march over, thankfully she’s holding onto me because I’m contemplating ripping out the bimbo’s hair extensions one by one. “I’m pretty sure Alley Cat’s is that way,” I state, hooking my thumb over my shoulder toward the vicinity of the infamous strip club.
Barbie looks utterly offended. She’s lucky I didn’t greet her with a drink thrown in her face. “I’ll call you,” she has the balls to say to Hunter. Why does she have his number?
He opens his mouth to say god knows what, but I interject, because this just got personal. “Lose his number, sweetheart…if not, you’ll be losing your teeth.”
She narrows her eyes and rises, ready to no doubt give me a piece of her mind, but my threat isn’t empty. She has three seconds to leave, because this bitch will be going down. “Just stop right there,” I command, placing my hand out to stop her advances. The floor is mine and I intend to own it. “I already don’t give a fuck.”
Hunter’s hoarse laughter fills the air, while Maddy shoulders past the brunette, who topples over in her ridiculous heels. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there,” she sarcastically says. Dixon welcomes her into his arms, where she very possessively kisses the living shit out of him. What a way to mark her claim. The women get the hint and hobble off, both ego and ankles bruised.
Maddy and Dixon are making out like it’s 1999, while I place a hand on my cocked hip, glaring at Hunter something wicked. I don’t know if I want to kiss or kill him. A thought plays at the back of my mind. Did he just give her his number? Or if she already had it, how well does he know her, and by that, I mean how many times have they fucked?
The bile returns.
A million emotions run rampant, but for some stupid reason I focus on my fries, and the blob of mayonnaise sitting dead center. These weren’t here before I left, so I know the waitress brought them when we were in the bathroom and Hunter took the liberty of dousing my fries. I know it’s insignificant, but in a weird way, it placates my anger, because it’s the simple things which mean so much.
He did this without a thought, just how he has a hundred times before because he knows I like mayonnaise with my fries. He also tolerates me sleeping with socks even though it drives him crazy. Being in a relationship is about compromise. It’s also about trust— trusting that other person to not revert to his manwhore ways because you…are…enough.
And the way he’s looking at me—part humor, all possession, I feel like more than enough.
“Outside.”
Hunter doesn’t argue. He shoots upward, never breaking eye contact with me as we leave Maddy and Dixon to their very public PDA.
I’m a livewire, ready to electrocute anyone in my path. The cool air laps at my heated skin, but it doesn’t even touch the sides, because I’m currently on fire. “Shortcake…she’s someone I used to…know. Years ago.”
His pause infuriates me further and I continue marching down the street, unsure exactly where I’m headed. “I don’t even remember her name.”
So not helping.
Pushing past pedestrians, I breathe a sigh of relief when the herd thins, as I’m moments away from doing something which will surely get me arrested. I turn down a dingy alleyway, the ones your mom tells you stay away from when you’re a kid, but now, I embrace the darkness.
“Would you stop and talk to me!”
His desperation matches my fury—a lethal combination.
“Mary, for fuck’s sake, stop!” The second he makes contact with me, wrapping those long fingers around my wrist, a hunger overtakes me and I attack.
Spinning, I slam my chest to his, threading my fingers through the hair at his nape. He’s not wearing it in his usual manbun, so it’s free and wild and so fucking sexy. Jerking his head backward, I pin him with a feral stare. A gasp leaves his parted, pink lips—lips I want to fucking devour whole.
“Now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do?” It’s a challenge, one I’ll happily accept.
A moment of clarity is overshadowed by the fierce need to consume, demolish, and possess, and nothing else matters but this. Our lips collide, and it’s a flurry of hands as we tear at one another, ready to strip flesh from bone.
I dig my fingernails into his scalp, desperate to claw my way into him and never leave. His tongue circles mine as he tastes and samples my frenzy. This isn’t going to be gentle. A sense of ownership has tackled me from behind, and all I can think about is marking Hunter as mine.
“I want you inside of me,” I whisper against his lips, unfastening the top button of his jeans with haste.
“Here?” When I thrust my hand into his pants and am greeted with his blistering hard on, I grunt in response.
Wrapping my fingers around his heavy shaft, I begin to stroke him, eager to feel this beast inside. He jerks into my palm, sealing his mouth around mine as we kiss. It’s hard to believe he had a thing against kissing, because this is beyond words.
He bites my bottom lip before severing our mouths, and before I can question what he’s doing, he grips my upper arms and spins me, slamming me up against a brick wall. His strength is exactly what I need.
With desperate hands, he hikes up the hem of my dress, and without delay, rips my thong clean off. He palms my exposed cheeks, humming in utter delight. “I want to lick every part of you.” He runs his pointer along the pleat of my ass. “You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”
I wiggle my behind and he groans.
“Don’t tempt me.”
He presses his chest to my back, reaching around my hip to pay attention to my needy clit. When he feels how slick I am, he hums in approval. Without a second to waste, he inserts two fingers into me, stretching me wide.
&nbs
p; “Oh god…” My eyes droop to half-mast as I focus on this and nothing else.
He pumps in and out, circling my ripe center, which has me yelping in carnal need. “You’ll be the death of me.” My hips undulate, welcoming this tender intrusion with complete gratification.
He pinches at my clit before removing his fingers and slipping them into my mouth. I suckle at them, tasting myself on his fingers, an unexpected head rush. “See how good you taste.” His digits pop from my lips as he yanks them out, only for him to suck at them himself.
The imagery is enough to almost make me come.
He inserts his slick fingers back into me, always the gentleman to ensure I’m ready to take that monster cock inside. When he feels I’m more than ready, he rubs his scorching erection against my ass, kicking my feet out wide.
I’m seconds away from begging, when he suddenly retreats and curses. “Fuck, I don’t have any protection.” I almost sob. “It’s okay, Shortcake, let me take care of you.”
He makes his intentions clear when he tunnels his fingers in deeper, but they’re a poor substitute for what I want. Without any regrets, I still his movements and say, “I don’t care.”
“What? It’s okay to go bareback?” His surprise is clear, but we can think about the repercussions tomorrow, because now, I need him inside of me.
When I feel him hesitate, I reach behind me and grip his length. He hisses, but doesn’t resist as I arch into him, showcasing my intentions. Withdrawing his fingers, he presses his chest flat to my back and cages me with his brute strength. I splay my hands against the wall, bowing my back, offering myself to him.
He groans in approval before I feel his blunt, hot head nudge against my pussy. His silken cock feels amazing and I want so much more. “This is going to get messy.” I wonder if he too reads the double meaning behind his words.
“Good,” I counter. “Give me everything you’ve got.”
He runs his tongue along the length of my neck before wrapping an arm around my waist and driving me back onto his shaft. We both cry out, the feel of him, in the flesh, sliding against mine is just too holy for words. He stills, as if wanting to drag out this heightened sensation as long as he can.
Hunter has been inside of me countless times before, but there is something pure, almost seamless being fused together this way. There are no walls, no barriers between us, and a sudden heavy weight settles within my heart. “Don’t break me,” I whisper.
He knows of my past, of how my high school love broke me, but this is the first time I’ve expressed my fears aloud. This raw union has changed me forever.
“I promise,” he vows, accenting his oath as he begins to move.
Everything is intensified. Each stroke has me crying out and forgetting my own name. He starts slow, cussing each time he pulls out, before sinking all the way back in. Like always, our bodies move in sync, pushing and pulling, the perfect yin to yang.
We increase the speed, the cadence a hot, heavy melody, his cock piercing into me over and over again. The alleyway is filled with grunts and the slapping of flesh, and when Hunter pinches my gorged center, I scream.
He growls into my ear, fucking me senseless.
The bricks are coarse, and when Hunter realizes he’s slamming me up against them, he quickly curves his upper arm so I’m able to use the muscled surface as a makeshift pillow. I rest my cheek on his forearm, the kind gesture involuntarily bringing tears to my eyes.
“You feel fucking incredible.” His breathy admission has me mewling and racing closer toward the edge. “This is unlike anything.”
He’s steering my hips, ensuring I take every hard inch of him, so when he drives me backward and buries himself so deeply within, I have no other choice but to chase my looming release. I ride his cock, just how I know he likes me to, bucking into him until our bodies are a frantic blur.
When he hits my g-spot, I literally see stars and come fiercely with a thunderous sob. He milks every tremor, playing with my clit until I’m thrashing about, certain I’m going to die. Once I’m spent, he pulls out with a grunt, before I feel a silky warmth coat the small of my back and ass.
His primitive growls excite me once again and I turn over my shoulder to watch him spill his seed. The sight is glorious, his long, hard cock standing tall and proud. His eyes are squeezed shut, the corded veins in his neck bursting as he cries out in utter ecstasy. Once he’s done, he sags against me, kissing my neck, my ear, any place where his lips can find flesh.
We stay embraced this way, until with one final kiss against my throat, he pulls away. He holds me in place, surprising me as he rips off his t-shirt to wipe me clean. “That’s not necessary,” I hoarsely say. “I was prewarned. Now you’ve gone and ruined your t-shirt.”
Once I’m clean, he tosses his now soiled shirt into the trash. “So worth it.”
Turning sluggishly, my jelly legs barely hold me up when Hunter stands before me, topless, slowly rearranging himself into his pants. He leaves the top button of his jeans undone, the soft curls painting his belly button highlight his rock-hard abs and mouth-watering V.
He scratches over his ripped flank, as if deep in thought. I’m about to ask what’s up, but he beats me to the chase. “I was going to give this to you before…” When he reaches into his pocket and produces a silver key, I stop breathing. “With me being away, it’ll be difficult for you to finish your project, so um…here is a key to my apartment.”
He extends it, and I stare at the dangling piece of metal, blinking back my tears. This is big, like really big. It’s also a sign that he trusts me, just how I do him. No matter my fears of him hurting me, or him being too good to be true, I have to roll with the punches and accept this man as being nothing short of perfect.
Accepting his offering, I twirl the simple object in my hand. But it means so much.
“I want it back when I come home though,” he teases, drawing me into his arms and kissing the tip of my nose.
“I think I’m going to miss you,” I fearlessly declare. It feels good.
His surprise is clear, because this candidness is something new for us. We’re both usually guarded, but tonight, something has changed. “What do you know?” he finally says with that lopsided smirk. “I think I’m going to miss you too.”
Could it be Hunter has not only given me the key to his apartment, but to his heart as well? A girl can only hope.
The Fortune Cookie
“I mean no disrespect, like none, but come the fuck on. Why can’t you call him?”
The petite woman behind the desk shimmies her chair away from the crazy American as she most likely reaches for her hidden can of mace.
After flying thirteen-odd hours to get here, I don’t want to fuck around. I want to see Mr. Yeong, talk some sense into him, have some sake, and then go back home. Mary’s sweet kisses still linger as she dropped me off at the airport yesterday morning, promising to welcome me home in nothing but heels. But Mr. Yeong’s secretary is being a complete mood killer, because no one seems to know when Mr. Yeong will be back in town.
I suppose this is my fault for up and leaving without a solid plan, but this guy is a workaholic. It’s smart business. That’s why his office is open on a Sunday. I just assumed he would be here, but apparently, he’s not, which makes me all the more suspicious that something is rotten in Beijing.
“Fine then, I’ll just wait here.” I literally mean the spot I stand when I use the marbled counter as my La-Z-Boy.
My plans are foiled however, when a mean looking Korean Hulk Hogan saunters from out of nowhere, ready to chop suey my ass. “We will let Mr. Yeong know you visited.”
“Visited? This isn’t a social call. This is business. Business which Mr. Yeong and I need to discuss immediately.” My pleas fall on deaf ears, however.
Sick of hearing my own voice, I reach into my suit pocket and retrieve my business card. “In case he lost my number. Thanks.” The secretary accepts it as she would a diseased limb. “For n
othing,” I add, tempted to sprint into the elevator doors behind her. The hulking macho man reads my thoughts and stands in front of them, arms folded, daring me to make his day.
This is nothing but a waste of time, so I leave. When I eventually find where Mr. Yeong is holed up, I’ll be sure to tell him his staff are complete asshats.
The streets of Manhattan have nothing on the bustle in Beijing. It’s like Times Square on steroids. On most days, I would sightsee, definitely have a beer or two, but today, I just want to catch a cab back to my hotel and sleep this fucked up day away.
D2 decides now is a good time to pep up and announce his belief that my sullied mood is because I’m missing Mary. I hate to admit it, but it’s true.
This past month has been fucking incredible, and that’s not just because fucking Mary is incredible, it’s because every minute I spend with her is equivalent to being the best minutes of my life. Oh my god, I sound like a Michael Bolton remix, but it’s the truth.
Giving her a key to my apartment should have freaked me out, but it didn’t. In my unromantic brain, it seemed like the logical thing to do, because I want her there in my apartment, always. I know it’s a big deal to some, but to me, it felt liberating to finally rid myself of this stigma.
I like Mary. She likes me. I don’t see the point in fucking around.
I know she’s guarded at times because of what her asshole ex-boyfriend did to her, but I’m not like that ball-less little chump. I still feel like I need to thank her when she lets me bury myself in her.
I still don’t really know the proper protocol when it comes to dating, but I’m learning. Even though we’re both comfortable with the no labels, Mary is my…girlfriend? Partner? What are the kids calling it nowadays? Either way, she’s my woman, and being here is taking time away from slapping that fine ass and kissing those addictive lips. What a complete moron I was for not kissing her sooner. Just think how many kisses I’ve missed out on.
I rub over my chest, the ache amped tenfold. I try not to think about her because this happens…I hurt, and then I feel the need to binge on sugar. Holy shit—I’m turning into Finch.
The Hunt - Monica James Page 23