Prince Hunter: A Prince of Tease Novel (Princes of Tease Book 2)

by Xavier Neal

  Rory's expression brightens again. “I've never done that either.”

  Baffled I drop my jaw. “What the hell were you doin' growin' up?”

  “When your grandfather works around the dead, Halloween isn't treated with the same appreciation. It was just another day. No costumes. No candy. No zombies, which you would think would've been a little fun or at least a possibility growing up around a mortuary, but grandfather showed me early on how the process was done and why zombies were never an actual possibility.”

  With a shake of the head, I reach out and link my fingers with hers. “Then this is my vow to you, Sugar. This fall season will be the best you've ever had.”

  “It already is...”

  You know, I appreciate the way she broke free of the restraints of the mundane life she was forced to grow up in, but she's gotta see there's more to it than that. She's gotta see the beauty behind the 'borin'. The fun in plantin' roots or routines. And it's gonna be my pleasure to show her. Who knows? Maybe it'll return more appreciation for the good things I left behind rather than let me continue to resent the shit that ran me off.

  Rory

  Hunter drops his arm around my shoulder. “You sure you wanna apple bob?”

  “You don't wanna see my lips wrapped around something big and juicy?”

  His groan rumbles through him and into me.

  Don't look at me like that. He set me up! Okay, so maybe not exactly, but it was too good to pass on.

  “What did I do to deserve that?”

  “You're making me wait to eat a turkey leg!”

  He tucks me in closer. “It's best to only put one thing in your mouth at a time.”

  A teasing look appears in my eyes.

  “That...that one I heard, but seriously. Bes' not to eat somethin' then shove your face in ice cold water.” Arriving in front of the booth, he hands the operator a couple tickets, and cocks a smirk. “It's pretty intense. Last chance to back out, Sugar.”

  “I jumped out of an airplane a few days ago. Pretty sure I can handle shoving fruit in my mouth, Cowboy.”

  Hunter surrenders his hands. “I warned you.”

  After giving him a mordant expression, I glance at the booth runner, who ushers a hand for me to start whenever I've ready. I don't wait a moment longer to grab the sides of the bucket and lower my face for the bright red apple I've got my eye on. The ice cold water hurts on initial contact and continues as I begin to move my face. Pushing through the discomfort, I attempt a wide yet pointless bite. Not one to get discouraged quickly, I try again for a different apple, the cold water stinging my senses with every movement. My face pops up needing a break, but the cooling fall air only seems to further the pain rather than soothe it.

  What the hell?! Who does this for fun annually? What is wrong with people?

  I take a long deep breath and repeat the process. Several unsuccessful attempts later, I pull my defeated face up.

  Hunter tries to hide his cocky smile as he admires my chattering teeth.

  It's. Fucking. Cold. What's the point of the ice? To make it harder?! It's not the ice bucket challenge. It's not necessary!

  “Chilly, Sugar?”

  I take a couple steps away from the bucket. Through still chattering teeth, I take the paper towel being offered by the booth operator and say, “Your....turn....”

  He gives me a wink, relocates to the bucket, grips the sides, and lowers his face in. Anxiously, I stare on, doing my best not to get distracted by his insanely gorgeous outline.

  It baffles me how amazing he looks with or without clothes. Everything about him is so overwhelming. Just the sight of him typically makes me wet. The broad shoulders. The bulging biceps. The lickable triceps. Man is made of pure muscle on the upper portion of his body, abs included. He's also got a great ass. I know, most women don't appreciate the appeal of a great man ass, but I could definitely take a bite out of it. Easier than the apple that's for sure.

  Hunter's body jerks up, water flinging around. To my surprise there's a shiny red prize between the pair of lips that never cease to impress me.

  Some nights he's down there for hours. Some nights he won't even let me return the favor! Just feasts until I fall fast asleep tangled in orgasms, exhaustion, and rope. Not sure I have the same love affair with it as him, but I'm definitely getting there. About a month of constantly being tied up by it can definitely rock a person's mind.

  He leans over and I slowly remove the object. The snarky smile causes me to snip, “Do I wanna know why you're so good at getting things this big and juicy in your mouth?”

  The booth operator chuckles and Hunter gives him a scowl before saying to me. “Don't be a sore loser.”

  With a giggle I have a bite. “Not a loser. I got to see you all wet, make your forehead crinkle, and have a tasty treat since you insisted we wait for lunch. Pretty sure that's the epitome of winning.”

  The smile on his face agrees with my statement. In a swift motion he uses the edge of his shirt to dry his face. Afterward he returns his arm around my shoulder and kisses the side of my damp forehead.

  “Bite?” I offer him the prize he returned with. “You earned it.”

  He grabs it with his free hand, has a bite, and tosses his head forward. “And you earned a turkey leg. Come on.”

  With one arm wrapped around his waist, I lean into him. “All kidding aside. Why are you so good at that?”

  The two of us make our way around the face painted children chasing each other around the event. Helplessly, I give them a slightly somber smile.

  Hunter immediately sees. “What?”

  I try to brush it off. “Nothing. Just...you know, never did that as a kid. Or at least I don't remember doing it.”

  “Run around?”

  “The whole face paint thing. Or carnivals. Or now that you mention it, run around with my friends like that. I mean, maybe I did? Memories from before my parents’ accident are locked up in my brain with a permanent 'do not disturb' sign. The therapist said sometimes it happens with children who are faced with a tragic event.”

  Like watching your mother die in front of your eyes to nothing but the sounds of machines beeping. Or being held against your will in the dark desolation with only the sounds of your own screaming to keep you company.

  He offers me back the fruit. “That's all I did as a kid. Festivals like this a few times a year. Run around all year long even if there was snow on the ground. I spent so much time outside Mama was afraid I was buildin' a fort to live in.”

  Hearing his cheerful childhood warms me. “Were you?”

  “Fort Hunter, which had a strict no chicks allowed policy 'til I was twelve and Lily wanted to make out with me in it, it was strictly for fun not survival.”

  I giggle again.

  “But shit like this? We were at festivals and cook offs year 'round. Sam held the record for most amount of apples bobbed across the state 'til he was like ten. I asked him to show me the trick and haven't had a problem since. Hadn't done it in years but figured it was probably like ridin' a bike.”

  We arrive in front of the turkey leg vendor just as I ask, “What kind of festivals and cook offs?”

  “Name it. Pecans. Pumpkins. Pies. Chili-”

  “Oh my gosh, chili in the winter is one of my favorite things!”

  He glances down at me, the question coated in the southern drawl I'm more than accustomed to, “Is that righ'?”

  “Hell yeah! Get all wrapped up in a big comfy sweater or under a fuzzy blanket, big bowl of chili and put on the Hallmark Channel’s Christmas movies. Yup. Those days are my favorite in the winter.”

  And considering how much I loathe Christmas and Christmas time, those are also the few select days I happen to not be working.

  He cocks a grin. “Seems a little lower key than your normal routine.”

  I nudge him in the side and correct, “Not a routine kind of person, you know that. Besides, it's not as boring as you imagine. I try to buy different types
of chili made with exotic peppers or other crazy ingredients.”

  “Ah.”

  “Plus every year I hunt for at least three Christmas movies I've never seen before.”

  Thankfully, it's one of the busiest times of year for funerals preventing true down time to do things like wallow in the sadness of parents’ unexpected death during that time. Brian always insists we can work less days, that we should work less days, that I need to use the time to reflect, but he just doesn't seem to understand by working I am doing the only thing I know how to do to stop from falling apart.

  “Is that what I have to look forward to this season?”

  His question twists my lips tightly closed at the same time I chuck the apple in the trash.

  Yeah...not sure about that. We have been hanging out for a while- what? Dating? Fine. If you must call it that. We've been....that for a few weeks now. I'll admit they have been the most fun and passionate days I've had....probably ever, but I'm not sure about long-term. And I mean anything long-term. Ever. You've met me. Being tied down to boring cliché lifestyles aren't my thing. I can barely commit to dinner let alone another person.

  Hunter's arm falls as we move forward in line. He tries to hide his unease. “You should let me make chili for you. I'm a three-time state champ.”

  The change in subject loosens the reins around my lungs. “Shut up. What?!”

  “Freshman, sophomore, and junior year. Would've been senior year too but I um...was dealin' with some family issues at the time.” There's no pause for exploration. “What do you think? Can I at least make you chili in the near future?”

  I casually nod seconds before the turkey leg vendor asks us for our order. Hunter kindly order us two legs and an order of fries to share. Once he's paid, we shift to the side and begin to wait in slightly uncomfortable silence.

  Think I hurt his feelings by not pretending we'll still be together in winter? I mean, I don't know if we will or won't! I just....I'm not okay making false promises like that. One moment at a time. Best way to live life.

  Thankfully, the wait is short, and we're sitting at a picnic table stuffing our faces a few moments later, still without conversation.

  So...is this the end? Did I accidentally end our time together? Not how I figured it would have happened, but like I told you, I don't think I'm built for anything long-term. Being tied up outside of the bedroom is E.T. level of alien to me. Never had much of a desire for it either. What? I don't know if I do right now...Stop asking questions. Try a turkey leg.

  Hunter nods his head. “Was it worth the wait?”

  I hum my content and wipe my hands.

  “Good,” he sighs. “We'll head to the pumpkin patch next, grab a couple, and can head home. Sound good to you?”

  “Sounds great,” the joy in my voice seems to slightly lift his mood. “Do you still wanna show me how to carve 'em?”

  Hunter pushes his barely eaten plate away. “Of course. Why wouldn't I?”

  Rather than turn the conversation the direction that brought the last wave of silence, I merely move it along. “Who taught you how to carve pumpkins?”

  “Mama. She would help us carve 'em in the kitchen while she baked 'em into pies. She used to bake the seeds too. Sprinkle a little brown sugar on top.”

  “Pumpkin seeds? You...eat them?”

  “Hell yeah. Probably my favorite fall treat. We should do that tonight too.”

  I have one final bite and jump up. “Ready!”

  He lightly laughs.

  “Come on.” My hands wrap around his bicep and start to tug. “I wanna go before all the good ones are taken!”

  “Alright, alright. Let me toss the trash.”

  When I make an attempt to help he moves my hands away, the same way he does with anything he considers the 'gentleman' thing to do.

  Throwing my trash away is the tip of the iceberg. He has to open all doors. He pulls my chair out for me, occasionally orders for us both after I've picked out what I want to eat, not because he has to look like the man in charge, but because his father taught him, a real man takes care of his woman at every possible corner. I'm not against being pampered and sporadically he allows the favor returned with a back rub after a long night of dancing or bringing him coffee and muffins before I head into work. Being treated so kindly without any expectations in return is new. I like new. I also hope as long as we keep....you know...he keeps acting this way and it doesn't just fade like other things in relationships tend to. Not that we're in an actual relationship. Ugh. You knew what I meant, right?

  In the patch, he leads me around by my hand, helping me avoid the children who are running around like the pumpkins are Christmas presents rather than fruits mislabeled as vegetables. I try to focus on the lessons about pumpkins he's trying to teach, but can't help be distracted by the adorable fits thrown by kids who can't wrap their arms around the orange joy of their choice.

  It's kinda precious...

  “You want kids some day?”

  Swiftly I turn to him and come to a halt. “Excuse me?”

  “Kids,” he repeats the word. “You keep looking at 'em with a strange mix of appreciation and apprehension.”

  Is it that obvious?

  His arms brace themselves against his chest. “So do you?”

  Flustered, an unusual disposition for me, I start to stutter, “I-I-I don't know. I mean...maybe. No. They're so...permanent. And I...I like my life with room to wiggle and to grow and to bungee jump off a bridge in the middle of spring if I want.” My eyes follow a little girl who is dragging her father along with her towards a misshapen pumpkin. “They just...they require you to be tied down. Tied too tightly to another person. I don't think...we'd be a good fit. ”

  There's a short hum out of him.

  First the spending the holidays together talk, now kids? These aren't good topics for people who have been together for just a few weeks. These are topics for people like Megan and Dean. Happy established couples building a future together. I'm all about fun. Right here. Right now. Even if I'm the one killing it by putting that sad look in his eyes.

  Hunter clears his throat and tosses his head. “Go ahead and pick one.”

  My face scrunches. “All on my own?”

  “I'm right here. I'll tell you if it's not a good idea to bring it home.” He immediately corrects. “I meant, back to my penthouse.”

  I hesitate for a moment before joining the chaos in the sea of orange. Doing my best to remember the lessons on everything from color to thickness, I aimlessly roam around.

  Yeah I thought it sounded like a penis conversation too. Kept it to myself though. You should too. He doesn't seem to be in a pleasant mood anymore. Hate being the reason anyone else isn't happy. Happiness is so important.

  Grabbing one, I bring it over, and hold it out for inspection. “This one?”

  He gives a quick glance. “Too many brown spots.”

  “You're afraid of a pumpkin with freckles,” I try to lighten the mood.

  “Too many mean bugs have had a field day with it. Probably nested inside.”

  I gag and place the pumpkin down.

  In an even tone he encourages, “Try again.”

  After a nod, I wander around, a little further from him, and go for what I determine has to be a good choice. Quickly, I hustle back over and showcase the find with pride.

  This is a good looking one! It's round and plump. If it were a set of tits all the men would be drooling after it.

  “Ha!”

  His head tilts indicating I've failed again.

  You know, I don't think I like pumpkin picking.

  “It looks like it's got a soft spot right here.” He leans over to touch. “Yup. Probably already decaying on the inside. Not good for carving.”

  On another huff, I put it down, and snip, “Instead of standing there judging like Jack Skeleton, why don't you help me and make this process easier?”

  Without a word Hunter grabs my hand and abruptly drags
me off to the left towards the less crowded area. Once we're there, he slows his movements, and quietly says, “The most important thing 'bout findin' the right pumpkin is the exact same thing about findin' the right person to spend your life with.” His body casually comes to a stop and he bends down. I follow the action. “It's not findin' one that's the perfect size or one a specific color.” Hunter’s fingertips slowly run down the side of the one in front of us. When his eyes shift to mine, he whispers, “It's about followin' your heart.”