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

by Xavier Neal

  Without another word he hops out to assist me. The two of us make our way around to the rear where he let's down the tailgate and we crawl into the back. In an impressive maneuver, he spreads a blanket for us to lay on, leans against the side of the truck and pulls me into his lap.

  Once I'm settled, he uses the other to cover us. “This is the best spot on the whole property to watch the sunrise.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. And the bes' part is there's no one 'round for miles. Just us. Us and the early mornin' sun.”

  The words, which I know were intended to bring comfort create just the opposite effect. Naturally my entire body tenses. The tightening in my chest clawing up to tighten my throat.

  I need the noise. I....I need it....

  Hunter immediately asks, “What's wrong, Sugar? Cold?”

  I shut my eyes, making an attempt to find the noise in the darkness that hasn't awoken yet. Flashes of the dark barren room begin flashing in my head.

  Can't do this. Can't....not the silence...Please not the silence.

  “Talk to me, Sugar,” Hunter pleads in a shaky voice. “What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong.”

  “I....I....can we....noise? Noise please.”

  Confusion covers him.

  “Can you play the radio, please?”

  Without hesitating he slides from me, hops over the side of the truck, and turns it on. The moment the sound leaks from the cracked windows, the anxiety inside begins to settle and a deep exhale leaves me.

  As soon as he returns to the bed of the truck he demands, “Explain to me what jus' happened.”

  Sheepishly, I admit, “I don't like silence.”

  He furrows his eyebrows.

  “At all.”

  Knowing there's more he tucks his legs to his chest, drapes his arms over his knees, and waits for me to continue.

  Another sigh escapes. “After my parents died, my grandfather sent me away for a little while. I was so hysterical after their deaths, he insisted something else was wrong with me. As I got older I realized it was because he didn't know how to handle the grief he was dealing with.”

  “Sent you away to where?”

  “It was a mental health facility for children way in the middle of fucking nowhere. For three weeks, three long week, I was heavily sedated and deprived of sensory stimulating activities such as music or television because they insisted it would make it harder for me to focus on the grief I was working through. All the deprivation did was make it so much worse....” My chest constricts. “I don't like silence because of it. Or needles. Or the color white. Or closed spaces. I felt dead inside. No family. No friends. No life. At the end of the first week my throat was raw from screaming so hard. I made a promise to myself that as soon as I was free, I would never feel like that again.”

  Becoming an adrenaline junkie definitely keeps you remembering how truly free you can be.

  Hunter scoots his body closer to mine yet remains silent.

  Nothing like hearing the girl you love was once locked up for possibly being too emotionally damaged.

  “Once a counselor was assured I was grieving a normal amount and not battling anything more serious, she called my grandfather to come get me. That's when my life really changed. His rules. His lack of joy. He'd spent those last few weeks in his own solitude but instead of setting him free it broke him.” I sniffle away the thoughts. “He was a great grandparent before that Christmas when we lost everything.”

  His hand gently strokes my stretched out leg. “Wait. Your parents died on Christmas?”

  “My mom did.” The confession crawls out effortlessly. “Christmas morning was when they took her off of life support.” Hunter's large frame swoops mine into his arms. My head falls onto his chest and I whisper, “That's why I hate Christmas so much. It's when I found out death doesn't take a holiday.”

  See. I can't be pregnant. Commitment issues aside for a split moment, I can't completely celebrate the one holiday kid's love the most. Yeah, we're celebrating now, but that's a little different. I'm not meant to do the family thing on that level any more. How can I try to provide someone with absolute joy on the day my own mother was finally taken from me?

  Hunter's warm lips on the side of my forehead ease a bit of the tension. Rather than say anything, he begins to sing along with the radio. The accent I've fallen in love with heavy and thick but perfectly in key. Helplessly, I curl in closer, breathing the musk of his cologne that's tangled with a hint of mouthwash and caress the softness of his white t-shirt. Overwhelmed by a primal need to fill my senses to the brim with his essence, I eagerly press my mouth to his, surprised when he roughly kisses back. His arms wind tightly around me as he lowers us on top of the blanket. While I'm urgent to have him undressed and inside, he takes the opposition. His touches remain strong yet slow. The pushes of his tongue hard but leisurely. With every stroke of my body he tugs on the sensitive nerves of my fragile system, shaking every part of me awake as if his own life depends on it. Terrified of losing any part of him, I clamp onto his t-shirt. Hunter's mouth migrates to my neck, tasting every inch of flesh it can find.

  The cool morning air tickles the wet spots he leaves behind. “Hunter...”

  His lips continue their exhibition, pulling off my shirt to kiss the tops of my boobs, before removing my bra to lap at my hardened nipples. Each suck encourages me to let go. To fall into so much more than the pending climax. I whimper to express my objection.

  I can't let myself become any more dependent on him. It's bad enough every time he ties me up I feel like he's tugging my broken pieces back together. The last thing I need is a permanent knot created between us. I've never had that before. I don't even know what to do with it.

  Hunter gently tugs off my yoga pants and lowers his lips to take a taste of the lingering wetness. At the first stroke of his tongue, my body arches upward as I sharply draw a breath. He doesn't grab my hips to hang on. He doesn't grab them and dominate me to stay in one spot. He lets my body thrash in passion simply sucking up every drip I willingly surrender. He gently gorges until I'm gasping again on the denotation of an orgasm.

  In a soft invocation, I say, “Hunter....”

  When his mouth finally lets go, he leans up and waits for me to help remove his shirt. The moment his gorgeous, carved body is free, my hands follow the trail of his abs. The marks of definition on his arms. The V to his hips. Every time one of his muscles hardens from my touch another reassurance is fulfilled.

  This is living. Being in love is truly being alive, isn't it?

  I litter his skin with kisses as I help him out of his jeans. Now both completely naked, he covers our bodies with the spare blanket, nudges my thighs apart and slowly enters. The stretching of the tense muscles arches my back once more except this time he whispers in my ear, “You're so beautiful, Sugar.”

  A heady moan escapes.

  His hips rock a little harder, reaching deeper, but the pace remains. “This cowboy will always take good care of you.”

  The proclamation pulls out another moan, this one with small tears stinging my eyes.

  Who cries during sex?! Must be the hormones! Has to be the hormones!

  For what feels like hours, Hunter's solid body tenderly thrusts inside me with such vigor and vitality, orgasm after orgasm tumbles out of me, one right on top of the other until I can barely breathe.

  On his final sharp push inside he declares, “I love you, Rory.”

  Warm rush after rush fills me as he quakes on top. His head knocks against my shoulder. The raw savage rumble runs through me intertwining his soul with mine.

  Thoughtlessly I whisper back, “I love you too, Hunter.”

  And I do. I really do. No matter what lies ahead, I love him. And I want him, all strings attached.

  Hunter

  After watching the sun rise naked, Rory and I throw our clothes back on, sneak back to the house, grab showers, and change before Mama begins making brunch.

  A litt
le before noon the two of us, my parents, and my brother are gathered around the formal dining room table where she insists we eat for holidays.

  The whole family spends every Christmas Eve at my uncle Wayne's and they spend every Thanksgiving here. Uncle Brett gets Fourth of July and Uncle John gets Easter. Family traditions. Sometimes I miss 'em. Holdin' my oldest cousin's baby daughter a little while before takin' the other one for a small horseback ride. Passin' around the warm pie my aunt Josie made with vanilla ice cream she swears she's makes too, but suspiciously tastes just like Blue Belle. Watching Cooper blame Sam for lightin' somethin' on fire so he doesn't have to hear anybody lecture on why we shouldn't be shootin' fireworks when it's that dry outside. What? No, it's fine. Rory and I'll make new traditions. Maybe chili every year for Thanksgiving. See. It's a start.

  “These eggs are amazing,” Rory coos at my mother. “You put jalapenos in them!”

  She winks. “Little birdie tol' me, someone liked 'em that way.”

  My girlfriend's hand slides onto my thigh. I place my hand on top of hers.

  “It's hard to believe someone as cheerful as you is a mortician,” Pop sighs, grabbing his cup of coffee. “Peg more like a school teacher.”

  Rory giggles, “I get that a lot.”

  “But hey, if it makes you happy,” he shrugs, “that's what you're supposed to be doin'.”

  Hell, I hope he means that when he hears I'm not takin' the job.

  “Now that we're bringin up jobs,” Sam's voice cuts in from across the table.

  Mama grumbles, “We weren't really bringin' up jobs.”

  He speaks over her, “We know what your girlfriend's been up to, what about you? What have you spent the last few years doin' besides runnin' away from your problems?”

  “You have no room to judge anyone on that Samuel,” Mama snips from behind her own cup of coffee.

  I cut a bite of my pancakes with my fork. “What's it matter?”

  “Good question. What does it matter? Why's it such a big secret what you do?”

  Because the non-disclosure agreement I signed says it does. No it doesn't say I can't mention my line of work, just the details.

  “Sam,” my father fusses. “Leave it alone. If your brother wanted us to know he'd tell us.”

  “The fact he doesn't want us to know should tell us somethin'.”

  “I'll tell you what...I know he's not the one who left the back gate open. What if some of the animals would've gotten out again? You damn sure don't like havin' to collect 'em.”

  “One time, Pop,” Sam groans. “I forgot one time.”

  “All it takes is one time to do some real damage, Samuel. When are you gonna start learnin' that?”

  Rory gives my thigh a sympathetic squeeze.

  Their fightin' has definitely gotten worse in the last year I see. Not sayin' drugs are the answer, but I can see the stress it's puttin' on him. Sam wasn't always that thin. Those circles under his eyes weren't always there.

  He shakes his head and leans back in his seat. “Can we get back to Hunter? What if whatever it is he's doin' is bad for the family name, huh? Isn't that the lecture I'm always gettin'? Hell, ain't that the lecture I'm basically getting' now? Would it kill ya to give it to him just once in his damn life?”

  “Language,” Mama snips.

  Annoyed, I confess on a bite of my breakfast. “I'm a stripper.”

  Rory chokes on her food next to me while my brother's jaw unhinges. My parents exchange glances from their opposing ends of the table.

  I swallow before I continue, “There ya happy?”

  To my surprise, Sam just gawks.

  “Not at some rinky, dink hole in the wall place either like The Waterin' Hole. It's classy and because of a contract I signed, I'm not at liberty to discuss any more than that.”

  This is gonna be the worst Christmas for my parents. Hearin' their youngest son is not only refusin' his spot in the family business, but to strip instead. Ya know at this point I don't give a shit what I do in the city as long as I get to keep Rory. That's what this is really about. Keepin' her. I meant the promise I made to her in the back of my truck. This cowboy will always take good care of her.

  Sam explodes with anger twisted with a hint of joy. “Ha! I knew it! I knew you were up to somethin' no good!” He turns his bites at our father, “You're always worried 'bout me tarnishin' the perfect Montgomery name, Pop, but he's the one out there takin' his clothes off for money!”

  My father gives me a glance, picks up a piece of bacon, and states, “From what I'm hearin' he has a job that's been supportin' him. And I have yet to see his name in the paper or have to pay to keep it out, unlike someone else, so as far as I'm concerned if it's kept him happy, then he's done no wrong.”

  “What?” My brother gripes from the other end of the table. He turns to our mother in disbelief. “Mama.”

  “Sam, I'm with your father on this one.”

  “You can't be serious,” he whines.

  “While no mother enjoys hearin' her son is swingin' around his baby makin' parts for money...” Her choice of phrasing makes Rory giggle beside me. “There are worse things he could've been doin' with his time. And you do know what I mean young man.”

  Sam slouches down in his seat. “Unfuckin' believable.”

  “Language,” she scolds.

  “Sorry, Mama,” he barely mutters.

  As Rory begins picking at my untouched eggs, which is unusual for her, I direct my attention to my father who clarifies, “Besides it doesn't matter how he's been passin' the time. What matters is what he does next. Where his future is. And I need an answer by mornin'. I'd like to start to get papers processed and Bethany-”

  “How is Beth?” I interrupt in hopes of changing the subject. “Didn't she jus' have a baby a few months ago?”

  “Nine pounds,” Mama sighs loudly. “I thought you and you brother were hell at seven and seven and a half. I can't imagine nine pounds.”

  “And a head full of hair,” Pops chuckles.

  “Curly like Dave's?”

  He nods and we chuckle while Rory tries to hide her confusion.

  Maybe someday I'll tell her all about these people, but for now they don't matter. She does.

  “I ran into the Michaels twins last week,” Sam adds. “They were wonderin' when you’re comin' home too. Apparently Donnie's got a stallion he was hopin' you could help break in.”

  The thought kicks the corner of my mouth up.

  Livin' out here most of life I learned to get good at many things. Many things that I guess bein' in the city I don't really have use for any more. Alright, so I'll miss more than homemade pies and truck rides. But nothin' compares to how much I'd miss Rory if I had to give her up.

  “You could help him,” I insist.

  “He only wants you,” the disdain in Sam's voice is apparent. “Jus' like everyone else. You're his favorite.”

  “A lot of folks 'round town miss seein' your handsome face,” Mama sweetly adds between bites of toast.

  “They won't have to miss it for too much longer,” Pops states factually. “Right?”

  Four sets of eyes fall on me. Rather than take the perfect opportunity to tell everyone my plans, I press my lips together, a gnawing feeling creating heavy hesitation.

  Maybe I'm wrong about Rory. Maybe she could learn to love it out here. Maybe she could learn to fall in love with somethin' different the same way she fell in love with me. Maybe a new risk, a new adventure would be great for her. Maybe a change would help those little parts that haven't quite healed yet.

  “May I be excused?” Her soft voice charges through the runaway train. “I'm...I'm feeling a little light headed.”

  “Of course,” Mama quickly says. “You want somethin' for it? I've got asprin-”

  “Just need to lie down for a minute,” Rory insists. “But thank you.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind,” my mother calls to her as she scampers away.

  That w
as....unexpected.

  “So?” Pops grabs my attention once more.

  “Jus' take it,” Sam complains from across the table pushing his plate towards me. “Jus' stop fuckin' toyin' around with everyone's feelin's already.” He stands and storms off despite Mama's demand for him to sit back down.

  “I need to check on Rory,” I sigh at my mother. “May I be excused?”

  She waves a hand at me seconds before she pins my father with a harsh look.