Hunter's Desire

by Meg Ripley

  "Would you like something to eat? The kitchen is still open."

  "What's good?"

  "I like the cheeseburger and onion rings."

  "That would be perfect, thanks."

  She smiled and this time it reached her eyes. He felt like he took another blow, this time right to the chest. Yes, stepping in front of some guy's fist was definitely worth it if it meant getting a smile like that from her.

  When she returned, she carried a plate that was nearly overflowing with hand cut, crispy onion rings, and a giant, stacked cheeseburger. His stomach growled at the sight of it and he reached for it before she even set it down. The first onion ring was an explosion of heat and flavor and crispy breading. He quickly ate a second and a third and gestured for her to help herself to one.

  "No, thank you."

  "Take one. Please."

  She hesitated for another moment before snagging a small ring. She popped it in her mouth and chewed it with a satisfied smile. "God, I love these things."

  "They're amazing. My compliments to the chef."

  "Thank you."

  “You made these?”

  “Running with a skeleton crew tonight.”

  "You deserve another one."

  She happily took one, and between the two of them, the rings were quickly gone. "I'll go get more while you work on your burger," she said.

  He thought he would be too full to eat another helping, but as soon as he smelled the freshly fried rings, his mouth began to water and he helped himself to a few more while they were still almost too hot to touch.

  "So, what brings you to our little backwater?" she asked.

  "Business. You don't get much traffic out here?"

  "Not this time of year. Not too many reasons for anyone to stop."

  "Where's the nearest motel?"

  "There's a Quality Inn a few miles south."

  "Is it any good?"

  "It's not bad if you don't mind roaches."

  "Love 'em."

  "Then you'll be just fine."

  They split the remainder of the onion rings and continued to chat about the area. She seemed happy to talk to him and he tried to gather as much information as he could, trying to get a feel for the area—Adventure Isle was only a half hour drive away. Maybe the amusement park would be the draw this little town needed to pick up business. There might even be a chance to involve the entire community in a marketing or promotional opportunity.

  By the time Jason looked up again, he was shocked to discover they were the only people left in the bar. Mary blinked and looked around, as surprised as him. "Well, I guess it's time for me to close up."

  He expected her to ask him to leave, but instead she took his place and replaced it with a glass of ice water. "This will help with the hangover."

  "Cheers."

  She set about her nightly tasks and he watched her over the rim of his glass, sipping the water and thinking about how much he didn't want the night to end. She was good company, easy to talk to with a light, lilting laugh. She seemed to like him, too. What if she didn't want the night to end? She might invite him back to her place for a nightcap. It didn't seem outside the realm of possibility.

  She tidied up behind the bar, closed out the cash register, and swept the floor. He offered to help, but she waved him away, working quickly. He had to admit, he probably would just get in her way. When she was done, she double-checked the lock on the front door and then gestured for him to follow her out the back.

  "That's my car." She pointed to a little silver Honda. "I live four miles straight down this road. If you have time for another drink…"

  "I do have time for another drink. But um...maybe I shouldn't be driving. I could follow in a cab."

  She rolled her eyes. "Come on. No need to get a cab involved."

  Jason gave himself a mental high five and followed her to her car. The interior was clean and still carried a faint hint of new-car smell. The local country station blared to life as she turned on the engine, and she gestured at the dial. "Feel free to turn on anything you’d like."

  "This is fine."

  A sudden cloud of butterflies swarmed his stomach as she put the car in reverse, and he realized he was actually, genuinely nervous. Excited, too, but he would definitely need another drink to settle his nerves. It'd been a long time since he met a woman that interested him, and even longer since a woman invited him back to her place. He already wanted to touch her and wondered what her reaction might be if he brushed the hair away from her face, but decided against it—it might startle her enough to send them careening into a tree.

  She lived just past the edge of town, where the speed limit increased to 45 mph, in a modest trailer on a small plot of land. He couldn't see much in the dark, but the yard was full of flowers and the fence was freshly whitewashed. Inside, the house was cozy, clean, and decorated with eclectic charm. "Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. Would you like a cold pack?"

  He touched his temple as he settled on her sofa. "No, thanks. I'm feeling better now."

  "Oh good. Cheap beer okay?"

  "The cheaper the better."

  She returned with a frosty can in each hand and curled up beside him on the couch. He put an arm around her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world, holding his breath in that moment before she relaxed against him. He rested his fingers on her arm, touching her skin just below her T-shirt sleeve. Her skin was soft, softer than he even expected, and the heat from her body spread into his arm. She popped open a can and handed it to him, their fingers brushing together, his mouth running dry.

  "Thanks." He took a drink to wet his tongue, watching the shape of her mouth as she brought her can to her lips.

  "I...uh...I don't do this sort of thing often," she said, eyes on her beer, the slight tremor in her voice betraying the fact that she was just as nervous as he was. Knowing they were on the same page gave him a shot of courage, and he set his beer down on the table and pulled her closer to him. She looked up and he met her gaze with a smile.

  "I don't either. I guess we'll just have to figure it out together."

  "That's a good idea." She licked her lips. "Teamwork."

  "Exactly." He plucked the beer from her hand and set it beside her. She looked up at him, her lips parted, her eyes soft. They moved at the same time, their mouths brushing together, and then molding together. She parted her lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss, and soon they were completely wrapped around each other. His hands roamed over her body, his own flesh sizzling everywhere she touched him. When her knuckles brushed over his erection, a moan escaped his throat and his hips shot forward, pressing more firmly against her palm.

  She worked his fly open, shoving the material away to get her hand on his shaft. He was already fully engorged, and the light pressure of her fingers made his flesh throb. He pawed at her shirt, pulling it up and over her head, then made quick work of her bra. Her breasts were large, big enough to spill over the sides of his hands as he cupped them, rubbing his palm over her erect nipples. She sighed, her shoulders rolling back, and he couldn't wait to get his mouth on her. Her nipple felt as hard as a pebble against his tongue, and he rolled it over the stiff point. The sound of her rapid breathing went directly to his cock, and slick liquid began to gather at the top. She brushed over it, spreading the fluid, making his skin even more sensitive to the friction of her touch.

  "Wait a minute."

  He lifted his head, in a daze, her voice coming from far away.

  "What?"

  "I'll be right back."

  She jumped up from the couch, leaving him alone to wiggle out of his pants and boxers. He pulled his shirt overhead and stretched his lean body on the couch. She disappeared down the hall, returning with a foil wrapper in her hand and her clothes discarded in favor of a robe. She positioned herself at the other end of the couch, kneeling between his legs so she could bend and wrap her mouth around his dick. He gasped, eyes rolling back as she moved lower and lower, t
aking more and more of him past her lips.

  Her tongue rolled around, swiping over his sensitive skin, coaxing more pre-cum to the tip. She moved with a certain boldness that really turned him on, and though it was tempting to close his eyes and get lost in her heat, he lifted his head and drank in the sight of her as she guided her mouth up and down his flesh. Her eyes were closed, and she had a look of pure pleasure, as though she enjoyed it as much as he did. He caught her hair away from her face, holding it against her scalp so he could see her mouth stretching around his shaft, disappearing past her pink lips.

  The sight was breathtaking and made him ache for more.

  "Get on top of me," he encouraged, his voice gruff.

  She lifted her head, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed. For a moment, nothing broke the silence but the sound of her rapid breathing, and he took the foil from her fingers, tore it open and produced the condom. She repositioned herself as he slid it on, straddling his hips. He slipped his fingers between her legs, seeking her swollen flesh, finding her aching clit between her folds. He pressed with two fingers, rubbing it with slow, firm pressure that had her bucking her hips immediately, her slick skin grinding against him.

  Her sighs quickly became moans, gaining momentum, making him wonder what it would sound like—what it would feel like—to make her scream for him. He gripped the base of his cock and slid it down her lips.

  "Pull me in," he moaned. Her hand covered his and she guided him to her tight entrance, lifting her hips to ease him inside of her. She sank onto him, her channel gripping him with unbelievable pressure. He grasped her hips, holding her down against him as he lifted his hips, grinding in a low circle. Her breath halted, caught in her throat as her hands moved to interlock with his fingers. He lost track of time, moving his hips in a slow, sweet circle that had her shivering and gasping. He would have done that for longer, but she shifted, rising up and moving down again, creating a different sort of rhythm. She kept an even tempo, her breasts swinging each time she pumped her hips.

  She felt so damned good, it was hard for him to keep himself reined in. He wanted to flip her onto her back and pound into her until he exploded, but if he did that, he would only last a handful of minutes, at the most. It was easier to keep himself in check if she stayed on top and controlled the speed and the angle, and good God, she felt so damned good.

  Mary pulled his hands up her body, leaving them over her breasts. He squeezed and kneaded the globes, watching her from beneath heavy eyelids. She quickened the pace, slipping her fingers between her swollen lips, seeking out her clit. Within seconds, her walls clenched around him, squeezing and contracting with rapid flutters that sent bolts of pleasure through him.

  His muscles clenched, his abdomen and thighs pulling tight as the pleasure began to culminate at the base of his spine. She dropped her head back and cried out, a shout that seemed to echo into the night, pushing him over the edge. His cock jerked and he shuddered to a gasping, sweaty stop. She collapsed on his chest, burying her face in his neck, and he could do nothing but wrap his arms around her.

  ****

  "What the living hell is wrong with you?" Jason hissed.

  Vincent caught the tennis ball that had bounced on the court in front of him and turned to look at Jason where he had strode out onto to the playing area. He waved at the young girl who was playing opposite him and she sulked slightly before walking over to the booth on the other side of the court, taking a swig from a bottle of water while simultaneously smoothing her almost bizarrely bouncy blonde ponytail.

  "Do you need to speak with me, Jason?" Vincent asked, walking toward him.

  "I went to see Neil Simmons," Jason said, keeping his voice at a low, conspiratorial level.

  "Oh, you did," Vincent said with a short laugh. "I told you he was a bit of an eccentric."

  "He is far more than a bit of an eccentric, Vincent," Jason said. He stepped toward the path that led away from the tennis court and Vincent followed. "He seems to have somewhat of an obsession."

  "With dragons?"

  Jason was taken aback by how casual Vincent was about the situation. They climbed into a large gazebo and sat down on one of the integrated benches. After Neil Simmons told him that he was going to have to impress his son before he would make any sort of decision about his investments, he had brought Jason through another few rooms of the house, pointing out several more paintings and pieces of sculpture that featured dragons. It wasn't until they got outside, however, that the feelings of discomfort had really intensified.

  The grounds to the back of Neil's house were as sprawling as the home itself, and in the distance Jason could see the hint of a huge wall that surrounded the space. Neil had brought him out into the grass and opened what looked like an electrical box on a post coming out of the ground. From the box, he had drawn a remote control that he directed at a shed to one side.

  The doors to the shed opened and Neil pressed another button. A moment later, several small dragons streamed out of the building, their wings spreading so that they could fly through their air. One opened its mouth so that a stream of fire spewed out, nearly singeing the grass below. For a moment, Jason worried that these were very young dragons that Neil was keeping captive, but then he looked closer and realized that they were in fact just robotic dragons programmed to move, fly, and breathe fire like incredibly large, complex toys.

  "You told him about us," Jason accused.

  "What are you talking about?" Vincent asked, pulling a wayward piece of fuzz off of the ball and letting it fall to the floor of the gazebo.

  "You know very well what I'm talking about. I saw all of the statues and paintings, and even those awful robots."

  "And you think those mean that I told him about the dragon world?"

  "How else would he know about the labyrinth well enough to have a mural of it in his gallery?"

  "Because I painted it for him," Vincent said.

  "What?"

  "I didn't tell Neil anything about the dragon world. He is just an aging, eccentric man who has a fantasy streak. He loves dragons of all kinds, so he commissioned some pieces from me. When I first met him, he only had that statue in his foyer and the gaudy red smoking jacket I'm sure he was wearing. I did everything else for him over the course of the last couple of years."

  "Even the robots?"

  "Even the robots. He said that he wished that dragons were real and that he could have a few around the grounds so that he could watch them fly. Well, as much as you think that I would betray several thousand years of lineage, I didn't actually just come to the Club and ask to borrow a few of the young from the lower families so that he could have his exotic pets. I designed the robots and got some help building and programming them."

  "Sorry, man. I didn't know you did that kind of work."

  Vincent waved him off. "No big deal. How did it go with him anyway? Did he like your presentation?"

  "Well, he didn't actually let me give the whole presentation, really. He was too busy bringing me through the house, showing me his art and flying his remote control dragons around. I told him as much as I could about it and he seemed to be pretty onboard."

  "That's great! So, you landed the account, everyone's going to be happy, and you’re sure to get that promotion."

  "Well, not quite. He said that he was impressed and liked the idea, but that he doesn't make his investment decisions on his own anymore and I am going to have to impress Shayne."

  "Shayne?"

  "I'm guessing it's his son. Do you know him?"

  Vincent shook his head, standing up and starting back toward the tennis court where Jason could see the young girl looking around in confusion as if she thought that Vincent had simply disappeared.

  "No. I didn't even know that he had children. He never talks about kids."

  "Well, from what he said, this guy is kind of a hard ass and isn't going to be as easy to sway as Mr. Simmons himself. I have a feeling that the nostalgia and fun family times tact
ic that I was going to try on Neil isn't going to work on Shayne. I'm going to have to come at him with sheer numbers and some solid concepts for what would be done with the investment capital."

  "Good luck."

  Jason nodded and left Vincent at the tennis courts, heading back toward his car. He wasn't going to have time to relax in the lounge that evening; he needed to get home so that he could revamp his approach and make sure that he was ready for an appointment with Shayne Simmons.

  ****

  After seven calls that got intercepted by a somewhat surly secretary and two messages left in a voicemail inbox that had only a beep rather than any form of greeting, Jason finally had an appointment with Shayne. The secretary had called him with the same cheerful attitude she had had the other times they had spoken and informed him that he was to meet Shayne at eight o'clock Friday evening at Neil's house.

  Jason repeated the process of announcing himself into the speaker, driving up to the valet, and knocking with the pineapple just as he had the first time he visited the home. This time, though, instead of the door gradually gliding open and a subdued servant standing behind him, the door swung open nearly before he was able to finish knocking and he found himself staring at a stunningly beautiful woman who didn't seem terribly pleased to see him standing on the front porch.

  A very familiar, stunningly beautiful woman.

  Jason's heart jumped to his throat. The morning after their tryst had been a pleasant one. She made him coffee before driving him back to his car, let him kiss her goodbye, and smiled at him as he climbed behind the wheel. But she never offered her phone number, and he had the feeling they were both supposed to walk away with nothing more than a pleasant memory. But he'd been thinking about her ever since, and he had already convinced himself to return to the bar to find her again.

  "Mr. Cross," she said, her tone completely neutral, her face set in a perfect mask. If she recognized him, she gave no sign of it. In fact, she was so indifferent, that for a moment, he had to question himself. Was he mistaken? Maybe this was a different woman with a very strong, uncanny resemblance? But it couldn’t be—he noticed the freckle on her nose. The birthmark below her ear.