Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
His cheeks are pink, with a five o’clock shadow, his hair is messy, and Christ, how did it take me so long to see how beautiful Lucas is? That’s my last thought before I lose control, letting myself sink deeper into the pleasure he gives me, cock twitching as I come.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lucas
Hunter slides out of me, my body instantly feeling empty. He lies on his back beside me, looking at the ceiling, breathing heavily, his body tinged with sweat, one hand flat on his stomach. I’m counting the seconds, waiting for the inevitable—Hunter leaving. If he couldn’t handle our blowjob session last week, I can’t imagine what’s going through his head right now.
And I get it, how it can mess with his brain, same as it messes with mine, the difference being, it’s not enough for me to stop. Never enough for me to stop. Even if he walks out right now and comes back for another fuck tomorrow or the next day, I’ll say yes. I’m a glutton for punishment. I’ve tortured myself all my life, and I don’t see that stopping now.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
Here we go. That didn’t take long at all. “You should at least get rid of the condom first.”
“Wait. What?”
I look at Hunter. His brows are pulled together, confusion on his perfect, boy-next-door face.
“Before you leave. You should get rid of the condom,” I repeat as if he wasn’t going to do that anyway.
The confusion on his face deepens. “You’re kicking me out?”
“Didn’t you just say you’re sorry because you’re about to bail on me again? Whatever. It is what it is. We both got an O out of it, so what else is there to say?” I sit on the edge of the bed, my back to him. I shouldn’t be taking this as hard as I am. I knew what this was. How many times have I left after a quick fuck with someone?
“Fuck off, Lucas. You’re being a dick.” He rolls out of bed but doesn’t go for his clothes, instead heading into the en suite.
Keeping my gaze away from him, I grab my pack of cigarettes and light one. I rarely smoke in my condo, but I need one right now.
He comes back a second later, stopping right in front of me, still naked, his pretty cock lying flaccid between his legs. God, he’s so fucking sexy. I can’t believe I get to see him this way, that I had him inside me. I wish he’d been able to take me bare, that I’d have Hunter’s load in me right now.
“Lucas.”
“What?” I snap.
He sighs, hooks his finger beneath my chin, and tilts my head up. “I’m sorry for leaving like that last week. That’s what I was trying to say. I freaked out. It’s not an excuse, but I’d think you’d understand why.”
Yeah, I do. I drop my forehead against his stomach.
Hunter stiffens for a moment before his body relaxes. He cards his fingers through the hair at my nape, soothing me.
“What are we doing?” His voice is slightly shaky.
I know what I’m doing. I’m taking what I want, what I’ve always wanted. It’s him I’m confused about. I pull back, take a drag of my cigarette, then put it out. He hates smoking, and I hate smoking inside.
“You have to know we shouldn’t be doing this, Lucas. Why the fuck do we even want to do this?” His voice breaks, all sadness and confusion, when all I ever want is to make Hunter feel good.
“Why did you come over tonight?” I need to know. Hunter isn’t the type to come just for a quick lay—at least, the Hunter I used to know wasn’t, but the Hunter I used to know wasn’t in the news for being seen with different women either.
“I didn’t expect this…or, hell, maybe I did and I’m lying to myself. I’d been flying high from the game. These past few weeks, I’ve felt so good about football again, and I realized I wanted someone to talk to about it, but…the only person I wanted to talk to was you.”
My heart nearly punches out of my chest. I imagine it like a cartoon, breaking free and working its way inside him.
Hunter, having no idea he’s fucking killing me right now, forges on. “Why did I even want to talk to you about the game? You fucking hate football, and with good reason. But I wanted to share it with you because even though it makes no sense, it feels like you get it…what I’m feeling. What I’m thinking. It’s confusing as hell.”
Jesus, this fucking man. Why does everything about him make me feel like this? Like I’m being ripped apart and sewn back together at the same time? It’s always been this way. I wanted to hate him, I’ve always wanted to hate him, but I never can.