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)
I set my hand on his hip, and Hunter starts playing with my hair again, coming easily as I pull him closer. He climbs right on top of me, straddling me, arms around my shoulders, mine around his waist.
“I watched your game,” I admit, tickling my fingers up and down his back, wanting to kiss every single bruise on his torso. The Comeback King. They called him that again.
“I hoped you would.”
Silence grows between us, Hunter’s fingers in my hair, mine all over his warm skin.
“When you opened the door, it hit me, how much I want you. How good you make me feel. I haven’t felt good in a long time.”
Not since my brother, I assume. The thought feels like someone dropped my heart in acid.
“I’ll make you feel good anytime you want,” I tell him, hoping I’m hiding the emotion in my words.
“You’re fucking with my head.”
I wish I could tell him, welcome to my world.
“You’re allowed to feel good, Hunt.”
He flinches.
“You are.”
“I’m betraying Ellis.”
“Ellis is dead.” I look away.
“That doesn’t mean I’m not betraying him, but I’m selfish enough to keep wanting to do this with you.”
“Hunter…you’re the least selfish person I know.” But it doesn’t escape my attention that we’re both grappling with the same emotions. Both feeling selfish, both feeling like we’re betraying Ellis. Does he hate himself for it too? I don’t want him to. I don’t want Hunter to feel bad about anything.
But he said I make him feel good. Me. That means something to me.
“I’m more selfish than you’ll ever know.” He looks away, but I grab his face, holding it so he has to keep eye contact with me.
I’ll have to be the one to do this, I think. And maybe that will save Hunter some pain. If he’s not the one saying the words, the one pushing for us to keep doing whatever the fuck we’re doing, then I’ll carry the burden of our betrayal.
“No. You’re not.” I cup his cheek, run my hand down his neck, then back up again to hold his face. “If we make each other feel good, we should keep doing it. No one has to know. It’s just sex and friendship. We fuck, and hike, and I make you eat shitty food and tell you how much football sucks, and when you don’t want to do it anymore, we won’t.” Shit. I should have said we, not you. But Hunter doesn’t catch on, doesn’t realize it’s all up to him, that I’ll do this for as long as he wants.
“Football doesn’t suck.”
“No?” I cock a brow. “I guess that’s subjective. I do suck, though…and I really, really wanna suck right now.”
Hunter laughs, rich and earthy and real, and fuck, do I love the sound of it. I flip him onto his back, his head on my pillows, a wide smile on his face. God, it’s ridiculous and annoying how perfect he looks. I swear the man belongs in one of those old TV shows with the flawless men who look the part and never do anything wrong. I hate that it gets me going so much. It wouldn’t with anyone but him.
“I wiped myself off when I was in the bathroom,” he says.
“And you didn’t bring anything for my ass? And here I thought you were a gentleman.”
I bite his pec, then suck the skin there, making Hunter hiss. “Damn it. I’ll go get something.”
I chuckle. “I’m giving you shit. My ass is off-limits for the rest of the night anyway. It’s been a while since I bottomed.” I keep kissing and licking my way down his body, taking my time at his bruises, trying to make them better with my mouth.
“Hey,” he says, and when I don’t respond, he takes my face in his hands so I’m looking at him.
“I want to suck your dick, Hunt.”
“Did I hurt you?”
My heart stutters. “No. You didn’t hurt me.” Not yet, but he will, and I’m not talking about my ass.
“Good.” He gives me a gentle smile. It’s wild to me how he can be so good, so kind; that he’s spent his life in the toxic world of sports, yet never let that toxicity seep into him. Maybe the Hunter now is more bruised than the one he used to be, a little dinged up—or at least, I think he probably sees himself that way. As though the partying and hookups are something he should be ashamed of. But they’re not, of course, and somehow, he’s sensitive and bighearted even in a world that tells men they shouldn’t be. Even with a man like my father telling him he shouldn’t be.
“Can I suck your cock now? Think I can get one more load out of your balls tonight? I wanna swallow this one down. The condom got it all last time.” I poke out my bottom lip, pretending to pout.