Spy Thy Neighbor

by Shandi Boyes

  After running the back of my hand over my cheeks to remove my tears, I crack open the pristine cover. A whizz of air parts my lips when I see Rachel’s signature scribbled across the front page. Although Hunter did manage to find a signed first edition of the book I wanted, it isn’t the exact one I’ve been searching for the past three years.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "He opens the petal of her flower, searching for the sweet nectar of her rosebud. What the fuck is that?"

  My heart leaps out of my ribcage. “Oh my god, Hunter, you scared the shit out of me!” I shriek, clutching my chest with my hand. “You can’t do that to someone. Jesus Christ.”

  I sink deeper into the reclining chair I'm sitting on, sucking in deep breaths to calm the mad beat of my heart. "For future reference, never sneak up on a writer when they’re in the zone. It could end up very poorly for you and your package."

  Hunter moves around the reclining chair to sit on the coffee table opposite me. When his eyes lift to me from the devoured ice cream container I licked clean, I rub my stomach.

  “It was soooo good,” I drawl out. “I was planning on saving you some, but I got a little bit eager.”

  He chuckles, but it isn't his full-hearted laugh; it's reserved and with a bit of hesitation. I return his passiveness while I study him in great depth. Although his eyes are still sparked with their normal vivacity, it isn't as potent as normal. His brows are hanging a little lower, and his aura points to his mood swinging more toward the moodier, grumpy Hunter than the chipper one who left here earlier. When my eyes drift to the clock hanging in the middle of the living room, I balk. He has been gone for a little over three hours, and I've been writing nonstop for two.

  Returning my eyes to Hunter, I ask, “Is everything okay with Isaac and Izzy?”

  “Only time will tell,” he answers, rubbing a kink out of the back of his neck.

  From his short response, I know he doesn't want to continue with our conversation. I flash him a quick smirk, silently relaying I'm here if he needs to talk before returning my focus to my laptop. I don't type; I just pretend to work on my novel as I keep an eagle eye on Hunter over the screen of my Mac.

  His eyes remain planted on his black boots for several minutes before his eyes lift and lock with mine. “If you’re writing a story about a bee falling in love with a human, it’s already been done.”

  I slant my head to the side and cock my brow. “What?” I query with a screwed-up nose.

  "The Bee Movie, starring Jerry Seinfeld," he elaborates.

  I snarl at him. “I know what movie you're referring to, but what does it have to do with my WIP?” I ask, giggling.

  “Whip?”

  “WIP. W. I. P. It means work in progress,” I advise, forgetting most people don’t understand author talk.

  Hunter's hand drops from his neck, and he scoots a little closer to me. "If this is a romance book, what's the whole petal-rosebud referring to?"

  Heat creeps across my cheeks. “It’s the beginning of a bedroom scene I'm working on.” I endeavor to keep my voice confident. I miserably fail.

  “Scrap it and start again.” Hunter’s tone is blunt and straight to the point.

  I balk. “No way! I’ve been working on that scene for over two hours,” I blubber out. “You only got one small snippet of the scene. You can’t judge an entire scene from one line.”

  He props his elbows onto his knees and tilts his torso closer to me. “Read it to me then.”

  “Ah. No,” I reply with a brisk shake of my head.

  “Paige.”

  “No, Hunter. I'm not reading it to you.” I snap my laptop screen shut and hold it in close to my chest.

  Hunter cocks his brow and bores his eyes into mine. "Read it to me, or I’ll hack into your server and send your manuscript to every email recipient in the country."

  My mouth gapes, shock is all over my face. I don’t need time to deliberate if his threat is idle. The frivolous look on his face is all I need to know he intends on doing as pledged if I don’t read it to him.

  Snarling, I huff, “Fine!”

  Opening up my Scrivener program, I start reading the steamy scene I just created. "He lays her on the bed, her hair a rich molten waterfall crescent on the pillow. He eyes her delicately, absorbing the softness of her skin, smooth and velvety like a plucked rose petal. His lips press on her neck, collarbone, and right rib before they lower even further. Her breath stiffens when he reaches her lady parts, brushing his fingers on the undergarments hiding the petals of her flower."

  I stop reading and glare at Hunter when his body shakes as he fights to hold his laughter.

  Spotting my furious glare, he coughs, clearing his throat. “Sorry. Please continue.”

  After snarling at him, I stray my eyes back to my laptop. "Her insides sigh in happiness, like a child making a snow angel in an abandoned field when he slides her modest underwear down her legs. She moans his name in a soft whisper when he opens the petals of her flower, searching for the sweet nectar of her rosebud. He wants to taste the sweetness of her pollen, devour the nectar of her delicate flower."

  My teeth grit, and I slam my laptop shut when Hunter’s loud chuckle bellows through my ears. Even copping the wrath of my knee-clattering stink eye doesn’t lessen his uproarious laughter.

  “You’re an asshole,” I mutter, dumping my laptop on the coffee table and storming into my room, slamming the door behind me.

  When he doesn’t attempt to follow me, I make my way into the shower, deciding a nice hot shower may be the only thing to lessen the anger boiling my blood.

  I take my time in the ginormous double shower attached to my room, letting the steaming hot water drain away the negativity of Hunter's response. I'm sure with a bit of tweaking and some word alterations, the scene will be beautiful and poetic, a real justice to the connection my characters have. I stop lathering my body with body wash as a whiny moan spills from my lips. There's no saving that. It's rubbish. Total rubbish. This is the reason I penned young adult romance – to avoid the stupid sex scenes.

  Throwing the shower puff onto the tiled marble floor, I step under the spray. Water gurgles in the back of my throat when I let out a long, deep scream, expelling the negativity choking my writing inspiration. I wouldn't have any issues writing a half-decent sex scene if I had some real experience. I'm not saying Riley was a dud in the bedroom… actually, yes I am. Riley was as plain as they came. Missionary every Tuesday night, lasting for approximately fifteen minutes, give or take a minute or two. I'm fairly sure Riley didn't understand the meaning of the word foreplay. His routine never altered the entire three years we lived together. So I wasn't at all surprised when I walked in on him and Beth Millner in the obligatory missionary position in the bed I only emerged from an hour earlier. If my neighbor Mrs. Peters hadn't stopped me that morning for a friendly chitchat on my way to have brunch with Pepper, I have no doubt I'd still be unaware of Riley's indiscretions to this day. Our impromptu chat meant I caught sight of Beth's car pulling into the driveway of the home I shared with Riley. Although Beth and I were friends in high school, we rarely saw each other since senior prom, so I knew in that instant she wasn't there to visit me.

  “The same time, every Sunday morning,” Mrs. Peters muttered, tapping my forearm gently.

  Even seeing Riley's affair firsthand, it still took four weeks of deliberations before I built up the courage to leave him. It wasn't a lack of self-esteem that had me delaying the inevitable; it was because it was seven years of my life I was walking away from. That may not seem like much time over an eighty-year lifespan, but when you're only twenty-five, seven years seems like a lifetime, and when every detail of your life is played out in public, a failed relationship is the last thing you want to add to your list of achievements.

  After crashing at Pepper’s house for three weeks, plotting my next move, she suggested I rent the cabin and get away from it all to solely concentrate on my writing. And that's exactly what I�
�ve been doing the past few months. Although this weekend away was never configured into my plans, I would have never said no to his request. That in itself is truly astounding considering how long it usually takes me to make a decision. But I owe Hunter a lot. Without him and his bevy of female companions, I’d still be penning my own rendition of Basic Instinct, ice picks and all. So even though Hunter thinks my sex scenes are laughable, I appreciate his honesty. I’d rather have one person laughing at me than an entire reading community.

  Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my body and finger comb my hair as I wander into my room. My brisk pace halts when I walk into the main area of my room and find Hunter leaning in the doorjamb. He has his shoulder propped on the wall and my Mac balancing precariously on his palm.

  Sensing my presence, his head lifts from the screen of my laptop. “This is really good, Paige.”

  My chest swells, honored by the praise in his voice. My happiness is short-lived when he continues, “It’s just the sex scenes.”

  "What's wrong with them?" I ask, my tone hesitant.

  Hunter’s brows furrow together. “They are good, just too….flowery. You have these two amazing characters who have fire-sparking passion that dulls the instant they step into the bedroom.”

  “That’s life,” I argue, my eyes bouncing between his. “Sometimes that’s just the way it is.”

  He shakes his head. “No, it isn’t.” His tone is blunt and without hesitation.

  I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Maybe not for you. But for real life relationships, they can be just like that. Not every guy is an Adonis in the bedroom. Some are just… duds.”

  Hunter places my Mac on the dresser to his left before his eyes lock with mine. “You need to write from experience, Paige. Write what's in your heart.”

  “I'm trying,” I snarl through gritted teeth, battling to keep my tears at bay. “But when you’ve got nothing to go off, it makes it a little hard,” I mumble to myself.

  He eyeballs me. Not just a general stare – he stares, stares at me for numerous heart-clutching seconds. When his eyes drop, reality slams into me. I'm standing in front of him in nothing but a fluffy hotel towel with a wet, shaggy mane. Like my night could get any worse.

  My throat struggles to swallow when Hunter pushes off the wall and prowls toward me. Even with the air conditioning set to a reasonable level, it becomes muggier with every step he takes. I attempt to speak, but the fervor in his eyes renders me speechless. My mouth moves; it just refuses to relinquish any words.

  “The sexual connection between a couple should increase the closer they get to each other.” His voice is smoother than melted chocolate. “The sparks, the desire, they should grow with every minute they spend together until neither can resist the urge any longer.”

  He cups my jaw, redirecting the mad pulse surging through my body to my aching-with-desire pussy. “They fight their attraction for as long as possible, but when the pull becomes too great, they stop fighting and give in to their desires.”

  A speckling of goosebumps follows the trail his beard makes across the corner of my mouth, past my inflamed cheek until he stops at the shell of my earlobe. “If you want to write about the connection a couple feels during sex, you have to experience it. Taste it. Devour it. Feel what they are feeling.”

  A shiver of excitement runs down my spine when he repositions himself to stand behind me. He's standing so close, I can feel the heat of his thickened cock against the curve of my backside. A puff of air parts my lips when his hand slithers up the planes of my stomach to unknot the twist in my towel, sending it toppling to the floor. You’d think my first reaction would be to dive for the towel or the bathrobe sprawled on the monstrous bed I'm standing next to. But it isn’t. I stand still, frozen in place with both desire and shock, allowing my body to overrule my head. My pulse shrills in my ears when he cups his hands over the top of mine and guides them over the silky smoothness of my skin that's still damp from the shower. My heart thrashes against my ribs, matching the pulse of my clit.

  He uses my hands to cup my breasts, needing and caressing them until my nipples bud painfully. "A woman's body was created to be worshiped, Paige. Your body was created for pleasure. To both give and take."

  My mouth waters, turned on by his words and the softness of my hands fondling my breasts. Although I told Hunter weeks ago that I'd “taken care of business” – it was a lie. I've never brought myself to climax. But with his rich, velvety voice whispering in my ear, the roughness of his beard scratching my neckline, and the way my breasts feel larger, sexier in my smaller hands, I'm already tiptoeing to orgasm station.

  My thighs shake when Hunter glides my right hand away from my breast, heading toward the wetness dampening the insides of my thighs. A breathless, throaty moan simpers from my lips when he places his boot between my bare feet, spreading them further apart with a gentle kick. My pupils dilate when he cups my drenched pussy with my hand. The quiver of my thighs intensifies when he guides my index finger through the folds of my pussy, coating both of our fingers with the evidence of my excitement.

  “This is not a flower. It's a gift. Every drop of liquid is an unspoken promise of impending pleasure.” His voice sends a surge of red-hot desire to my already slicked pussy.

  I lean back, resting my head on Hunter’s shoulder when the weight of my legs becomes too much for me to handle. My muscles are exhausted, fighting to stay upright as all the energy in my body focuses on more needy regions.

  “Touch your pussy, Paige. Feel the way it clings to and massages your finger. What makes it wetter. Learn what it likes, then work harder to unravel its greatest desire. What it loves. No man can tell you what you want, crave or desire. Only you can.”

  When my knees falter at his words, he releases my hands from his grasp and secures them around my waist, keeping me upright. Unashamed and on the brink of ecstasy, I use Hunter as an anchor as I continue to fondle my breasts and play with my pussy.

  Normally, I'd never be so bold, but with him standing behind me with his head buried in the crook of my neck and us surrounded by nothing but cream-colored walls, I feel no embarrassment or shame. Oddly, I feel desired and sexy.

  The heat in the room becomes stifling as I thrust my finger in and out of my clenching pussy, matching the rhythm of Hunter’s heavy breaths hitting my neckline as he bombards me with a flurry of dirty compliments and wicked thoughts. Saying how my body deserves nothing but perfection. How good my body feels against his, and how I should never let another person’s opinion alter my own on what is or is not right for my body.

  The heaviness of my breasts increases as the first signs of an orgasm rises. My thighs shake, and my breaths become more labored.

  “Do you feel it? The spark? The loss of control?” He mutters in my ear, intuiting that I'm close to the brink.

  “Uh huh,” I pant between breaths.

  “That's what you write about, Paige. What you're feeling right now. How good you feel. How desirable your body is.”

  The warmth of his breath on my ear sets me off. I moan as an orgasm rushes over me, buckling my knees and sending a noise I’ve never heard before into the silence of the night. Hunter groans as he tightens his grip on my hips, his probing fingers adding even more strength to the climax shimmering new life into my emotionally drained body. My body shatters, sexually satiated and emotionally appeased at the same time.

  The blissful haze of an orgasm keeps me floating on cloud nine as he gathers me in his arms and strides toward the large bed. Keeping his heavily dilated eyes arrested on my idyllic face, he yanks back the thick duvet cover and places me beneath it. The fog of my climax slowly dissipates when he lifts the covers and presses a kiss on the edge of my temple before he ambles to the door. I lurch from the bed, exposing my naked breasts to his view.

  “Where are you going?” My voice is hoarse, scorched from the erotic screams that shredded from my throat during climax.

  He doesn’t
spin around. He doesn’t grace me with a reply. He just stalks out of the room without a backward glance.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Awkward. That's the only word I can use to describe the thick stench plaguing the air between Hunter and me as we make the two hundred and fifty mile journey home. He has barely spoken a word to me since last night. And since I don't know exactly how to apologize for bringing myself to climax in front of him, I've also maintained a quiet front. Hunter is mere inches from me, but it feels like we are worlds apart.

  For every mile we travel, my annoyance firms. I didn’t ask Hunter to touch me last night - I didn’t stop him either - but we are grown adults, so the fact he's acting so childish is irritating the shit out of me.

  Huffing, I turn my attention away from the scenery of Ravenshoe whizzing by and focus it on Hunter. “Who is watching Charlie?” I ask, endeavoring to spark some type of conversation between us before I die of asphyxiation from the tension depriving the air of enough oxygen to maintain life.

  His eyes drift from the road to me. “Who?”

  Even though his reply is short, I’m grateful I’ve pried a response from him.

  “Charlie. Your dog.” I cock my brow.

  His shoulders stiffen. “Oh… umm… he isn’t my dog.”

  “Huh?”

  Hunter scrapes his hand along the edge of his jaw. “I kind of borrowed him.”

  My brows furrow. “You borrowed a dog? Why?” Shock is in my voice.

  His eyes drift between the road and me. “Because I saw you sitting in the sand dunes.”

  "And you wanted to talk to me, so you used Charlie as a way in?" I interrupt, wanting him to hurry up and get to the heart of his story. I'm not a sitting-on-the-edge-of-your-seat suspense-type of girl. I like to get straight to the nitty-gritty, often jumping ahead in any books I'm reading just to find out what happens before going back and reading the entire chapter.