This Hurt (This Boy Book 2)

by Jenna Scott

  “Nah. You can chuck it. Actually, I’ll chuck it myself when I get back up here.”

  A few minutes later, he sets a bottle of water, an avocado and cheese sandwich, and a pear on the cardboard box next to me. “My hero. Avocado’s my favorite,” I gush.

  “I know,” he says. “Honestly, I would’ve brought you up leftovers, but dinner was some kind of casserole…thing. Trust me, you’re better off with the sandwich.”

  I laugh and start to dig in. “Thanks.”

  He sits down next to me and rests his head on my shoulder while I eat. “Do you want some help getting this done? The sorting’ll go a lot faster, at least.”

  “Sure. But you don’t have to. I’m getting paid by the hour, you know.”

  “This is time I’m sure you’d much rather be spending on homework,” he points out. “And besides. The sooner you’re done, the sooner I can have my way with you.” He sighs dramatically. “My balls are so blue they’re black, Milla.”

  “Oh no. What a plight,” I say with faux concern. “We better get to it fast, then.”

  Hunter takes down a bag of trash while I finish eating, bringing up a fresh bag when he returns. Meanwhile, I’ve made a pile of dresses and shoes for the donation box. He packs them up for me and I go to the next cardboard box in the corner, which is heavy. I groan as I haul it off the top of the stack and set it on the floor.

  “What’s this pile?” Hunter asks from the other end of the room.

  I glance over. “Those are mine. Karleigh said I could keep whatever I want.”

  “Why not this one?” He holds up one of those spandex bandage dresses, in a shade of blush pink that I’d never be caught dead wearing.

  “That will not look good on me. It’s too tight. And I’ll look like I’m naked.”

  “My point exactly.” He tosses the dress in the to-keep pile. “And since you can’t be trusted to know what looks good on you, I will be picking out your new clothes. You’re welcome.”

  I huff. “Fine. Knock yourself out. Doesn’t mean I’ll actually wear them.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he says with a grin.

  I rip the tape off the heavy box and discover a bunch of old photo albums wedged inside. Without thinking, I pull one out, and come face-to-face with an eight by ten of baby Hunter. He was all chubby cheeks and a mop of downy pale hair, his blue eyes still in that gray-ish phase, his lashes already impossibly long.

  “Oh my God,” I squeal. “You were so cute! Like the freaking Gerber baby.”

  None of my enthusiasm reflects back to me from Hunter’s face. “I thought we threw all those away.”

  He comes over to join me on the floor, where I’m flipping through more of his childhood photos. When I turn the page, he visibly freezes, and it takes me zero seconds to realize why.

  The photo shows a woman holding him. She’s beautiful, with the same bright blue eyes, straight nose, and those beautiful lashes, but that’s where the resemblance ends. Her eyes look sunken in, her skin sallow, like she’s sick, and her smile doesn’t reach past her lips. Unlike baby Hunter, whose face is lit up like the brightest of suns.

  “Your mom?” I ask quietly.

  Hunter nods, his gaze never leaving the page. “Yeah.”

  “She’s gorgeous,” I say. I take a breath, hesitant to say the next words—but Hunter never speaks of his mother, and I’m afraid to miss this chance to ask about her. “You told me she left, but you never said why.”

  “I’d rather not,” he says, closing the album. “And I’d rather this be thrown out with the rest of the school stuff.”

  I frown. “You don’t really want that. Trust me.” I take his hand. “I don’t have any pictures of when I was younger, because my mom never took any. I wish I had a photo album like this. I’d give anything.”

  “You don’t know what my mom did,” he says. “You wouldn’t want pictures of her lying around either, if you knew the truth.”

  “So what happened? It can’t be that bad, if you have that memory of her, right? The one about swimming with her in the ocean? You said you were safe, and happy—”

  “And that’s about it.” He’s curt when he speaks, a sign that he’s pulling away. “I don’t care about the rest. It’s not worth mentioning.”

  “Okay.” I brush his knuckles with my thumb, not wanting to push. “I just want you to know…you can trust me with the things that hurt you. The same way I trust you with mine. My dad left before I even met him, so I can at least partly understand.”

  There’s a long breath on Hunter’s part. I lay my head against his shoulder, and use my free hand to rub his upper back, reminding him that I’m here, supporting him.

  Finally, just when I’m about to suggest we get back to work, he murmurs, “If I tell you this, you’ll think I’m an even bigger mess. You’ll leave like she did.”

  I look up at him, smiling as I say, “Oh, I know you’re a mess. But you’re my mess. And I’d never leave you over something that happened with your mom.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Hunter.” My tone sharpens, because this is something he needs to understand. “We’ve already been through a lot together. You were a jerk to me, you messed up a scholarship that I needed, you tried to punch once of my best friends at the spring formal, and after all of that, I’m still with you. Do you honestly think your mom leaving when you were little is going to do anything to put me off? Because it’s not. I’m here. And I’m with you. For better or worse.”

  A blush creeps up my cheeks as I realize how wedding-vow-like that sounds. But Hunter doesn’t seem to notice. He just pulls me closer and searches my eyes before saying, “She left because she didn’t love me enough to stay. It’s as simple as that. I’m obviously not worthy of it.”

  “Hunter—”

  “Maybe I never will be.”

  He looks away, and even though I can’t see his tears, I can hear them at the edge of his voice. Suddenly, I understand him better than I ever have. And it breaks my heart.

  My hand tightens around his. “That’s not even a little bit true.”

  “Isn’t it, though? I know what a piece of shit I am. My dad reminds me frequently.”

  “Harrison loves you. He worships you.” I press a kiss to his lips, whisper-gentle. “And I love you. Hunter, you’re worthy of love. Of everything good. You are.”

  He stares at me with those ocean blue eyes of his, half-lidded and sad.

  “I need a minute,” he says, abruptly pulling away and walking out of the room.

  My mouth thins into a line, my body frozen with indecision. I want to go after him, but at the same time, I don’t want to disrespect his need for space. So I let him go.

  But his old pictures? I don’t throw those out. They stay in the same place they were, in a cardboard box—but as I look through them again, trying to put the puzzle of Hunter together, I feel the understanding dawn on me all over again with full certainty.

  He truly believes his mother didn’t love him enough to stay—that’s why he is the way he is. He’s afraid that if he lets himself get attached to someone, they’ll just end up deserting him like she did.

  That’s why he did what he did when it came to the Reed Scholarship.

  Because he loves me, and he’s afraid he’s going to lose me.

  And in a way? He’s right.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Hunter

  Once I tell Camilla about my mom, it’s hard for me not to obsess over it. And the more I get lost in my own head, the harder it is to speak at all. I wish I hadn’t said anything. It’s always like this for me when it comes to mom stuff. Everything goes dark. I just completely shut down.

  I didn’t get into the details, or admit what my mom chose over me—but what does that matter, anyway? In the end, the only thing that matters is that she walked out, and that she isn’t coming back no matter how desperately I want—no, wanted—her to. The weight of that knowledg
e slugged me like a knockout punch, just like it always does, and I had to go to my room and lie down afterward like the coward that I am.

  My eyes are shut tight, but I can’t sleep. I’m that lost little kid all over again, and all I can think of is how my mom isn’t here and hasn’t been for years.

  That’s when I hear the knob of my bedroom door turn. I peek out from under the sheets, and of course, it’s Milla. The only person who would even think about coming in here without knocking. She must have gone home to shower and change after cleaning up the guest room, because now she’s in a pair of tiny pajama shorts and a T-shirt. She doesn’t wait for me to say anything, just locks the door behind her.

  “It’s after midnight,” I say, glancing at my alarm clock. “You should be in bed.”

  “I could feel your brooding all the way in the pool house.” She kicks off her shoes and climbs into bed with me. “I know you probably want to be alone right now, but I don’t think you should be.”

  “It’s what I deserve,” I say, not meeting her eyes.

  She shimmies closer, her warmth reaching me even though we’re not touching. “No, it’s not. Not while I’m here.”

  I roll over to look at her, but even the sight of the girl I love isn’t enough to banish the mood I’m in. “If you’re gonna say I shouldn’t be upset, that it was a long time ago—”

  “No. You should be upset. Your mother left, and you were too little to process it. I don’t know if anyone can ever process something like that. I know it’s not the same thing, but my dad walked out, too. I never even met the guy and it still eats me up inside sometimes. Like, why didn’t he stay? Does he ever wonder about me? Does he even know I exist? That doesn’t go away, I don’t think.”

  “It doesn’t,” I say flatly.

  She traces the curve of my bicep and squeezes. “But your mom’s actions have nothing to do with you. I’m not saying I know if her reasons were good, but…whatever they were, those were her reasons. Her leaving? That’s on her, not you.”

  “How would you know? You weren’t there.”

  Milla gives a shrug. “I don’t blame myself for my dad leaving. Yeah, I feel like shit about it sometimes, but I know it wasn’t really about me. It was about him. And probably whatever he had, or didn’t have, with my mom. Not me, though.”

  “That’s easy for you to believe. You’re...” Patient. Kind. Determined. Brilliant. Your dad leaving has nothing to do with you because you’re perfect, is what I want to say, but in the end all that comes out is, “You.”

  She reaches up to stroke the side of my face. “And you’re you, too, Hunter.”

  “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m…me.”

  “Exactly.” She brings her lips to mine, kissing me slowly. “You’re intense, and protective, and completely sweet—”

  “I’m not sweet—”

  Milla claps a hand over my mouth, silencing me. “You are when you want to be. Generous, too. Don’t get me wrong, you can be a jerk, and you make mistakes, and you can be kind of unapproachable at first, but…” She gives me another kiss before going on, “I think you go hardcore into defense mode when you don’t know what else to do. To protect yourself. But when you lower your guard enough to let somebody in, you’ll do anything for them. At your core, Hunter, you are a good person.”

  My breath hitches at her words. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  “I am. But I also mean it.” She starts kissing me again, gently and softly and relentlessly, and even though this isn’t the best timing, I can feel myself getting hard. “I know you’re worthy of love. Just look how much I love you.”

  No matter how many times I hear her say it, it always hits me right in the chest. And I do feel loved by her, but I also know she wants to leave. So how can she really mean it? I’d never tell her this, but part of me still hopes she doesn’t find a way to afford Stanford. That she’ll have to stay local, at least for a few more years. I feel incredibly shitty about it, and I know I’m being selfish, but I’ve learned the hard way that you have to hold on to the things you love any way you can.

  I won’t interfere again, though. I still regret that.

  “I love you,” I reply.

  She plants another kiss on my lips, taking her time lingering there. Then, she picks up my left hand, and kisses my palm, whispering softly. “I love your hands. I love how they hold mine. How they touch me everywhere and drive me to utter ruination—which I love too, by the way.”

  “Oh really?” I say, my voice a low rumble.

  My other hand has started to wander down her body, finding the perfect place to settle under the curve of her ass. She really has the nicest ass, and when I squeeze it, she sighs and says, “See? I love how you do that, too.”

  “Can we go back to the part where I ruin you, though?” I ask, rolling onto my back and pulling her on top of me. “I kind of want to hear about that.”

  “I think it’s better if I show you.” She rises to a sitting position and begins to tug my shirt up. I raise my arms, helping her get it off, and once I’m shirtless, she kisses my chest, dragging her tongue along my skin. “I love how it feels when we’re skin to skin.”

  “Show me,” I groan.

  Milla leans back and takes off her shirt, then comes back down to press herself against me, both of us bare from the waist up. “Mmm, you’re warm. I feel safe here.”

  My fingers skim the naked line of her spine. “I make you feel safe?”

  “Yes.” Milla nods, and raises herself to a sitting position again, hands trailing along my abs. “God, you’re perfect. Sometimes I wonder if Michelangelo came back from the dead just to sculpt you.”

  Here’s the thing: I know I’m good-looking. Hearing Milla say it, however, makes it feel like something that matters, and not just because it’s a weapon I can use to get what I want from females. Instead, it’s something that can bring her pleasure. But also, “If he came back from the dead to sculp someone, it’d be you, Milla.”

  She laughs. “That’s nice of you to say, but I’m pretty average. Cute at best.”

  “No.” I touch her face. “You’re beautiful. Without even trying.”

  Shaking her head, she looks down at me and leans over. Then she licks my neck, biting softly until I tremble under her. Moving lower, she keeps kissing me, lower and lower, until she gets to my hips, where she pauses to slide off my boxer briefs.

  With all her soft caresses, I’m rock hard, and my cock jumps out.

  She smiles. “I love your monster dick, and how it’s always hard for me.” She puts her lips on the tip, and drags her tongue under. I lift my hips to prolong the contact.

  “Milla,” I gasp, and she looks at me from under her lashes as if to ask what. As good as this feels, I want to do things to her too. “Turn over.”

  She kisses the head of my cock. “No. I’m the one who’s loving you right now.”

  I realize that, but I’m dying to drink up what I’m sure will be a very went cunt. “Well, don’t you love it when my tongue is in your pussy?”

  Milla takes her lips away from me and tilts her head to the side. “Yes. But only because I love how you get me ready.”

  She gives my dick another long lick, balls to tip, and I suck in a breath. I can’t help but stare when she slips off her shorts and underwear, then gets on all fours with her ass facing my direction. I relish her sharp inhale when my tongue touches her slit—the angle is different from what I’m used to, but not anything I can’t handle.

  I lick her, and I kiss her, and she lowers her head and does the same to my cock. Meanwhile she’s moaning softly, and I can tell she wants more, so I slip a finger inside her and let her rock back and forth on it while I watch her ass shake.

  As much as I’d love to come inside her mouth right now, it’s not what I really want. It’s not enough. “Milla,” I murmur. “I need more.”

  She pulls away and turns around, breathing hard. “So do I,” she says, and, biting her li
p, she starts to grind against my dick. “Mmm. I love this, too.”

  “Me too,” I echo as my hands go to her hips, while one of hers grabs the base of my cock and positions it against her entrance.

  “You know what else I love?” she asks.

  I have a pretty good idea, but I still ask, “What?”

  “I love how full you make me.” She lowers herself onto me until I’m fully sheathed in her, and we both sigh. “And I love how you feel when we move together.”

  She rocks her hips once, twice. It’s so hot inside her, like she’s melting around my cock, and I’m so into it that it takes me a second to realize there’s no condom between us. “Hold on, wait. Not that I’m complaining, but…”

  Looking down, she pauses, the same realization hitting her. “Crap.” She gets off me, and goes to my drawer to get one. “See, that’s how much I love you. I forgot to wrap up your monster dick.”

  After the condom’s on, she kisses me before slipping me back inside her, and then starts moving, saying, “Do you feel how wet I am? My pussy loves you, too.”

  As she moves above me, her eyes glazed with pleasure as she starts to unravel, I’m hit by a tumult of emotions. I love her. So fucking much it gets hard to breathe sometimes. So much it’s impossible to think of spending as much as a day without her.

  But there’s nothing I can do to stop her from walking away.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Camilla

  The days pass, and somehow, Hunter and I seem to get even closer every day. It’s getting harder to pretend this is casual and stick to my self-proclaimed boundaries—not because of his insistence, but because I genuinely want to be with him all the time.

  I ask Isabel to do me a huge favor and bring me to the appointment I made at Planned Parenthood after the semi-unprotected sex I had with Hunter, and she’s happy to take me. While I’m there, I get tested for everything (just in case), and when the doctor informs me that she’ll gladly give me the birth control shot I asked for, she adds, “Just remember that it won’t protect you from STIs, okay? I see you got a full screening today, which is great, but has your partner been tested?”