by Jenna Scott
“I know you don’t like to bring up the first time we hooked up…” His kiss echoes in my eardrums. His hand works its way down the front of my body but doesn’t go past my lower belly. “But do you remember what you were just about to do before you pushed me away that night?”
My breath hitches. I know what he’s implying, I know where this is headed, and I could put an end to it if I wanted to. But I’m also burning up, so I add more fuel to the fire. “What was I about to do?”
His hot breath shivers into my ear. “Come.”
I shudder, and seriously, it’s like he has a direct line to my pussy whenever he whispers in my ear. Or when he does anything, really. Breathlessly, I say, “You are wicked. A demon sent to tempt me.”
“Is it working?” he says, gently biting my neck. His hand is still on my stomach, heavy and unbearably hot. “Come on, Milla. Let me have another taste.”
I blink up at him. “Another taste?”
“That night, after you left, I…” He doesn’t say it, but his meaning is crystal clear. He must have licked his fingers after he touched me.
Why is this turning me on even harder?
“I take back what I said. You’re not wicked. You’re a full-on perv.”
“For you?” He smiles as he kisses me. “Absolutely.” His voice lowers. “You tasted good, Milla. Clean, and sweet. I liked it.”
There’s this way he has of twisting his tongue around mine that makes me melt instantly. He does it now, and my toes curl, and my insides clench. I become aware of the emptiness inside me that he could fill if I let him.
It’s scary how much I want him to touch me again. I pull back and take Hunter’s face in my hands. His blue eyes are half-lidded, his lips parted and swollen, his breath heavy, and he’s staring right at me like…
“You look like you’re about to ruin me,” I mutter, tracing his cheekbones with my fingers.
“That’s the plan.” He trails the back of his hand just above the line of my shorts, and my insides melt while my heart races faster than an Olympian athlete on a one-hundred meter dash. I can’t tear my eyes away from his. I feel his fingers on my zipper now, waiting for a word from me, and all I can do is remind myself that I need to breathe. And say something. Anything. But my throat won’t open, and my lips won’t move.
Helplessly, I look up at him with pleading eyes. Hunter shakes his head. “Tell me what you want.”
He gets off on this, doesn’t he? On making me squirm and whimper until I’m desperate and then stopping right when I’m about to lose it.
“You didn’t have a problem with me not saying it before,” I say.
“That was then. This is now.” He traces a path along the inside of my thigh and plants a soft kiss on my lips. “What’s it gonna be?”
I don’t know why I hesitate. It’s not like he hasn’t done this before. It’s not like I don’t want him to do it. But being so open about these things is embarrassing and not something I’m used to.
The yes is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to voice it. Maybe it’s because I’ve already experienced it, and I know it will be good, so I’m afraid I’ll get addicted or something. Then again, aren’t I addicted to him already? At night, when I’m alone in bed, this is all I can think about. Hunter, me, our hands and mouths and bodies. Anytime my attention drifts, he’s all I think about.
“Touch me,” I whisper.
“I’m touching you already.” He rubs his face on my neck. “You’ll have to be more explicit.”
The corner of my mouth lifts in a half-smile, and the way we’re lying on the couch like this, my nipples tingle against his chest whenever I inhale. I don’t know if he realized there was wordplay in what he said, so I tell him, “Then get explicit.”
Hunter lifts his head to look at me, then reaches below. My zipper slides down, and then he works the button open. His fingers slip into my shorts, curling underneath my panties, and I’m so wet it’s embarrassing but…
A knock booms across the pool house. “Camilla, are you there?” Mrs. Beck calls from outside.
I freeze and look up at Hunter with panic in my eyes. He frowns, and with a groan, reluctantly takes his hand out of my pants. I hurriedly button up my shorts and get up from the couch while Hunter heads down the hall to stay out of sight.
“I’m here,” I shout, rushing to open the door. “Good evening, Mrs. Beck.”
She’s in a gray silk cocktail dress, hair up, her face painted beautifully. “I’m heading out. Please give Harrison dinner and put him to bed.”
An order, not a question.
I could tell her I’m technically off the clock right now and that I need to study—not that I would be studying, with Hunter waiting for me, but she doesn’t need to know that. That she could have dinner with her son for once and put him to bed for once too. Looking at her, however, the anger gives way to sadness.
When you grow up with a mother who’s rarely there for you, you can see when it’s happening to someone else. And right now, it’s happening to Harrison. He deserves better.
“Of course,” I say with a tight smile. “I’ll be over in a sec.”
“Don’t be too long,” she says. “Harrison gets fussy when he’s hungry.”
A sigh escapes when I close the door, and when I go to my room to grab my shoes, Hunter’s standing in the doorway scowling, arms crossed over his chest.
“That fucking woman,” he says. “Were you even supposed to babysit today?”
“No.” I shrug. “At least this way Harry’s not spending the night alone.” I’ve spent many myself, and if I can spare a sweet kid from that, then I will.
“I can do it,” Hunter says, then kisses me softly. “Stay here and study.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “I’m happy to feed him and put him to bed.”
“Then let’s both do it,” he says. “Harry will love that.”
“Okay.”
My heart tightens, as if Hunter’s dug his way further in and such a small organ doesn’t have enough space to accommodate the space he takes up inside.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Camilla
When I enter the kitchen, I don’t detect the usual lingering scent of my mom’s cooking. She must have known I’d be dragged into this tonight and didn’t bother making dinner before leaving for her next shift. Maybe she’s the one who volunteered me to take care of Harry in the first place. Oh, well. We’ll make do.
I check the fridge and take stock of what’s available, then start pulling out what will take the least amount of work to put together: steak, mashed potatoes, and salad.
It’s odd not to have Harrison trail my every move and step like he usually does, but he’s currently playing Mario Kart with Hunter in the living room—and kicking his older brother’s ass at it, if the screams I’m hearing are anything to go by.
After I put the potatoes in a pot of water to boil and the grill pan is hot, I place the steaks on it and throw a pinch of salt and pepper on top. While they’re cooking, I get to work cutting up the romaine, cucumber, and tomatoes, and then dice some cheese. Sure enough, there’s a box of artisanal croutons in the pantry to top it all off.
Harrison won’t normally eat a salad, not if it’s presented the way salads usually are. But I’ve learned he’s more amenable if I plate it in a fun way. So I pour some ranch dressing in the center of a plate and then arrange the cucumber slices and cheese cubes around it so it looks like a flower. Then I add the tomatoes in a circle around that, using the romaine to fill in the background. I keep the croutons in a small bowl so Harry can dunk them separately. As for his steak, I’ll cut it into small strips so he can dip those too. He likes his with ketchup.
The hairs on the back of my next prickle, but before I can turn around, Hunter’s voice is at my ear. “That is cute.”
I jump and then laugh, shaking my head. “You have to stop sneaking up on me.”
“Here I thought you’d be used to it by now.” H
e wraps his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. “How long until dinner? Prince Harrison would like to know.”
“Where is he?”
“Went upstairs to get a game for after we eat.”
I get one steak off the grill for Hunter and leave the other one to cook a little longer since Harry won’t eat any meat unless it’s well-done.
“Why are there only two?” Hunter asks, frowning.
Shrugging, I tell him, “I’ll just eat at home later. I don’t need anything fancy.”
“Nope,” he says, and it’s the most affronted I’ve seen him. I watch him as he goes to the fridge and grabs another package of steak, then rips it open and slaps it on the grill. “You’re having dinner with us.”
“Okay,” I say, touched by his insistence that we all eat together. “Let me just finish up the salad and potatoes.”
“What’s your plan for these?” he asks, looking at the pot of boiling water.
“If they’re soft, they need to be drained and mashed with milk and butter,” I say.
“I’m on it.”
Minutes later, Harrison’s approaching footsteps echo down the hall. He bursts into the kitchen with Candy Land in his hands and Roo under his arm. Noticing the three plates on the table, his eyes widen. “Milla’s having dinner with us?”
“She is,” Hunter says.
“Yes!”
We wash our hands and sit down to eat. The conversation mostly consists of Harrison telling us about the papier-mâché project his class is doing with all their favorite animals. He’s making a dragon, since he’s been on a How To Train Your Dragon kick. When Hunter says dragons only exist in stories, Harry happily informs us that they’re really real, since there are such things as Komodo and bearded dragons.
As the meal goes on, I’m filled with this warm sense of…happiness? Belonging? I’m not sure. But I’m content to be with my two favorite boys, and I’m smiling at the littlest things. Especially when Hunter’s foot and mine bump each other under the table.
Is this what it’s like to have a whole family? If so, I like it.
Once we’re through, I get the dishes in the dishwasher while Hunter cleans up the table and puts the leftovers away. Then we help Harrison set up the game, which isn’t too hard since all that’s required is unfolding the board, stacking up the deck of cards, and choosing our game pieces.
“I want green!” Harry says. “Which one do you want, Milla?”
“Hmm…how about yellow?”
“I’ll be red,” Hunter tells him.
Now here’s the thing about Candy Land: it’s a great game when you’re six years old. After that? You realize it’s based on the luck of the cards you draw, and there’s really no strategy to it. Our session ends remarkably fast. Hunter draws two double square cards in a row and then takes a shortcut, leaving Harry and me in the dust. Two more rounds, and Hunter is at the ice cream castle.
The second round? Same thing happens, to the point I wonder if he’s cheating at this basic-ass game.
“Your luck is unreal,” I groan.
Hunter winks at me. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”
“I want to play something else!” Harrison demands, putting the cards back in the box. “Let’s play something with dragons instead.”
Hunter and I exchange a look. “Like what?”
“We can have a dragon, a knight, and a princess. The knight has to capture the dragon and rescue the princess,” Harrison says.
“Why can’t the princess rescue herself?” I interject, my feminist fire flaring up.
“I’m sure she can,” Hunter says, quick to calm me down, “but maybe this is just a test the princess set up. So she can weed out all the knights who aren’t brave enough to fight a dragon before she picks a suitor.”
Harry frowns. “There’s no fighting. The dragon will go live at the zoo.” He points at each of us as he speaks. “Milla is the princess, I’ll be the dragon, and Hunter can be the knight!”
Princess, me.
Knight, Hunter.
Of course.
I cross my arms over my chest, thinking that sometimes I swear Harrison realizes more than he lets on. “You don’t want to be the knight, Harry?”
“I’m always the knight at school.” Harrison pouts. “I want to be the king dragon now! The one who sits on all the gold and gets to be in charge of all the other dragons!”
Hunter and I laugh. We move to the living room, where Harry tells us the couch is now a castle and everything else is his domain. After I take my place on the couch with Roo the “baby dragon” guarding me, Harry gets on all fours and proceeds to crawl all over the carpet, growling. It’s extremely adorable and immensely funny, and since he’s committing to this, I decide I should as well. Even Hunter gets in on it, laughing as he tries to make his way past Harry, who keeps throwing himself at his brother’s feet and roaring.
“Oh no, whatever am I going to do?” I whine in a breathless, completely over-dramatic voice and place the back of my hand against my forehead. “Trapped in a castle surrounded by fields of lava! Is there not a single knight in all the kingdom who is brave enough to challenge the fearsome dragon and rescue me?”
“Rawr! The princess will be my dinner!” Harry growls, tiny hands wrapping around Hunter’s ankle.
“Oh yeah?” Hunter tries to take a step toward me, dragging Harrison along the carpet. When the kid doesn’t let go, Hunter says, “You leave me no choice but to use my secret weapon!”
“Your weapons won’t hurt me! I’ll make them melt with my fire breath!”
Hunter grins. “Who said anything about weapons?” Then he bends down, fingers finding Harry’s midsection and tickling him.
He thrashes and kicks, begging Hunter to stop as happy tears stream down his face. “I surrender! I surrender!”
Hunter stops, but it seems smart-assery runs in the family. Harrison uses his brother’s low guard to run, and then it all happens in a flash.
He tries to grab Harry, who wriggles out of reach, causing Hunter to lose his balance and fall right into me. We fall back against the couch together, his knee between my legs, his hand braced against my chest, giving him a handful of boob.
My breath catches.
I’m only vaguely aware of Harry running in circles around the room, yelling, “I win, I win, I win!”
We exchange a very panicked look before Hunter rushes to pull his hand away but doesn’t climb off me yet.
“You okay?” he asks.
From the corner of his eye, Hunter checks out the ongoing victory parade. A mischievous smile twists his lips. It’s the same expression he gets before he does something terribly inappropriate that’s going to leave me all melty.
Dipping his head until his lips are beside my ear, he whispers, “Playtime isn’t over, Milla.” And yup, there it is. The tension. The melty-ness.
Suddenly, he’s back on his feet, but only so he can lean over and hook one arm under my knees, the other around my back. As Hunter lifts me, I yelp from the shock of having the couch disappear from under me and automatically cling to his shoulders.
“Quick, princess, before the mighty dragon realizes we’ve escaped!” Hunter says, loud enough for Harry to hear, carrying me out of the living room, bride-over-the-threshold style. It takes me by complete surprise and draws a little scream out of me. I have no choice but to hold on tight to Hunter’s neck.
As if I weigh nothing, he speedily takes us through the kitchen. Over his shoulder, I see Harry trying to catch up, but if I have to run to keep up with Hunter’s brisk walking pace, a six-year-old has no chance. Hunter heads into the pantry, using his foot to nudge the door shut behind us.
“Noooo! Give me back the princess! Rawr! Rawr!” Harry yells from the other side. It’s adorable and so completely ridiculous that I can’t help but laugh.
“Never!” Hunter yells back. Then he looks at me, still in his arms, and starts laughing too. His eyes are the brightest I’ve eve
r seen, his expression completely unguarded.
Before I can stop it, one of my hand curls around the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. I tilt my lips upward and Hunter meets me halfway.
Harry’s protests from the kitchen fade into the background, so there’s only Hunter, and me, and this moment. When I tug at his hair, Hunter groans softly.
My heart is full, so full of him, and it scares me. Especially in times like these, where I want to be with Hunter so much it hurts.
I pull away, scrambling for something smart to say. We’re both breathing hard as I pant, “Your reward, sir knight.”
Hunter lets me down gently. “What do you say we teach the dragon how to share?”
I let out a snort. “You need to learn how to share.”
“I shared you for three hours. I’m an expert at it by now.” His hands bunch on the waistline of my shorts to pull me back in, but Harrison starts beating on the door.
“Come on, Hunter!” he says, his voice pitching higher. “It’s not funny anymore.”
“You heard him,” I say teasingly.
“Fine.” Hunter lets me go. “But you owe me. Later.”
“I can hardly wait.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Camilla
After we all eat Toll House ice cream sandwiches for dessert—Harrison’s choice—I send him upstairs to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.
“Can you read Harry a story while I put away the dishes?” I ask Hunter.
“Why don’t we read him a story together?” he suggests.
I smile. “The quicker we get our chores done, the quicker Harry falls asleep, and the quicker…” My voice catches as heat spreads throughout my body. “You know.”
“I see what you’re saying,” he says, a grin spreading across his face.
He heads up to his brother, and I turn back to the dishes. Just as I’m crouching down to play Jenga with a cupboard that’s already full of pots and pans, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
