Come Home to Me

by Liz Talley

  “Come here,” Hunt said, taking her hand and pulling her down the hallway. They passed another couple who barely glanced their way. They seemed intent on finding a dark corner or bedroom themselves.

  Hunt opened a door and pulled her inside. The room was empty and held a queen-size bed covered in a navy coverlet. Summer didn’t have much time to peruse the décor because Hunt was suddenly all over her.

  “You’re so much hotter than I thought,” Hunt murmured, capturing her lips before moving his lips across her jaw to her neck. “You smell good, too.”

  “I took a bath,” Summer said, before giggling. It was an absurd thing to say to a compliment, but she felt so not herself. Her fingertips felt numb and her thighs heavy. She knew she’d weaved her way up the stairs and now just wanted to sink down somewhere so she didn’t have to keep her balance. Wait, where were her shoes? Had she left them on the beach? Or in the kitchen?

  Hunt maneuvered her toward the bed. “Let’s sit down.”

  She nodded, but that made the room spin. A lamp on a decorative table across the room gave faint light, making Hunt look sexy. He was just like one of the guys in her books. Strong, silent, somewhat arrogant. But deep down, he was sweet. Who needed Rhett Bryan when there was Hunt, right?

  The room tilted again as she plopped down onto the bed. “I feel funny.”

  “You’re not going to puke, are you?” Hunt eyed her with something that was not desire. She didn’t want him to look at her like that. She wanted him to want her again.

  “Nu-uh, come back over here. Kiss me some more. You’re good at it,” she said, holding her hand out.

  Hunt smiled. “Yeah? I told you I could teach you to be a little bad. Want to be a bit more, Summer? ’Cause I know some bad things we could do.” Hunt came to her, wrapping a hand around her waist, clutching her rump, and she could feel his arousal. He nuzzled her neck and she prayed it wasn’t sweaty.

  “You do? I’m really hot,” she said, pushing against him.

  “It’s this dress,” he said, bunching up the fabric. “We can do something about that.”

  The zipper was on the side. Hunter made quick work of it but couldn’t get the hook and eye undone. “I can do it,” she said, undoing the clasp. The bodice gaped open and Hunt peeled it from her.

  “Damn,” he said, once the dress hit the floor. “You are curvy as shit. I like it.”

  Summer tried to look down at her body, which was cinched into an hourglass with the Lycra bustier with tummy support that her mother had insisted on. Edged in lace and mimicking something French, it was the sexiest undergarment Summer had ever owned. It made her look kinda skinny. Held everything in.

  Hunt grabbed her and pulled her on top of him. Then he rolled so they were at the head of the mattress and Hunt was half on her. His hands ran up and down her sides, clasping her butt, stroking her thighs. He kissed her over and over, his tongue thrusting inside her mouth. In the back of his throat, he made little groans that made her pelvis feel achy.

  Maybe this was how it felt to fall in love, all molten lava and heavy breathing. She lifted her hands to tangle in his hair because that’s what the heroines always did in the movies. Because that’s what you did when you were making out.

  “Sum, baby, are you on birth control, or do I need to use something?”

  “Hmm?” she asked, kissing him but then realizing he needed to understand she wasn’t going that far. “No, you won’t need to use anything. I can’t—”

  “Good, good, baby,” he interrupted, nuzzling her neck, moving his lips down to where her breasts strained against the cups of the bustier, making her forget she needed to clarify. “How does this come off? How did I not see how hot you were? Holy shit.”

  Take it off? Summer wanted to keep doing what they were doing. She hadn’t planned on going to second base on the first date. Was touching boobs second base? Maybe she could let him do that. She’d always wondered how it would feel to have a guy touch her there. It was prom night and he seemed really into her. He’d said she was hot.

  His fingers were already around her back, unhooking the bra part of the garment. Just two little hooks to give extra support was what the saleslady had said. The unfastening allowed the cups to gape open.

  Hunt folded the cups down, revealing her breasts. She wasn’t huge, but she was a full size C, almost a D, and he looked really happy about that.

  “Nice,” he murmured, cupping her left breast and kissing the top of the right. Summer felt like she wasn’t herself. She’d never imagined letting Hunt do something like this to her, but she sort of liked it. She was supposed to like it. Even Nessa had let the saxophone guy touch her boobs. Everyone did it. Or at least she thought so. She wasn’t sure, though.

  The rattle of the doorknob made Hunt pause. He flipped her bra back up as the door sprang open. Over Hunt’s shoulder, Summer could see Rhett’s face. He looked as if he’d discovered a crime scene.

  Rhett’s mouth, which had been open, snapped shut, and he goggled at them, lying on Hunt’s bed. Or what she thought was Hunt’s bed. Maybe it was just the guest room.

  “What the fuck, bro?” Hunt said, giving Rhett a glare over his shoulder. “You can’t knock?”

  “What’re you doing? Is that Summer?”

  “Get the fuck out, Rhett. Seriously, dude.”

  At that moment, Rhett looked past Hunt to Summer. Shame seared her body, and suddenly she felt pretty damned sober. Wrapping her arms around her now-covered breasts, she struggled to sit.

  “It’s okay,” Hunt said, pressing her back. “He’s leaving.”

  Rhett hesitated. “Sum? You okay?”

  She should have said no. She should have gotten up, even though Rhett would see her dimpled thighs, and left the room. But then she remembered the way he’d looked at her on the beach. In his eyes, she could see that same pity sharing space with concern. Did he think she was some baby who couldn’t make her own decisions? He’d made her feel like a fool, and now he was making her feel like a child who needed protection. He shouldn’t have the power to make her feel like a pathetic loser. “I’m fine.”

  But she wasn’t. She wasn’t ready to do what she was doing with Hunt. She’d only had her first kiss earlier that night . . . and it was with the wrong boy.

  Get up, follow Rhett, and find a ride home. You don’t belong here.

  “Lock the door on your way out. We don’t want to be interrupted again,” Hunt said, impatience in his voice.

  Rhett didn’t move. He watched Summer, waiting for her to say something. She stared back at him, still angry, still hating the way he’d made her feel. Worthless. Rhett had made her feel worthless. After a few long seconds, Rhett murmured “Okay,” clicked the button lock, and shut the door.

  “Jesus,” Hunt said, tugging her to him. “Way to ruin a mood, huh?”

  He kissed her and she tried to recapture the desire by kissing him back. He still tasted like alcohol, and she wondered irrationally if she should send him down for more tequila. She felt like she needed more booze so she could get back into the spirit of things. Pun intended.

  Hunt’s hands were back on her breasts, kneading and squeezing, as he muttered incoherent things in her ear. He still wanted her.

  Then his hands slid down to the silky panties that covered her butt. “Ah, wait, Hunt.”

  But his hands slipped inside, kneading the globe and pulling her against his erection. Desire mixed with alarm inside her brain. She couldn’t go this far even if it felt good.

  “It’s okay, Summer. I know what I’m doing, baby. Just relax.”

  Summer couldn’t relax because his hand was in her panties. She opened her eyes, and somehow his shirt had come off. His torso was smooth with the smallest gathering of dark hair between his pecs. He looked good, but not good enough to go where he obviously thought they were going. “Stop, Hunt. I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

  He kissed her nose. “Your nerves are so cute.”

  He tried to kiss her
but she wrenched her mouth away. “Let’s go back to kissing and maybe just up-top stuff, okay? I’m not ready for all that.”

  “I got you,” he said, pulling his hand from her panties. Relief pooled inside her. And when he stroked the sensitive flesh between the edge of the bustier and the lace of her light-pink panties, she didn’t protest. His mouth found hers and he spent several minutes doing nothing but kissing her.

  And it was good again.

  Summer touched his face and reveled in the rasp of his whiskers against her fingers, in the thought he was so different from her. Hunt moved away from her mouth and kissed down her neck. It sort of tickled, but she liked the way it made her feel gooey inside. Then he was back at her breasts and she let him nuzzle them because she’d said he could stay up top. He pinched her nipples and then he sucked one into his mouth.

  “Hunt,” she gasped, trying to sit up.

  His hand pressed her back. “Relax. Your tits are incredible.”

  Those words were like honey drizzled over her. Maybe her breasts were incredible. Maybe this was what she needed—to act more like a woman and less like a little girl. So she let him do what he wanted and vowed to enjoy it.

  But then she sensed a change come over him. An urgency. She heard the clink of his pants hitting the floor. God, they were almost naked. She struggled against him. “I can’t, Hunt.”

  “Relax, baby, it’s okay,” he murmured against her breasts, as his hands wandered back to the waistband of her panties. She wriggled against him, but his fingers were insistent. They dipped down, sliding down between her legs, invading her.

  “Hunt, no,” she said, her body warring with her brain. Because she couldn’t deny that it felt good. She’d imagined this before. But she wasn’t ready. It was too much, too soon.

  “God, you’re so wet,” he said, his hand moving against her.

  For a moment she lost her breath. Her hips jerked because the actual touch of his fingers on her most intimate area felt good. Still, she didn’t want this. She wasn’t going to have sex with Hunt McCroy on prom night. It was too trite. Too ridiculous. Too wrong.

  “Stop, Hunt. I don’t want to do this. Please,” she said, pressing against his chest as she scooted her bottom away from him.

  “Don’t be nervous. Just relax. I know how to make it good,” he said, kissing her cheek before moving down to nuzzle her neck.

  Part of her wanted to let him do what he wished. Her body seemed to like it. But the other part of her knew this was a mistake. “You probably can, but I don’t want to have sex. I’m not ready.”

  “You feel ready,” he whispered in her ear as his hands left her body.

  Relief burgeoned, but then she realized he’d freed his hands only so he could do something to his boxers.

  “Hunt, stop,” she said as she felt his penis slap her thigh. He’d wedged his knee between her legs, prying them apart. “I mean it. I don’t want to.”

  “It’s okay to be nervous, Summer,” Hunt said, nipping her lower lip. “Just relax, baby.”

  “No, get off me,” she said, bucking her hips the way she did when she and Maisie wrestled and her sister tried to sit on her. Hunt didn’t move. Instead her motion brought her hips up, allowing his penis to slide against the crotch of her panties. The sensation startled her. Scared her.

  “Hey, hey,” he said, catching her fists before she could shove him off. “Everyone’s a little anxious the first time, but you’re going to like it, baby. I promise.”

  Fear clawed at Summer, making the spit dry in her mouth. Hunt was going to do this. He was forcing himself on her. “Please don’t, Hunt. I don’t want to. I’m saying no.”

  “But your body is saying yes. You’re so wet for me.” He released one of her wrists and pushed the crotch of her panties aside, dragging his finger through the dampness between her legs. “See?”

  Then he jabbed his penis into the entrance of her body and pushed forward. And it hurt.

  Summer screamed and kicked her legs. “Stop it, you asshole. Get off me.”

  “Shh! Just relax, Summer. You’re working yourself up. You’re going to make this worse,” he panted as he held one of her wrists above her head and started to move inside her. His torso crushed her, pinning her to the bed.

  Panic swept over her. She’d said no. She’d said no. But he hadn’t cared. He was inside her, moving. “Please, Hunt. Please stop.”

  “Shit, you’re tight. Christ almighty,” Hunt groaned, moving fast inside her, like he couldn’t hear her. Maybe he couldn’t. She couldn’t see his face, and her effort to use her right hand to push him back failed. She smacked against his back, but he didn’t seem to feel it.

  Her wrist hurt from where he’d pinioned it, and his hand on her hip cemented her to the bed. She tried to lift her knee to dislodge him from her body, but her motion only made it easier for him.

  “That’s it. Yeah,” he said, moving faster, his hot breath coating her ear.

  “Stop,” Summer said against his throat. She head-butted his shoulder. “Please. I don’t want to do this.”

  But Hunt didn’t stop. He kept thrusting, the pain searing her, her panic fading away to acceptance. Summer stopped fighting and turned her head from him. The scent of his cologne made her nauseous. Or perhaps that was the stupid vodka coming back up, perched in the back of her throat. The room no longer spun. Maybe being raped sobered up a girl.

  Hunt grunted and made strangling sounds before he pumped his hips harder and collapsed on top of her with a guttural, “Oh shit.”

  Summer lay there as Hunt sprawled atop her, still breathing hard. She couldn’t seem to move. Like someone in a car wreck who had an out-of-body experience, she saw herself crushed beneath Hunt, tears staining her face. Her corsage torn, petals scattered, ironic symbolism of her utter loss.

  Hunt kissed her shoulder. “You were good, Summer. So, so good.”

  A terrible sob shook her, and she couldn’t stop her body from convulsing under the shock and grief over what had just transpired. “Oh God. Oh God.”

  Hunt had released her hand and now he seemed to register her reaction. “Are you okay? What’s the matter?”

  Grief spilled out of her and she pushed him off her. She felt his penis slip from her body and thought she might vomit. Her thighs now felt wet and sticky as she scooted from him, flipping up the bodice of the bustier so it covered her breasts.

  “Summer, what’s wrong? Don’t cry. Sometimes it’s a little uncomfortable the first time.” Hunt said it like he was a doctor delivering a prognosis. I just violated you and it might have been uncomfortable. But you were good and tight and wet so it’s okay. Happy Losing Your Virginity by Rape Day, Summer.

  Summer wanted to hit him, but she didn’t. Because she didn’t know him. He might hit her back. So for a moment she just stared at him, tears streaming down her face, her panties bunched in her crack. She averted her eyes because she could see he didn’t even realize what he’d done. Or he didn’t want to admit what he’d done. She picked up a crushed petal lying on the coverlet, closed her eyes, and sobbed. “Why did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Do that when I said no? You shouldn’t have done that,” she said, swiping at her face. “What kind of a person does that?”

  He looked baffled. “I didn’t do anything wrong. You were into it. It’s like I said, sometimes uncomfortable the first time. I tried not to go too fast.”

  “I wasn’t into it,” she said, snapping her head around, glaring at him. “I told you to stop.”

  Hunt moved toward her. “Come here, Summer. It’s okay. I tried to make it good for you.”

  “Stop,” she said, holding up a hand. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Come on, Summer,” he said, his voice cajoling, lowering to sound as if he were talking to a child. “Don’t turn it into something it wasn’t. We had sex. People have it all the time. I know maybe I wasn’t as patient as I should have been, but you wanted it.”

  She blinked
at him. He really didn’t get it. The dude had just raped her and he didn’t get it. “No, I didn’t. You forced that. You’re . . . don’t touch me.”

  Hunt stood up, tucking himself into his boxers and pulling on the pants he’d discarded. “You know what, this is bullshit. You’re trying to make it sound like I raped you or something. Maybe it wasn’t the best experience and you’re upset. Okay, whatever, but don’t act like you weren’t into it. We both know that’s a lie.”

  His hard words peppered her with disdain, and she stared at the scattered petals and then at the ruined ribbons half torn from her wrist corsage. Something about the destruction made her cry harder. She gathered the petals in her hand, unable to stop the tears, the grief, the shame. “You ruined it.”

  “It’s a corsage,” he said, shrugging on his shirt and looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “Stupid flowers.”

  She didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

  Moments before, she’d thought Rhett had made her feel worthless, but she’d been wrong. Worthless was what she now felt. Thrown away. Scattered, never to be whole again. She closed her hands around the petals, crushing them, twisting them.

  “You’re right. Stupid flowers.”

  As she released them, tossing them unwanted onto the bed, it occurred to her that it would have been better to follow Graysen outside to smoke the “good shit” with Jace. Better to have gotten high than raped.

  She picked up her dress, sober as a judge, insignificant as the petals beneath her feet, and pulled it on, wishing she could die right there. But then again, maybe part of her had.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  November, present day

  Hunt had never been as terrified as he was standing in the corner of the emergency room, watching the doctor intubate his son. He felt like a boulder sat atop him, pinning him to some awfulness he never knew existed. He realized at that moment that this was what being a parent was. Loving something beyond comprehension and suffering because of that love.

  How had this happened? He couldn’t comprehend the last twenty minutes—the call, the ambulance, the swooshing doors of the ER giving way to the stretcher David lay on.