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My voice is smaller than I’d like when I admit, “I wanted to use it when I wake up in the morning.”
“You know that already?”
He sounds like he wants to laugh.
“I’m most relaxed then,” I explain. “I think about sex more in the morning.”
But in one fell swoop, he removes his hands from me and rinses off under the shower.
He steps out, leaving me behind, and I stand there, still soapy and just as confused. “Hunter…”
“It’ll be under my pillow,” he says. “House will be unlocked.”
He grabs a towel, dries off, and pulls on his clothes again.
Is he leaving? Seriously? “Hunter, please.”
I want the vibrator tonight, actually.
“You know where it’ll be.” He grins. “Get some sleep. School tomorrow.”
Hunter
The next morning, I’m walking out of my bathroom in my sleep pants, rubbing the towel over my wet hair. Alone.
I thought for sure she’d come last night.
I thought she’d sneak into my bedroom a half an hour later, unable to sleep, because she was too worked up.
But no. She just went to bed after all that and didn’t need more. Unlike me. It took mefor-fucking-everto finally drift off, especially because I just wanted to get to sleep, so I could wake up to her climbing over my body to get at her vibrator underneath my pillow.
I’m not saying I’m mad. Just…frustrated. I guess the vibrator wasn’t better than her fingers because I woke up twenty minutes ago alone.
Or maybe she’s feeling weird about it after-the-fact. I’ve baked cookies with her. Taken swimming lessons with her. Shared giant pretzels at the fair with her. Maybe I shouldn’t have come on her. That was probably going too far.
It was like a frenzy, though. God, she was hot. And I still love the way we play. No matter how it changes.
“You okay?” someone asks.
I pop my head up, my heart skipping a beat. I stare at Hawke standing right in front of me on the second-floor landing of my grandfather’s brownstone.
“Dude, what the hell?” I blurt out, dropping my arm. “You scared me.”
I realize my eyebrows are pinched, and I probably looked in pain when I came out of the bathroom because I’m dying with my need for Dylan.
I drop the expression, heat stifling me as if he could tell what I was just thinking. Dylan’s hisactualcousin, and Hawke is like Jax. They know things, and you don’t know how they know them.
Why is he here?
“How’d you get in?” I ask, looking downstairs for Rebels, but I don’t see Farrow or anyone.
“Secret entrance,” he tells me. “Dylan’s house next door has one too.”
Secret entrance? I head down the stairs, forcing him to follow me. “How do you know that? I don’t even know that.”
He doesn’t reply, and I walk into the dining room, tossing my towel on the table.
I look around. “Where is it?” I ask.
