He looksso good,though. The slight hood in his eyes, probably from the long drive, gives him a sensual aura. I want to drop to my knees in front of him and do what I’ve never thought about doing to another person before. I want to give up control. Hand it to him on a silver platter and trust him not to betray me.
“I’m gonna get changed, I’ll show you where the guest bathroom is.” He waits for me to stand and grab my bag.
When he turns, the sight of his ass in those shorts has me biting my lip until I taste copper. Wrong. Wrong. This iswrong.But I can’t stop myself, and when he opens the bathroom door and flicks the light on, the flood of brightness against the dark of the hallway snaps me out of my trance.
Keep it together. You’re going to be sharing a bed with him tonight, and you will have to keep your hands off him.
Quickly changing into my pajamas, I tuck my dick into the waistband of the plaid-printed cotton. They were a gift from Brittany last Christmas, and still the most comfortable pair of bottoms I own. I save them for situations when I know my control will be hanging on by a thread. And that’s normally because of agitation. Not lust.
Hunter is lying on the bed when I get back to the living room, and I have to swallow the pool of saliva in my mouth.
He’s wearing a light gray cut-off shirt, showing off the lean muscles in his arms and the hint of a dusky pink nipple against the slightly tanned skin of his chest. It shouldn’t be sexual.
I feel like such a pervert staring at him, wondering what the small bead would feel like against my tongue.
His legs are already under the covers, thank fuck. I sit down, folding my body gently to rest against the side of the fold-out bed, not wanting to disturb Hunter.
I can’t see the cover of the book he has in his hand, but I’m curious. What does a guy like him read for fun?
Scooting farther onto the bed, I position myself the same way as him, keeping the distance between us so he won’t think I’m weird. My back is resting against the couch cushions, and I twiddle my thumbs in my lap while I stare at him out of the corner of my eye.
“What are you reading?” My voice is loud in the silence, sounding like a bomb detonating.
Hunter startles, whipping his head over to look at me. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are glassy. Is he… turned on right now? I chance a glance down to where his dick is resting in his pants. There’s a slight bulge there, but nothing huge. Is he hard? That information seems pertinent to know for my own sick curiosity.
“Uhm-it’s…” His stuttering is adorable. He’s so embarrassed that I caught him.
“It’s?” I tease, but my voice is husky. Too husky to be taken jokingly because the thought of his hard dick fucks with my mind. He fucks with my control.
“A romance. It’s a romance.” He nods definitively, happy with his answer. I cover my mouth with my hand, hiding the smile that wants to break out.
Nope. This is wrong. This is fucked up. “Night, Collins. And don’t touch me while I sleep. It’s weird.” I hear his sharp intakeof breath and turn over to face the wall, putting everything Hunter Collins out of my mind. Counting backward from one hundred, I focus on mentally tracing each number in my mind until it finally calms down enough and I can slip into a dreamless sleep.
I liftmy head off the pillow, feeling a small drip of drool stream from my lip and onto my chin. Gross. I can hear Hunter’s gentle breathing, a soft undercurrent to the loud whispering coming from the kitchen, and I turn over to face him. The blankets tangle around me as I try not to jostle the bed too much. The sunlight streaming in from the partially opened window above the kitchen sink is positioned perfectly to shine across Hunter’s features.
I have a bone-deep need to brush the stray hairs off his face, tucking them behind his ears so they don’t bother his peaceful sleep. His mouth is slightly parted as small breaths escape from his lips. Long, dark eyelashes rest against his cheeks. His delicate features make him look like the male version of a Disney princess.
Fuck it, if he wakes up and catches me being weird and touching his hair, that’s on him. Not me.
I brush the hair off his forehead, trying to push it behind his ear, but it’s not long enough. So instead, I end up stroking it and staring at the scar on his upper lip. My fingers move of their own accord and trace the pale skin. It doesn’t feel any different from the skin surrounding it, the slight discoloration probably not noticeable to people who don’t obsess over him in their free time.
Hunter moves, and my hand freezes. He smacks his lips and turns toward me, nuzzling his cheek further into his pillow and releasing a deep breath. Thank fuck.
He looks so gentle, so breakable. I want to protect him, but how can I do that when it’smehe needs protecting from? But I can’t stay away, I won’t be able to.
I lay there, listening to the masculine and feminine whispers and the slight noises from their position. Sounds like they’re cooking breakfast. My stomach gives a pitiful growl, but I refuse to move from this position until Hunter moves. How long is too long to stare at a person? Does it make it weirder if they’re awake?
There’s an ache in my chest as I stay here, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, wondering what my life would be like if I woke up every day to him like this in our bed. Thoughts that I should absolutely not be thinking, but my brain and body are on the same self-destructive page.
Hunter’s eyes creak open, the brown irises unfocused as they look at me. The warmth in them makes me smile. I feel a thread of my control fray and know that he’ll be my downfall.
“Good morning.” His voice is deep and soft from sleep.
“Morning, Collins,” I whisper, fighting the temptation to lean forward and press a kiss to that scar.
“Good morning, honey! Your dad is making bacon, eggs, and chocolate chip pancakes on the Blackstone. Do you and your friends have any more requests?” his mom chirps, coming into the living room and looking at Hunter. The look in her eyes seizes my chest. Seeing a mother look at her son with something other than disappointment or indifference is shocking.
Hunter yawns, and his jaw cracks. Looking at me, he asks, “Anything else you want?” I’m frozen, staring at him and willing my mouth to cooperate and say something. Anything.
