His eyes roll back, his pace turning frantic, fucking himself on me while rutting into my fist.
“Mase—fuck me—I’m almost there,” he whines.
I slam my hips up, burying myself deep. He collapses against me, our sweaty chests pressed together as he wraps his arms around my neck. He kisses me messily, a frantic collision of teeth and tongue.
“Give it to me,” I growl against his lips.“Come onmy cock.”
Whimpering into my mouth, he releases in my fist, splattering hot against my fingers. His body pulses around me, milking me until I can’t hold back any longer.
Gasping, I grip him tight and thrust as deep as I can, spilling into the condom with my face buried in his neck. His skin tastes like sweat and salt.
For a moment, all I can do is hold him—both of us panting, spent, and clinging to each other. He doesn’t let me pull out right away. He just sits there, pressed against me with a sticky mess drying between us, catching his breath. My fingers brush across his back, tracing mindless patterns on his smooth skin.
“That was really hot—seeing you like that,” I mutter softly.
He looks up through heavy-lidded eyes. “Dominant?”
I push his fringe back, tucking it behind his ear. “No. Confident.”
He ducks his head to hide his blush. “Shut up.”
I cup his jaw, lifting until he meets my gaze again. “You truly have no idea how sexy you are, do you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
He laughs softly, the sound caught somewhere between disbelief and embarrassment. I can tell he doesn’t fully trust my words, and it makes my chest ache.
“When you walk into a room and everyone looks at you,” I whisper, “you don’t even notice. But I do. Every time. And it drives me insane.”
“Enough,” he pleads, cheeks flushed, silencing me with a quick peck. “You’re just saying that because you’re experiencing post-nut bliss.”
I shake my head, smirking. “No. It’s the truth, Hunt.”
He just rolls his eyes and nuzzles his face into my neck. “Whatever.”
With a reluctant groan, Hunter untangles himself from me and eases off my lap, my softening cock slipping free. He peels off the condom and disappears into the bathroom to toss it. When hereturns, he rummages through the pocket of his jeans on the floor and pulls something out—a business card.
He presses it into my palm, and my eyes catch on the name printed in neat serif font:Margaret Hawkins, Family Lawyer.
“I talked to my mom about your situation,” he says quietly. “Margaret’s a friend of hers. My mom gave her son an internship at her firm recently, so… she owes us a favor. She said she’d take your case, free of charge.”
My heart pounds, painful and grateful at the same time. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He shrugs and leans down to brush a soft kiss over my lips. “No problem. I’m gonna shower,” he mutters, slipping away.
I watch him walk toward the bathroom, his hips swaying with each step, and my chest feels like it’s caving in.
Hunter has me wrapped around his finger, and as much as I want to pretend this will last, I know it won’t. The storm is already rolling in—the end of summer, the part where he leaves and I stay behind.
Right now, being with Hunter feels steady like an anchor. But I know the second he’s gone, I’ll be on my own again, treading water in a lake too deep. And the truth is, I don’t know how I’ll fight the undertow without him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
When I was a kid, Sundays in the summer meant going to the farmer’s market. After church, Mom would drive us downtown, and we’d wander the rows of stalls, weaving through crates of sweet corn and mounds of raspberries. It was our little ritual.
Today, after weeks of watching her energy drain away, Mom surprised us by saying she wanted to go. Maddie and I agreed instantly. It felt like a small miracle, seeing that spark of her old self again.
She even insisted I invite Hunter. I never really doubted she’d accept me being gay. She raised us on the belief that Jesus loves everyone, and anyone who used the Bible as an excuse for bigotry was a coward. Still, watching her welcome Hunter so easily makes my heart stutter.
We pick him up on the way to the farmer’s market, and he squeezes into the backseat with Maddie. I catch glimpses of him in the rearview mirror while he yaps with her about Harmony Heartz. My chest tightens at the sight of him—his dark hair falling soft across his eyes, the blue checkered button-up hanging loose over a white T-shirt, those jeans clinging perfectly to his thighs.
