Page 52 of Hunter

Charlie

I’m in so much trouble.

By the time we leave the zoo, the sun is dipping lower and I’m stupidly, dangerously attached. Every laugh, every touch of his fingers against my skin, every low teasing comment has wound itself tighter around my ribs until I can barely breathe without feeling him there. I should be running.

If I were smart I would be.

However, if there is anything I’ve proven to myself since I landed in New York City, more times than not, I make decisions I probably shouldn’t in the name of living my life. So I’m letting him walk me home as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

We take the long way, shoulders bumping, fingers occasionally brushing like neither of us wants to commit but neither wants to stop either. The whole walk I keep stealing glances at him—the way the late afternoon light hits his stubble, the broad line of his shoulders, the quiet intensity in his eyes when he looks at me. I’m getting too attached. Way too fast. And the scariest part is, I don’t want to slow down.

When we finally reach my building, I stop at the bottom of the steps and turn to face him. My heart is hammering so hard I’m sure he can hear it.

“You can come up,” I say before I can talk myself out of it. “If you want.”

Hunter’s eyes darken instantly. He takes a slow step closer, crowding me gently against the railing. For a second, I think he’s going to say yes. I want him to say yes. I’m already imagining his hands on me, his mouth, the way he’d probably take control and make me forget every rule I set for myself.

But he just looks at me for a long moment, jaw tight like he’s fighting himself.

“I want to,” he says, voice rough. “Fuck, Charlie, you have no idea how much I want to. But I’m not going to.”

Disappointment crashes through me, sharp and humiliating. I look down at my shoes, cheeks burning. “Right. Of course. The whole ‘I don’t randomly fuck people’ thing.”

Hunter tilts my chin up with two fingers, forcing me to meet his eyes. His touch is gentle, but his gaze is burning.

“It’s not that,” he says. “I just… I don’t want to be another thing you regret tomorrow morning. Not when you just told me last night that you don’t fuck guys who are still in their trauma. And I’m still figuring out how to not be a complete mess and face that said trauma.”

I stare at him, heart thudding against my ribs. It doesn’t feel like I’ve only known him for a couple weeks. And really, do I know him? I’ve thought that about the guys I’ve tried to fix in the past. But still, something warm and greedy inside of me wants to drag him upstairs anyway.

I swallow hard. “I don’t remember saying that.”

He chuckles. “Well, I do. I remember everything you say to me.” His thumb brushes my jawline. “Doesn’t mean I’m not tempted as hell right now.”

The air between us feels too thick. My body is screaming at me to pull him inside, lock the door behind us, and let him ruin every careful boundary I’ve built. I haven’t let anyone fuck me in over a year. I do foreplay, teasing, making out until we’re both shaking—safe things. Things I can shut down quickly. But right now, with Hunter looking at me like he wants to devour me and still choosing not to, I’m ready to throw all of it out the window.

But I just nod, throat tight as I force the single word out. “Okay.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath. He steps even closer, one big hand sliding to the side of my neck, thumb stroking just under my jaw. For a second, I think he’s changing his mind.

His eyes dip to my lips, and my heart tries to climb out of my throat. My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and he groans low in his chest. The sound goes directly to my dick, and I can feel it try to chub up in my tight-as-fuck pants.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

It’s the only warning I get before his mouth is on mine. Hot and demanding, his tongue slipping in to slide against mine. I go up on my tippy toes to press harder against him, opening wider, making a helpless sound as I grab fistfuls of his shirt and pull him down to me. There’s nothing between us but clothes and bad decisions.

Hunter kisses like he’s been starving for it. One hand cups the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, while the other slides down to grip my waist, thumb pressing into the bare skin under my cropped shirt as he hulls me up to him. He tastes like the mint gum he chewed after lunch and something else, something that makes my head spin. I moan into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, pressing me back against the railing until I can feel every hard inch of him against me.

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

My hands roam up his chest, over his shoulders, nails digging in just enough to make him growl. I want him closer. I want his weight on me. I want him inside. The ache between my legs is already throbbing and embarrassing, and I don’t even care.

When he finally pulls back, we’re both panting. His forehead rests against mine, eyes closed, breath ragged against my lips.

“Fuck, Charlie…” His voice is wrecked. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

I laugh, shaky and breathless, still gripping his shirt like I might fall if I let go. “Then don’t stop.”

He groans again, pained this time, and kisses me once more like he’s trying to commit every second to memory. When he pulls away, he presses his lips to my forehead, lingering there.