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I tore my eyes away and continued to work on his cut, applying the steristrips and pulling the edges of the wound together with them so that the bleeding stopped.
"There," I said and stood back, admiring my work. "It looks pretty good."
Hunter nodded and held up his knuckles. "Maybe just some peroxide on these."
I complied and wiped each knuckle off, his hand in mine, our heads bent close together. When I finished, I glanced up and our faces were only inches apart.
He reached up and pulled me closer, kissing me, and I let him, kissing him back without a thought.
The kiss was warm, but brief. He pulled away, his eyes moving over my face. He brushed a strand of hair from my cheek and then shook his head.
"I need a drink," he said, his voice husky. "There's some whisky in the bar over there," he said, pointing to a credenza at the side of the dining area. "Pour us each a drink and join me in the living room."
I nodded, surprised that he stopped but I was, for all intents and purposes, his for the night. He was calling the shots. I left the kitchen and went over to the credenza, opening the cupboard to find crystal glasses and a bottle of George Dickel, a good whisky I recognized from circulars we received at the pub.
"George Dickel?" I said while I examined the bottle. "You buy the high-end stuff now."
"It was a gift from a sponsor," Hunter replied. Then he came up behind me while I poured an ounce or so into each glass. In fact, he stood right behind me, so close I could feel his body heat, almost touching me but not quite. He lifted a strand of my hair and sniffed it, and then leaned in, pulling my hair to one side, smelling my hair and neck. It sent a shiver through my body.
He pressed his body against mine, his hands on either side of the credenza, trapping me against it. There was no doubt in my mind that he was aroused. I felt his hardness against my butt, his breath warm on my neck. I closed my eyes, unable to deny my desire for him. My body warmed, my flesh swelling, already wet.
His hand slipped around my body to caress my belly, my hip, while he breathed in deeply, his nose beneath my ear.
Just when I was going to turn around in his arms, he inexplicably pulled back and left me, taking a glass and walking down the hallway.
"I'm going to have a shower," he said, his voice deep. "You can go and sit on the sofa. I'll be right out."
"You shouldn't get the steristrips wet," I said.
"Don't worry about me."
I nodded, wondering what would happen next. I took my glass of whisky and did as he ordered, sitting on the sofa, which faced a huge panoramic view of Boston's city lights. Hunter was going to have a shower? He'd probably want to have sex afterward, and I squirmed a bit on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. I was a little breathless as I waited for him to return, needing a drink to relax me. I drank down my glass of whisky and then tiptoed back to the credenza to refill it.
I needed the liquid courage.
Finally, about ten minutes later, Hunter returned, wearing only a large white towel wrapped around his waist, his nice bulge visible underneath it. As if he were used to parading around half naked in front of women, Hunter refilled his glass of whisky and sauntered over to the sofa, plopping down beside me. He turned to me and eyed me up and down, his expression unreadable.
"Let's toast," he said and held out his glass of whisky.
I picked up mine in response.
"To revenge," he said.
"To revenge," I replied, and together, we shot back the whisky. I was completely surprised that he was being so undemanding. When would he make his move?
When would he order me onto my knees or to lie back on his bed?
Why wasn’t he making me fuck him right then and there?
He leaned closer to me, burying his face in my neck, once again breathing in deeply like he couldn't get enough of my perfume. He pressed closer and I lay back on the sofa until my head rested on the arm. He leaned over me, his arms on either side of my body, and stared down at me, his eyes intense.
I closed my eyes and waited for him to—to do whatever he would. Whatever he wanted, I was ready. Part of me blanked my mind, resigning myself to whatever he wanted. The other part was giddy, almost dizzy with desire for him, wanting to fuck him, the sooner the better.
Then he sighed and rose, standing in front of me. I glanced up at him, my eyes moving over his body, over his bulge, and up over his amazing abs to his beautiful if slightly injured face.
"In the morning, I'll need a hot bath," he said and lifted up one arm, grimacing a bit. I saw his bruise and realized he was right. He'd have an even bigger bruise in the morning. "Then, I like my coffee and eggs. Fried eggs with bacon. There's food in the fridge. I'm sure you can find your way around a kitchen."
"I have a class early in the morning," I said, slightly insulted that he was going to make me be his cook.
