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Sleeping and taking pleasure from each other. Waking up nestled against his chest, listening to his heart beat beneath my ear.
“And we are so grateful...” At that point I’d tuned them both out. My mind was whirling; I was a crazed vortex of confusion. Of want. Need. Far in the background, I heard his mom mention her happiness with us staying somewhat close to home, within the state, and with her oldest.
Kelly was oblivious to his innuendo or had no problem with us being together. Our mothers had dropped hints after I turned seventeen about what a gorgeous couple we could be. The remarks were never in your face, but I heard them talking a few times, comparing Hunter and whoever had taken me to a school dance—prom.
His father, though; for some reason my eyes continued to wander toward him.
Jeff had always been a cool dad. Protective, understanding, and most of all, he’d taken me under his care after my own passed away. For all intents and purposes, he was a second father.
Moreover, like any other male parental figure, he’d never really liked anyone I dated in the past.
Abhorred Brad. The sole reason he tolerated his brother, Thomas, was because the kid was scared shitless of him.
Had anyone else acted as his son had with me just now, he’d have strung them up by the balls.
And yet he is standing beside his wife snickering into the rim of his beer bottle.
Were they all high or drunk?
“I’ll be living on campus, Hunter, but thank you for the generous offer.” I kept my voice steady, leaving them no doubt that my mind had been made up.
Three sets of eyes turned my way: two with surprise and one with mild amusement. What the hell did Miles find so funny?
“Thought you girls were going to—”
“No, Kelly. I’m going to enjoy the full college experience.” I tacked on a giggle and then leaned forward to kiss her cheek, making sure to keep my eyes away from his. “Now, if you’ll excuse me...I’m going to go grab something from the guest room and call Mom. She’s expecting me soon.”
“How’s the weather in Venezuela? Has she wrapped up the shoot in the Orinoco?” Jeff asked, shooting his son a weird look. “Last we heard, she was heading deeper to start filming the pink dolphins.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, fidgeting under Hunter’s heated stare. Ignored the flutter in my belly. “Production wrapped two days ago, and she is back in Ciudad Bolivar until the crew is set to come home. They’re looking to film some local shots while there for the docu-series too.”
“Good. I’m sure she’s dying to get back and watch you cross that stage.” He kissed my forehead then before turning me around by the shoulders. “Go on. Call her. Food will be ready when you get back.”
“Thanks.” Without another look in his direction, I walked off and into the house. It was quiet, the few stragglers inside stopping me to say “hi” and ask about my mom’s whereabouts.
The second I could, I rushed up the stairs and into the safety of my room here. With Emily and I being so close, and Mom having to travel here and there, this was my second home. My space here had all my comforts, and much to my luck, was beside Hunter’s room.
He still thought that this was just a guest room on his floor, but he was wrong. A mere wall separated us. Some drywall and spackle; it didn’t hide much when it came to sounds.
His low moans before dawn woke me. Nearly crippled me.
Never have I come so fast. So hard. My fingers brought me over the edge just by the sound of his voice, the low fuck that escaped his lips a second before I reached completion.
It was also what made me search him out earlier today. I wanted to see him. Almost fell to my knees the moment his low hiss met my ears—how filthy my name sounded on his tongue.
Was the reason I entered his domain.
Why I was privileged with the glorious scene of him, cock in hand and face contorted in pleasure.
“Quit thinking about him,” I chastised myself while carrying my laptop back to my bed. Kicking my sandals off, I sat in the middle and with my back against the headboard, opened my computer, and dialed Mom. Tried like hell to ignore the wetness in my panties.
It rang three times and disconnected. Shooting a quick glance at my bedside table, the clock read half past three and she should’ve been expecting me.
Once again, I clicked the dial button and was met with the same fate. A few rings, and then nothing.
Her icon was on, but for some reason she wasn’t answering.
“Where is—” I was interrupted by my phone pinging with an incoming text. Pushing my laptop aside, I slid down the bed and picked it up from the trunk at the end of it.
