AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The woman’s voice coming through the speaker she’s placed on the platform near the tub warbles about getting lost in translation, about asking for too much, and generally, clearly, blaming herself for the inevitable breakup that so many pop-stars seem to sing about. Still, I’ll admit, the tune is haunting.
I take a drag of my cigar and blow out smoke a second before I realize she’ll probably smell it and realize I’m here. Not that I was planning to spy on her like a creeper. Although, being able to watch her without her knowing I’m watching her is a treat. And perhaps, I’m beginning to sound like one of those pop songs I despise.
She leans her head back, and though I can’t see the rest of her, I can sense how relaxed she is. How she’s communing with herself in the moment, and how I hope she’s imagining me in whatever scenes she’s playing out in her head. I take a sip of my whiskey, and the liquor burns its way down my gullet, setting off a pleasant warmth in its wake. None of which will compare to the heat of her pussy when she clenches about my shaft. I almost groan aloud at the throb of lust that tightens my groin.
I leave the city to escape thoughts of her...and run straight into the object of my obsession.
I came so close to taking Michael’s suggestion, planting cameras on her phone and computer so I could track where she was. And if I’d done that, I’d’ve known she was here, and perhaps, not have accepted Weston’s invitation. Of course, it would’ve taken me from being in the zone of ‘morally gray’ to straight up ‘black,’ not that I have any illusions about myself. I’ve always had that streak of darkness in my center, hidden carefully from the world; and it would have stayed that way, but for the fact I met her.
She brings out that primal, animalistic side of me that I’ve tried to deny even existed, but something about her makes me want to share it with her, if only to test her response. To see if it’ll make her hate me further, or if I guess correctly, brings out a different side of her. The one I’ve sensed, but never seen unleashed in full. That sadistic, needy part of her that resonates with me, that pushes me to make her submit to me.
I blow out another puff from my cigar, then walk around the tub, drop my towel, and take the steps leading down into the hot tub. I lower myself into the bubbling water and place my glass of whiskey on the rim next to me. "Hello, Fire."
18
Zara
One second, Taylor Swift is warbling about her lost love with Jake Gyllenhaal, and how he called her up again just to break her heart; the next, a familiar, hard voice that has haunted my dreams, and if I’m honest, almost my every waking moment, reaches me.
I snap my eyes open, and he’s there, in the hot tub, the light from the candle flames highlighting the hollows of his cheeks and turning his skin into a golden, candied surface that I’d like to lick and suck on. He has a cigar clamped between his teeth, a tendril of smoke wafting up from the lit end like the forked tail of a devil. And damn, if the tufts of hair standing up on his head don’t resemble horns. His torso is bare… The carved planes of his chest and those broad shoulders make the hot tub, which had felt too big for one person, now too small for the both of us.
Both of us? What the hell is he doing here? I thought I smelled the sweet, cherry scent of cigar smoke, but had dismissed it as my imagination. Except, it hadn’t been. The jerkhole who’s haunted my dreams is sitting opposite me in the hot tub. He plucks the cigar from between his lips and holds it out and away from the water. With his other arm he reaches for his glass of whiskey and holds it in my direction.
"Salut, Fire."
I curl my fingers into fists. Yep, no doubt about it. He’s really here. I am not dreaming. Not that I doubted it earlier—for I’m not given to flights of fancy, where my mind conjures up illusions which seem too real—but until he spoke, a part of me wondered if I’d thought about him for so long and with so much intensity that, perhaps, the images in my head had come to life. At least, now I know I’m not at fault. He’s here and—I lower my gaze to his chest again—he’s not wearing clothes. At least, not on the top part of his gorgeous, shapely, muscle-bound body.
The steam condenses on his chest. The droplets glisten like dewdrops on leaves in the early morning. Maybe I should say like the spots on a leopard because, sprawled there, with his eyes half-closed, as if he’s waiting for the inevitable explosion of anger from me, he resembles a predator…a beast…a sleek feline…a sexy specimen of masculinity who’s at rest and yet, ready to pounce at the least provocation.
Also, did I mention he’s not wearing anything on his torso? I swallow. One side of his lips ticks up. His eyes gleam. Bastard’s enjoying this. No doubt, he thinks I’m going to throw a fit and act all pissed-off—which I am—but damn, if I’m going to let him have that satisfaction. I reach for my glass of wine and raise it. "Cheers, Brimstone."
He seems taken aback for a second, then he chuckles. The sound grates over my already sensitized nerve endings and seems to travel straight to my core. A hot, heavy sensation thickens between my legs. My toes curl. Jesus Christ, and all this because the wankface chuckled?
Maybe it’s not such a good idea to pretend I’m cool with his sudden appearance. Maybe I’d be better off throwing a fit. This is supposed to be my getaway. Why is he here? Either way, it’s clear I can’t stay here, now that he’s here. Time to get out of here. Why are all of my sentences ending with here?
I clap my half-filled glass onto the platform of the hot tub with enough force that wine spills over the sides. Then I begin to rise to my feet, but his arm whips out and he locks his fingers about my wrist. A flash of electricity zips out from his touch. A-n-d here we go again.
Apparently, nothing has changed over the last few months. If anything, my body is even more responsive to his touch. If anything, the throbbing pulse between my legs has grown bigger, wider, stronger… Until my entire body seems to be weighed down with an overwhelming heaviness, even as my head feels lighter, like I am floating above my body and watching this bizarre situation unfold.
I glance at his grasp on my arm, then back at him, but he doesn’t let go. "Stay," his voice rumbles across the distance. His gaze is intense, his blue-green eyes lightened to an impossible shade I can only describe as colorless? It’s as if all of his emotions have been swallowed up and are churning inside, ready to be hurled back at me in a ball of sensation so intense, I won’t stand a chance. I clear my throat, but still, it comes out as a croak. "Hunter—"
"No, don’t speak. Let’s just enjoy what’s left of the evening, okay?"
I glance between his eyes, then nod. "Okay."
"Okay." His grip loosens, and he seems to release me with great reluctance. I sink back in my corner, reach for my glass of wine, and take a sip. I place the glass back on the rim of the tub, then lean back again. With nothing to do with my hands, I place them in my lap. His gaze follows the movement, and his eyes flash. I’m wearing my skimpiest bikini, which barely covers my nipples, and the bottom is a string thong. To be honest, I wouldn’t even have worn that, since I thought I was on my own. It’s just... I’d changed into my swimsuit and already immersed myself in the tub before I realized I needn’t have bothered with wearing a suit, at all. By then, I was too lazy to change. Thank god… Or maybe not. Maybe I would’ve enjoyed shocking him if I hadn’t worn anything—not that he’d have been shocked. He’s probably been with enough women. A hot sensation stabs at my chest, and whoa… What’s that about? I don’t have a claim on him. Though I could have one. If I want to.
"I can hear you thinking," he drawls.
"And I wish I didn’t have to hear your voice, at all."
His lips curl. "I can’t wait to hear your voice when you finally scream my name as you come."
That hot sensation in my chest balloons into this massive explosion of lava that travels to my extremities. My arms and legs tremble. A shudder grips me, and I have to fight to not squeeze my legs together. Oh, my god, Hunter talking dirty is… The stuff my dreams are made of. And I’ll be honest, I’ve groaned his name many times in all of my sordid fantasies where he’s done exactly that to me.
"Let me guess, you had no idea that I was here?" I murmur.
"If I had known you were here… I’d have—" He searches my features. "I still would’ve come. For the record, I didn’t see your car outside. I had no idea there was anyone inside the house.”
