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I pull my gaze from the view and turn to Hunter.
“So, how is this going to work?” I ask.
He lowers his hands to my hips. “I thought I showed you yesterday. Multiple times.”
“That’s not what I mean. Should we have a schedule or something? That way we both know what to expect.”
Maybe if I can put Hunter on my calendar, as an item to be checked off, a need that is fulfilled, then I can compartmentalize what we’re doing.
“My weekdays are busy. I work long hours,” he says.
“And I’ll be working most weekends.”
It was just yesterday, before we had sex, that I was firmly against a hookup with Hunter. Our schedules not aligning is the proof I need that we jumped into this without really thinking and it might not be the best idea. I should tell him it’s not going to work, but the thought of him never touching me again has disappointment settling into my gut.
But that disappointment now is better than having whatever it is we’re doing get in the way of my career. Or yet, finding out that I could like Hunter for more than sex. I don’t even want to give headspace to that possibility.
Either way, I’m starting to wonder if I’m out of my depth with him.
Hunter is a serial dater. A master at the casual fling. I’ve barely dated, let alone had strictly sexual flings. I like Hunter, and I like having sex with him, but I’m not sure how to navigate this thing, this arrangement. How will I feel when he loses interest and moves on? Something he has all but assured me will happen.
I’m the shiny new toy that he was desperate to have. But the shine will wear off eventually. I refuse to rearrange my life for anyone, let alone a guy that will be moving on in a matter of weeks…months tops.
“Maybe this isn’t the best idea after all,” I say, pulling my hands inside the sleeves of the sweatshirt, then wrapping my arms around my middle.
Hunter pulls me against him.
“You want to see the city, and I want to see you naked. I’ll have to get creative.”
He doesn’t realize that it’s not just logistics that I’m thinking about, but I’m curious what his plan is.
“How?” I ask.
He smiles wickedly and pulls me over to the side of the viewing platform. He presses me back against the wall, his strong hands gripping my hips.
“You enjoy the view while I make you come.”
“Here?!” My eyes widen with shock. “No way.” I push at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. “We can’t.”
“Don’s taking an elevator ride to the lobby. I’m certain I can make you come before he gets back. In fact, I accept the challenge.”
I study his handsome face. This man scheduled a private tour of Top of the Rock and now wants to give me an orgasm? What’s the catch?
His thumbs are rubbing seductive circles against my hip bones, making it difficult to think of anything else. When one hand slides between my legs to cup me, I whimper. Over the fabric of my shorts, Hunter scissors a finger back and forth against my center. His nose nuzzles against the column of my neck. He’s seductive and sweet in equal measure. It’s absolute torture.
“I can feel how warm your pussy is beneath these tiny shorts. You’re wet, aren’t you, Sophie?”
With my teeth trapping my bottom lip to hold in a moan, I give a nod for confirmation. His hand moves under the baggy sweatshirt and to the waistband of my shorts. It’s a snug fit, but his hand dips inside of my shorts where he confirms what he already knew…I’m soaked.
“Damn, Sophie. So fucking wet.” He runs two fingers along my seam, then slowly drags it up to my clit. His mouth trails kisses up the column of my throat and along my jaw. He captures my earlobe between his teeth, then growls. “And it’s all mine.”
Hunter teases me with long strokes and gentle swirls. His fingertips rimming me without ever going inside.
He flicks my clit and my hips buck forward, desperately searching for his fingers.
Just when I think I’m going to cry in frustration, Hunter thrusts two fingers inside me.
“Open your eyes, Sophie. I want you to enjoy the view when you come on my hand.”
