Page 33 of Don't Puck Him

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I look at my watch.It’s 4:30 p.m. Four classes down, and I’m done for the day. Before I head out the building door, I gaze through the glass, seeing if Hunter is out there waiting for me.

Nope. Coast clear. I breathe easily and walk out the door with a smile. I can pretend for a little while, at least, that it’s a normal day in college. That I can stop by the pub and have a few pints with my residence hall roomies. Gracie, Cindy, and Maddie practically live there.

I’m halfway across the campus when my cell chimes. It’s a text. It’s from Hunter. The easy breathing stops, and my index finger shakes a little as I click on the thread.

Hey, Wren, thought you might be done with classes by now. Interested in studying together again? My place?

I gaze down at the words. They are harmless. Just words. But their meaning, the underlying intention, is obvious.

I stop walking, and I just stare at the text. Students in groups and alone pass me by. I look up at them…carefree, thinking of college stuff, I’m sure. But here I am, thinking of anything but.

I well remember how the last study session went. Hunter, my teacher. Me, his student. And none of the insight comes from any of our textbooks.

I spy a bench over to my left, aways up the path. I walk towards it and sit down. I need to sit to think and debate with my inner self.

You know what this means, don’t you, girl?

“Yeah, I do. Studying what, exactly?”

You know what. Is that something you really want to do?

“I don’t know. I mean, I barely paid attention in class today because of him. And I’m carrying so many homework assignments…”

You’re delaying…

“Yeah, maybe.”

No, definitely. What’s your decision? The dude will text you again if you don’t text him back.

“Yeah.” I sigh. I get to work punching out the letters for my reply. Short and sweet.

Okay. I’m on my way.

And that’s it. I say yes. Just like that.

After about a three-block walk, I make it to Hunter’s house. I walk up the path and am about to hit the doorbell when the front door swings wide open.

It’s Hunter. He drags me in, grabbing both my arms. I drop my books in the foyer, but I have no time to think of that. He’s got me up against the wall and is French kissing me to no end.

At first, I’m shocked, then impassive. Then as my body warms up to Hunter, I’m active. Oh, so actively responding. Before I have a chance to say a word, Hunter scoops me up in his arms and carries me to his bedroom.

I expect a gentlemanly handling. Instead, Hunter throws me onto the bed with such force I bounce. His eyes, his posture. Everything has changed. He’s another Hunter. The dominant one I’ve seen a smidgen of. Now I’m seeing the whole man.

“Wren, kneel. Right now.”

Without a thought, I scramble on the bed to get into a kneeling position.

Hunter rips off his shirt and stands before me.

“Raise your arms, put them on my chest, and bow your head. Now! Do not look me in the eye until I give you permission.”

I instantly do as I’m told.

It’s like Hunter has taken my free will. I can’t fight his commands. My ears, all my senses, wait for his words. They are golden.

“Repeat after me. Three times. Each with more conviction than the last. ‘I am yours. I belong to Hunter Fowler. And no other man.’”

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