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“Phoebe.” My name is a roar on Hunter’s lips, and it’s enough to send me over the edge.
My body goes taut as my climax rushes through me. The walls of my pussy spasm against Hunter’s cock. Underneath me, his chest swells, and his fingers sink deeper into my softness, grabbing hold while he rides out his own orgasm.
Curses mingle with our names in the air as we both climax. I feel like I’m melting into him as bliss rattles through me.
I can’t believe how I can utterly unravel in someone’s arms, and feel so comfortable doing it.
“Fucking hell,” Hunter pants.
Aftershocks of my orgasm continue to radiate through me as I come down from the peak. I feel like I could lie on top of Hunter like this forever.
His lips find mine and close around them in a gentle, exhausted kiss.
I’m naked, utterly satisfied, and wrapped in Hunter Landry’s arms.
A thought rises in my mind that should scare me, but it doesn’t: I never want this to end.
33
HUNTER
“Oh! They’ll let anyone in here!”
I laugh at the lame joke as Brent, one of my best high school friends, slaps me on the back as he walks up to the bar at the Windmill Tavern.
It’s a comfy, divey bar in the small downtown area of my hometown.
It’s the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, and the place is packed.
There are college kids visiting home, excited to be able to legally hangout in the hometown bar. There are young adults who live in the area, and older people who’ve been here for years or decades and have made this charming old place their regular haunt.
Brent goes to pay, but I swipe his hand away from his pocket as the bartender sets his beer in front of him.
“Put it on my tab,” I say to the bartender. She’s a dark-haired woman, seemingly in her late twenties or earlier thirties, with a few tattoos on her arms.
A couple months ago, I’d probably be struck by how cute she is, except for the fact that I now have eyes for only one woman.
“A fucking big shot with your future NHL money already, huh?” Brent jokes, snatching my Vancouver Canucks cap off my head to tussle my hair.
I grin, brushing him off and grabbing my hat back. “Damn right I’m a big shot. Don’t forget it.”
Brent and I are good friends, and it’s all in good fun. I played with him on our high school hockey team. He was solid for a high school player, but going pro was never really in his future. He’s going to college in Virginia, studying Computer Science.
Brent leans against the bar counter as we catch up. There’s not an open seat in this place.
This is my second year able to be here legally during Thanksgiving break. I love the atmosphere on the Wednesday night before the holiday. There’s so much excitement in the air, people catching up and remembering old times.
The lighting is low and warm. The walls are all wood-paneled, the tables a rustic style, and the chairs well-worn and comfortable. The walls are covered with memorabilia and neon signs adding an extra fuzzy glow to the air.
In the back of the bar there’s a pool table, and the cracks of cue against ball and the sound of balls sinking into the pockets add to the ambiance.
I glance over Brent’s shoulder to a group of girls a couple yards away.
Phoebe’s among them.
Her and some of her friends are catching up. We’ve decided to go with her idea—eventually, I’m going to stroll over to her casually, tap her on the shoulder, and then press my lips to hers.
Everyone’s going to freak out. It feels like half of our graduating class is here tonight, and everyone knows how much we couldn’t stand each other. My lips twitch thinking about their reaction. And my cock twitches thinking about the kiss.
