“Nuh-uh, Ava,” he chided gently. “You teased me. It’s my turn.”
“Not fair,” I pouted. “I have to be naked. You don’t.”
He met my eyes. “If I were naked, I would have fucked you twice by now. I’m holding back.”
My breath shuddered.
He finished the last of the milkshake, replacing the lid and adding it to the bag. His tongue flicked out, wiping his lips. My eyes never left his mouth.
“Ava,” he whispered.
I looked at him.
“I have never wanted to fuck someone the way I want to fuck you right now. Right here. On your knees, bent over, screaming my name as I drive into you. On my lap, my cock buried so deep you’ll feel me for days. With my mouth, so I can taste you for hours afterward. On your back, so I can feel your legs wrapped around me and watch your face as you come.”
His words lingered in the air.
“Now?” I asked, almost panting in my desire.
His eyes gleamed.
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes, for the love of God, yes.”
He lunged.
* * *
I lay in Hunter’s arms, aching, tired, and sated. The room was silent, the muted sounds of the world outside dimmed by his heart beating under my ear. He stroked up and down my arm in long, unhurried passes of his hands, his fingers barely touching my skin, yet warming it with the soft touches.
He had been equally demanding and gentle. At times almost rough, yet the edges tempered with tenderness. He was commanding but giving. Fierce in his passion, but never once was I afraid or worried. He gave me such pleasure, his desire for me evident in every touch, every stroke of his tongue, every movement of his body. I lost count of my orgasms. How many times I cried out his name, begged for more, heard his voice moaning my name in a long gust of air. “Ava.”
“So, who’s your favorite now?” he murmured, his tone teasing and low yet still raspy.
I hummed against his warm skin. “You were always my favorite.”
“I guess you won’t be teasing me again.”
I propped my chin on my hand, studying him as I rested it on his chest. “If what just happened was meant to discourage me from teasing, your thought process is off, Hunter. Way off.”
He pushed my hair away from my face, running his hand along my shoulder. “You drive me crazy, woman. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I do you.”
“Right back at you.”
His eyes shone a silver gray in the dim light. “I wasn’t too rough?”
“I liked it. Every single part. Well, except the end.”
“The end?”
“I feel so connected to you when we’re together, Hunter. Once we’re done, I feel you withdraw a little. I don’t like it.”
He grimaced. “I’m not sure how to respond to that.”
“You don’t have to. I just wanted to tell you.”
A rumble of thunder in the distance made him frown. “Damn. I never got the tarps on the roof. It wasn’t supposed to rain.”
“I think just lightly. Heavier rain in a couple of days.”
“Well, it’s too dark to try to get them up now. I’ll do them tomorrow.”
“Won’t the rain make the roof slippery?”
“I have lots of experience, and it’ll be fast.”
“Maybe you should ask Ronan or Liam to help.”
His reply was swift. “No. I can do it on my own.”
“I know you can. But they—”
“I said no.”
I sighed and sat up. “Letting them help you isn’t a sign of weakness. Asking for help doesn’t make you indebted to someone.”
He stood, his expression closed off now. “It does in my world.” He held out his hand. “Case closed. Come for a shower with me.”
I knew not to argue with him. I didn’t understand his thinking, but then again, I couldn’t comprehend his upbringing. His mother had instilled such strong tendencies not to accept help or comfort from anyone. To never get close. To walk away first before the other person did. I hoped to break that pattern, but I had to be patient.
We showered, getting the last of his “Ava picnic” off my skin. I dressed in one of his T-shirts and a pair of leggings I’d left there one day, and I padded to the living room. He was in the kitchen feeding Cash. He’d been quiet in the shower, his mood darker than earlier. Wanting to distract him, I noticed a file box on the floor.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“I was cleaning the closet, getting it ready for the reno,” he explained. “I spent hours going through a couple other boxes of mostly junk, but I hadn’t gotten to that one.”
I flipped open the lid, taking in the piles of envelopes tied with ribbons. “They look like letters.”
“I think they might be. I’ll probably burn them as well.”
“Can I look?”
He shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”
I carried the box to the old coffee table, perching it on the top. I dug into the box, pulling out a bundle and selecting an envelope. It was a letter from Mr. Owens’s wife to him from a time I assumed when they were younger, dating, and they were apart. It was sweet, full of news and tidbits of the place she was visiting, and signed with lots of kisses. I refolded it, tucked it back in the envelope, and read another one, this time from him to her. It was shorter, less newsy, and the last line made me smile.