Marc Jillson & The Gazebo (Love Inscribed 2)

Me: How was it more complicated? Because it didn’t come through in Victor’s story.

DaMage: You didn’t read him well enough. Surprising, considering.

Me: Considering what?

DaMage: How many layers of lies you’ve survived on.

He ceased typing, dropped his head back on the pillow, and faced me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

I shrugged. “It’s true.”

He frowned, and I returned to hacking into the safety of the laptop.

Me: How was it more complicated?

DaMage: I think Victor didn’t let Kyle back into his life because he couldn’t believe Kyle still loved him.

Me: The hell? Kyle clearly wanted to get back together.

DaMage: Kyle went over there and would have discovered Victor missing a leg, possibly angry and depressed. Victor would have interpreted any kindness—and love—as sympathy and guilt. He couldn’t trust that Kyle still truly loved him. Victor never received those letters, either. In his mind, things ended badly, and suddenly, crippled from war, Kyle wants him back?

Suppressed emotion sheened Hunter’s blue eyes. I gritted my teeth against an ache. We weren’t entirely talking about Victor anymore, were we?

Carefully, I typed back.

Me: Is that what happened to you and Charlie?

His Adam’s apple jutted. I gently pressed my arm against his, wanting him to feel okay to cry.

Wanting to let him know I cared.

But the words weren’t unlocking between us.

Hunter laughed at himself, scrubbing his face. I pulled the laptop closer and typed again.

Me: You don’t have to tell me. Sorry.

DaMage: Yes. That’s how I felt after I . . . with Charlie.

“God, Hunter.”

DaMage: It never would have lasted between us. No one wants to date this forever.

DaMage: It was easier to dump him first.

Hunter’s pain stung me. I set our laptops aside and nuzzled into his side. Hunter dropped his head against mine and mindlessly played with my tank top.

“What your parents have. You want that.”

His lips pressed against my corner of my forehead.

“That’s why you need to save the gazebo.”

Hope.

Hunter said nothing.

“I’ve decided I don’t care for . . . surviving tonight,” I murmured.

Hunter crushed me close. His laugh peppered softly against my temple.

“At least,” I whispered, “not that kind of surviving.”

I shuffled down into the cooler, untouched sheets and rearranged the pillows, while Hunter positioned himself facing me, one leg set over a body cushion.

Only our movements and soft breaths filled the space between us.

I carefully looped my leg around his pillow and felt the warmth of his leg against mine.

My forearm nestled against his; Hunter’s pinkie twitched and I looped my finger around it.

His eyes shot to mine in the cozy glow. He lifted my hand to his mouth and grazed his lips over my knuckles.

I shuffled closer until our noses almost touched. Disentangling my fingers, I skated a light path over his bared neck. Hunter shivered, closing his eyes, and I did it again, zigzagging over his skin, touching new places, watching tiny hairs stand on end.

I skimmed the pad of my finger over the tips of those hairs and reveled in Hunter’s sharp breath and jerky shiver. Arousal had me half-hard, but that wasn’t my focus.

I drew a spiral over his shoulder to the small bird at his breast perched at the soft, darker skin surrounding his nipple. The wings were outstretched, and I traced every feather.

My finger sank over the hardened nub of his nipple and Hunter’s breathing hitched. Through my thumbnail, I felt a pulse. Mine? Or his wild-banging heart?

Hunter curled an arm around my shoulder. Our eyes met, the seconds soft and intimate. I bumped my nose against his, another point of electricity between us.

I swallowed, and Hunter urged me nearer to him with a squeeze to my nape.

Our lips fit against each other’s, ticklish and dry, and I gasped against him. He pressed into the kiss. Firm, warm, confident contact.

I held back from thrusting my tongue into his mouth, gently tugging at his nipple. Smiling against him.

“Marc . . .” Hunter’s voice thrummed with emotion.

I shivered, and re-slotted our lips together, damp enough now to moisten them with my tongue.

Hunter moaned into my mouth, pulled back, and kissed me again.

His hand left my hair and dragged over my arm to my fingers teasing him. He steered me lower, cresting his ribcage to just above his belly button. “There.”

“There?” My voice came out rough, croaky.

“It’s extra sensitive for me.”

I wasn’t sure I completely understood. “Is this where sensation starts for you?”

His eyes held mine, and I saw him battle nervousness. “There aren’t many intimate places I can share with someone I . . .” He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

Our fingers shook as he steered me around the edges of where he could feel.

Sensing Hunter’s vulnerability, I leaned in and kissed him, retracing the path he’d shown me. His moan broke against my lips and his body shuddered. “Do you like it softer, or harder?”

“This is perfect. You can touch me there however you want, Marc. Tender or rough, pinch or stroke.”