What the fuck am I gonna do?
I gripped at my chest and let my head fall back when my eyes began burning. My breaths coming shallower and tighter as the answer seemed so damn clear but still managed to destroy me.
A suppressed moan sounded in my throat when Hunter drove to the hilt and stilled, his body trembling above mine as he came.
I wrapped my shaky legs tighter around his narrow hips, wanting to prolong the moment as much as I could.
Our bodies were slick with sweat, and my muscles were weak from the pleasure that had been coursing through my body. From calling out his name as his fingers had tortured me in my office. To struggling to hold on to him as he’d fucked me on the kitchen island. Then stumbling toward the bedroom and only making it to the couch before he’d fallen onto it with me in his lap, letting me ride him.
Somehow, we’d ended up on the floor.
I’d lost count of my orgasms in the kitchen.
I’d lost count of the times he’d growled, “Fuck, Izzy,” in my ear as he’d pounded into me.
But I’d only wanted to kiss him exactly once.
And it was right then.
He’d pulled back enough to look down at me. Eyes dark with carnal need and desire and satisfaction. And I had this undeniable urge to press my mouth to his for the first time in . . . well, since that very first night.
Something in my chest warmed and ached as if it was missing something that only Hunter’s lips could provide. As if I’d been missing it all this time and had been blinded to what was right in front of me.
It’d been so long since he’d said not to kiss him. I hadn’t cared then, and I hadn’t brought it up since.
We fucked, we talked, we fought, we laughed. We were best friends, and I worked for him. I didn’t need to kiss him.
Before.
I didn’t need to before.
And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what had changed for this all-consuming need to fill me then.
But the moment my stare shifted to his lips, Hunter’s hand moved to wrap around my jaw. His grip both firm and gentle as he tilted my head back and to the side so I was looking at the couch I’d just ridden him on.
He didn’t say anything as he lowered his forehead to my collarbone, his breaths fanning out across my skin in short bursts.
He didn’t have to.
It was a reminder not to go there.
I blinked quickly, snapping myself out of whatever delusional fantasy all the orgasms had put me in.
Right. Right . . . that would’ve made things awkward fast.
I let my head roll back and asked, “Are you gonna let me clean up this time, or are we going for round . . .” I pretended to count on my fingers.
“You gonna let me go?”
I squeezed my legs a little tighter for a second before relaxing but didn’t remove them. “Are you gonna let me go?”
He shifted back to look at me, his eyes dancing over where his hand was still in place just under my jaw. Something primal settled there by the time his stare met mine.
Without a word, he released me, letting his fingers gently trail along my throat before he removed his hand completely.
I suppressed the gasp I felt forming and unlocked my legs from around his back.
All without kissing him.
Or looking at his lips.
What is with my sudden fascination with his lips?
There isn’t one. Because there is nothing great about his insanely perfect mouth. At all. I want nothing to do with it. End of discussion . . . with myself.
“Can I go clean up?” I asked a little too sweetly, knowing he would take it as me being bored.
Anything would be better than him knowing my current internal battle.
But he stayed there, his expression shifting and falling as he seemed to go somewhere else.
“Hunter?”
“Do you have to get home?” he asked suddenly.
“No. Of course not.”
His head bobbed faintly. “There’s something I wanna show you—get your opinion on.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said softly, then teased, “You could’ve just said that earlier. You didn’t have to turn me to Jell-O so I couldn’t get away from you.”
A wicked grin stole across his face. “Been a couple weeks. Told you . . . I needed you.”
With that, he eased out of my body, helped me from the floor and to his bathroom.
Once we were both cleaned up, he was in a pair of pajama pants, and I was in one of his old shirts, I followed him to the kitchen.
“Want me to make dinner?” I offered as I started toward the pantry.
“I’ll order us something.”
I paused, blinking quickly as I tried to compute what he was saying.
Turning to face him, I slanted my head and narrowed my eyes. “I don’t know if I should be offended or remind you how sacrilegious ordering in is to my family.”
We took cooking very seriously. Especially for our men.
Oh God, no—not! Not mine. Just—shit, what the hell is wrong with my brain tonight?
“No, that isn’t—no.” He released a weighted breath and dragged a hand through his hair, suddenly looking exhausted. “It’s just now that I don’t have my mind on . . .”
“Me,” I supplied when he gestured toward the living room.
He gave me a desperate look. “It’s all I can think about, and I need you to help me figure this out.”
I started to tell him I could help him and cook, but I was afraid to push him.
Hunter looked exhausted in a way I’d never seen him. In a way he hadn’t just hours ago. He looked like he was fighting a physical pull from whatever was plaguing him.
So, I just nodded and moved toward the new kitchen table he’d built. Taking my seat and letting him pull me onto his lap the way he liked to once he’d come back with a shoebox.
I glanced curiously at the papers he pulled from it before giving Hunter my full attention when he released a weighted sigh.
“I’m finishing up Cayson’s old room,” he started after a minute and looked to me for confirmation.
“Right,” I said with a sharp nod, even more curious to find out how Hunter’s renovations could have him looking like this. Because not one of our renovation conversations had begun this way.
Never had this unease blooming in the pit of my stomach.
After I’d brought the A&M application idea to him a few years ago, Hunter had told me his plan to renovate the house by himself and had started soon after.
But with how much time and energy he put into it and the orchard, our need you times had gone from every few days to every couple weeks. However, when they happened, they turned into marathons like this afternoon.
I wasn’t complaining.
My office and the kitchen had been the first projects Hunter had tackled. He’d said it was because I was in the house more than anyone. So, I’d tried not to read into it even though I was pretty sure I’d had a giddy smile for months even after he’d finished them.
Then came his room and the rest of the downstairs. After installing new stairs, he’d started on the second floor. And for the past couple months, he’d been working on Cayson’s room.
Every room he’d gone through had been completely transformed. Some of them now opened up into other rooms, others had been closed off. The walls were brighter, and the vaulted ceilings now had dark beams running across their length.