Hunter’s still in boxer briefs when he turns off the lights and slides in between the sheets. I scoot closer, tug at the waistband of his briefs. “Take these off, babe,” I whisper.
“Nate,” he warns.
I huff. Then relent. “Fine. I have a lesson for you.”
“What is it?”
“I really like sleep, so I kinda tend to crash by midnight most nights, and it’s after one, so if you ever want to bang at night . . .”
I leave that out there, seeing if he’ll pick up the hint.
“I need to seize the chance before midnight?” he asks with vulnerability in his voice. No teasing. No joking. Like he’s truly noting my preferences, planning for trysts with me beyond tonight and maybe tomorrow too.
That’s a wild thought. But one I like a whole lot.
Just as I like this man in bed with me who seems happy to just be in bed with me. He looks as happy when we’re banging as he is when we’re not banging. That’s a sobering thought and a wonderful one.
“Yes,” I say plainly, without a trace of playing it cool in my voice or my heart.
I’ve known Hunter less than a day, but I hardly feel casual this second.
I feel . . . connected.
Especially when he gently pushes my hair off my forehead, then dusts a soft kiss to my cheek. “It’s been noted,” he says, and there’s no teasing in his tone either.
I shudder out a breath.
He sighs happily. “Turn around.”
I do as asked, flipping to my other side. Hunter presses his chest to my back, then brushes his lips to my neck. Then my shoulder. “Good night, Nate.”
“Goodnight . . . pet,” I say, adopting a British accent.
“Goodnight, babe,” he says, using an American voice.
I smile in the dark. I’m not chilling out, and I’m pretty sure I don’t entirely care.
Maybe there’s a boyfriend lesson in there I needed to learn.
13
NATE
I turn off the shower, all fresh and clean in the morning. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I head to the sink to shave. Hunter’s already doing so since he got out of the shower before me.
I lather up, then run the blade over my jaw.
Hunter stops his work, looks at me in the mirror. “What about your winning streak?”
My brow furrows. Not sure I get his point. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you won at blackjack last night,” he says, working the razor along his chin in a way that is double, triple hot.
“True, true. Are you saying you want to play blackjack again? Try to keep up our winning streak?”
He smiles softly in the mirror. “Yes, our winning streak.”
The way he says our makes it sound like the word delights him. And that sends a thrill down my spine.
Too bad this’ll all end in a day.
Ugh. The thought of it curls my stomach. Fuck, I’m going to miss him. I heave a sigh as I shave.
“You okay?” he asks, too observant.
“I’m good,” I say quickly.
He arches a skeptical brow in the mirror. “Lesson one. Patent honesty,” he says, then finishes shaving, washing the foam off.
I keep shaving, but I don’t answer since I’m not sure what to say.
He shifts to my side, touches the corner of my jaw. I shiver. God, his touch undoes me. “Want me to help?”
“Yes,” I say, swallowing roughly.
He takes my razor, then carefully slides it over the spot I missed. I watch him in the mirror. His expression is etched in concentration. When he finishes, he leans in, presses a soft, barely-there kiss to my skin.
My stomach flips. Just flips for him. Then dives off the deep end when he grabs a washcloth, wets it, dabs at me. “There,” he whispers.
I splash some water on my face, then dry off. When I’m done, Hunter slides his hands down my arms, murmuring as he goes. I drop my head, savoring his touch.
“Like I was saying, let’s go back to lesson one,” he whispers.
But I can barely remember my name when he touches me. “What about it?”
“Be honest. When I asked if you’re okay, you did that thing where you shut down.” He whisks his lips over my biceps.
Jesus. I don’t think I can last. “I was thinking I’d miss this after tomorrow,” I admit. I want to say miss you, but this is close enough.
“Mmm,” he murmurs, his lips traveling over my shoulder as he breaks me down with his touch. “Same here.”
My heart jumps. But I don’t have time to linger on the way I feel when his hand darts over to my abs, and he traces my stomach. I try to catch my breath as sensations rush through me, but getting a handle on my racing pulse is futile when Hunter cups my jaw and turns my face toward him.
My British lover captures my lips with his and kisses me. Slow and indulgent. Then, he slides the tip of his tongue inside, opening my mouth. A sigh coasts across my lips as he takes his time mapping my mouth with his, running his other hand down my back to the top of my towel.