I shoot all over my stomach as he thrusts hard into me, and I am still as he shudders. A few seconds later, Hunter collapses onto me, peppering my neck with sloppy, wet kisses. And desperate pants as we both come down.
My entire body rides the edge of the world, hovers above the sky, just blissed out beyond recognition until Hunter presses a kiss to my ear. “That was . . . you are . . . I’m just soooo . . .”
Yeah, same here.
“I know,” I say, looping my hands around his ass, holding on tight. “It’s the same for me.”
“Good,” he says quickly. “That’s just so bloody good.”
And terrifying too.
14
HUNTER
The afternoon rushes by. We grab lunch at a food truck off the Strip that serves Vietnamese dishes. Nate orders noodles, and I get chicken, and we talk about likes and dislikes as we eat at a picnic table.
“I happen to hate pie,” he says as he finishes a forkful of noodles.
“And you volunteered for a pie toss?” I ask, a little amazed that we only met yesterday.
“It was for a good cause. Plus, Jason’s a good friend and a teammate. He’s been volunteering at the carnival since he was a teenager. So I wanted to help a guy out,” he says.
“Suffering through pie. So noble,” I tease.
“As a duke, you’d know all about nobility,” he says, then tilts his head. “Hey, where do you live in the city? Don’t worry—I won’t drop by. Just curious.”
I’m actually not worried. I do want him to drop by. I want him to do more than drop by—to come over often and know he’s welcome. “Russian Hill. And I’d ask where you live, but I’m already intimately acquainted with your laundry facilities.”
“And my shower,” he teases.
“Your kitchen too. We had our first kiss there,” I point out, then the enormity of that statement slams into me. Our first kiss. Like I’m writing it in a scrapbook, recording the details of this locomotive of a relationship.
It’s not supposed to be a relationship whatsoever. Yet I’m talking about where we had our first fucking kiss.
And I’m not breaking out in hives. Imagine that.
“Do you like the city?” I ask.
“Love it. Love going out to eat, seeing the sights, checking out different hoods. Like Russian Hill.” Nate winks.
“You’d look good in Russian Hill,” I say as I polish off the chicken.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “You’d look good in the Marina.”
We stare a little stupidly at each other for a few seconds.
Then we finish eating and return to The Extravagant. “Want to lounge by the pool and drink margaritas or hit the indoor golf range?” Nate asks.
The way his blue eyes twinkle at the latter tells me the correct answer is golf. “I’m not so good at golf, but if you can tolerate a newbie, I’ll do that,” I reply.
And the twinkle becomes a sparkle. “Want me to teach you?”
“Golf lessons and boyfriend lessons? It’s like a two-for-one weekend,” I remark.
Nate drapes a possessive arm around me and plants a smooch on my face as we weave through the poker tables. “Stick with me, babe, and you’ll get everything for free. The city loves to give its pro ballers anything on the house. Ironic, since we can afford all our own meals,” he remarks.
But I linger on those first words—stick with me.
One day later, that’s all I want. To stay with him.
I’m not sure what to make of this change within me. It’s taken me by complete and utter surprise.
But then, so has this man. His vulnerability. His sweetness. His big, open heart. This time yesterday, I didn’t trust my judgment with any man. Now, twenty-four hours later, I want to trust my heart with Nate Chandler.
That scares the hell out of me, and also, it doesn’t.
Especially when we go to the indoor golf range and he moves behind me, adjusts my stance, shows me how to swing.
He’s patient and funny.
Dirty and playful.
And he makes me want all the things I thought I needed to stay far, far away from.
Now, I’m not sure I want to be without those things. Without him.
When we’re done, the day has slipped into evening, so we return to the suite, shower, and change. As I get dressed, my phone bleats with a text.
* * *
Reese: How’s the weekend going? Fantastique? Le Meilleur?
* * *
I smile as I reply.
Hunter: All of the above.
* * *
Reese: So, maybe you didn’t want just a hookup.
* * *
I answer her honestly.
Hunter: Perhaps I did not.
* * *
Then I’m dressed in black jeans and a white shirt, and I’m ready for the Stone Zenith concert. The rock star has been headlining a series of intimate shows here, and I can’t wait to hear him since his tunes always stir up my thoughts and emotions.
I take Nate’s hand in the lift, and I don’t let go as we walk through the hotel to the venue. As we go, I run through scenarios. Possibilities. What to say to Nate tonight, after the show.