The Hunter: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Boston Belles Book 1)

“Oopsie-daisy. Another penny goes in the piggy bank,” I whispered in Junsu’s ear, tapping his shoulder.

My trainer jumped backward, bumping his head against the wall with a surprised yap. Junsu was never scared. This caught me off guard, and I stumbled in the opposite direction. Wincing, he rubbed the back of his head as he killed his telephone call without even saying goodbye to whoever was on the other line. He tucked his cell into his front pocket.

He’d been acting strange lately—showing up late to our sessions, disappearing down the hall to take personal calls, losing focus. At some point, I’d brought in a piggy bank I found at the dollar store next to his office and told him he’d have to put a penny in it every time he disappeared or acted strange. It was a pleasant way to make him refocus. I had to admit—the piggy bank was filling up, fast.

Last time he’d picked it up to roll another penny in the slit, I could tell it was heavy. The penny dropped with a soft thud, hitting more coppered coins. The pig’s belly was full.

“You not do that ever again!” Junsu flashed his pointy teeth at me, shaking his fist.

He must’ve seen the horror on my face, because he relaxed immediately, squeezing my healthy shoulder. “Sorry. This just stress.”

“Anything I can do to help?” I eyed him.

Junsu kept his personal life under wraps. I knew he was happily married with three children, had moved here thirty years ago, and enjoyed doing tai chi in the park with his wife every weekend. He led a blissfully uneventful life, but I was beginning to suspect something had disrupted his status quo. Maybe someone was sick? Or one of his kids got into trouble?

But no. I knew they were all healthy and doing well. The only remotely notable crisis Junsu had ever had was a year ago, when he and his wife thought they couldn’t afford putting their oldest son, Kwan, through Columbia. He got accepted, but had zero scholarships. Finally, they’d managed to pull through and come up with the funds. I never asked how. It wasn’t my business.

“No.” He shook his head. “Let’s start the training.”

We fell into step, heading for the range, the silence between us buzzing like a fly in my ear.

“Lana’s going to be here in two weeks.” I began to chew the skin around my thumbnail. It was raw and pink and spoke the story of my anxiety these days.

The past few weeks had been brutal. Both Lana and I fought for the media’s affection, doing interviews and photoshoots and junkets. I was exhausted. I loathed being in front of the cameras. This side of the business wore me out.

I loved the sport, but hated the career.

Junsu hitched one shoulder up, hands clasped behind his back. His lack of response drove me up the wall.

I wet my lips. “Should I be worried?”

“Yes,” he said. “But so should she. You are both very good. One of you ought to be slightly better. We will find out who soon.”

I should’ve known better than to expect a full, glowing endorsement, wrapped in a reassuring bow that I was going to kick her ass when we met for the finals in Boston to determine which of us was heading to the Olympics. It wasn’t Junsu’s style. Still, his answer stung.

After our training session, I drove back to my apartment, knowing Knight and Luna, Hunter’s friends, were already there. The eagles have landed, Hunter had texted me earlier. I bailed out of work early just to catch them bumping talons on our stairway. Totes gross. x

They were staying tonight and tomorrow, and I was afraid they’d hate me, or worse, find me unremarkable and invisible, like the rest of the world. I was frightened that the bubble Hunter and I had wrapped ourselves in would burst in our faces once my roommate got the memo I was just the awkward, feisty girl who’d been assigned to babysit him but ended up crawling into his bed just like the others.

When the elevator to our private penthouse dinged open, my heart slammed so hard in my chest I was nauseous. Laughter and hollers rolled from the kitchen. My eyes immediately darted to Hunter and another guy our age. They were leaning against the counter, drinking root beer from fancy-looking bottles. The guy was tall—taller than Hunter—and boringly beautiful to a point of revulsion. Tucked under his massive arm was a tan girl with cornrows braided up into a ponytail. She looked like an Egyptian princess—wildly striking, with slanted, light eyes and pillowy lips. Her eyes ping-ponged back and forth between them, a slight, amused smile on her lips. Hunter wore a Brunello Cucinelli wool and cashmere suit, and Knight was in a white Palm Angels hoodie and Giuseppe Zanotti leather mid-top sneakers. They wore fifteen-thousand dollars between themselves.

Crazy rich playboys.

“So this girl, Alice, is bent over the billiard table, telling this asshole about her Christian summer camp adventures, and our boy Hunt is fucking her in front of an entire room.” Hunter’s friend, Knight, jerked his thumb toward him, cackling. “Now get this, Moonshine. All this time, Hunter is having, like, a legit, in-depth conversation with Vaughn about something—I don’t even remember what—without breaking pace or a sweat as he’s plunging into her. What was it you talked about?” Knight elbowed Hunter.

None of them had noticed me yet, even after I stepped out of the elevator, watching them, mesmerized.

Alice. Alice from Instagram. Alice he was flirting with. Alice of his own, private Wonderland. My heart bled tar. I felt heavy and sluggish, my mind cloudy. I was jealous, I realized.

“Which senior celebrity you’d rather do, Michelle Pfeiffer or Madonna,” Hunter supplied, taking another sip of his drink, his hand tucked into the front pocket of his light gray cigar pants.

He looked so much sharper and mature than Knight, with his blond hair sleeked back elegantly, like the rest of the Fitzpatrick clan.

“Michelle Pfeiffer all the way,” I interrupted, discarding my duffel bag by the entrance, strolling in. All eyes darted to me in surprise. I smiled with too much teeth, trying to appear calm, as I went on to explain, “Batman Returns, anyone?”

“I’m giving you half the points.” Knight pointed at me with the neck of his bottle. “Because you had the celebrity right, but the movie wrong. Dangerous Minds, by the way. I’m Knight.” He disentangled from his gorgeous fiancée to approach me.

I reached out to him, expecting a handshake. Knight grabbed my hand, jerking me into a crushing hug full of soul. This guy, I knew by his hug alone, came from a family of professional huggers and knew love intimately and madly. Luna was a lucky girl.

“Thank you for taking care of our boy. We know he’s a cunt.”

“Knight!” Luna giggled, butting into our hug and squeezing me, too. She smelled like a warm fabric softener sheet, and had zero mean-girl vibe about her despite her beauty. “I’m Luna.”

“I’m Sailor.”

“We know,” they said in unison, laughing. When we broke the hug and turned to Hunter, we found him staring at us, his expression blank.

“I said Madonna,” he pointed out matter-of-factly. “‘Like a Virgin’? Not after I’m done with you, baby girl.”

“Yeah. ‘Burning Up’ would be her song the morning after, though.” Knight swaggered over to Hunter, slapping him on the back.

We all laughed, but I didn’t feel anywhere near happy. I was coming face to face with my nightmare, AKA Hunter’s very recent past and reputation, which I’d tried to pretend wasn’t a part of who he was.

A Casanova.

A manwhore.

A guy not to be trusted.

“So, are we going clubbing or what?” Knight cracked open another root beer, downing it in one go and emitting a loud burp. “We gotta celebrate Luna’s new book contract.”

“Clubbing with two recovering alcoholics sounds like real fucking fun, said no one, ever.” Hunter stuck his fingers into the empty bottles on the kitchen island, using them as makeshift nails to point between him and Knight. “We’ll celebrate your girl kicking ass in another way. Ye Gold Rush kids of the West are in the Athens of America. While Todos Santos is more like Aiya Napa, I’m going to show you a good time. Get ready. We leave in fifteen minutes.”

Knight and Luna exchanged glances and headed toward Hunter’s room for a change of clothes, but not before stressing to me, once again, how grateful they were for the accommodation—as if it was my apartment, not Hunter’s.

I didn’t fail to notice that Hunter hadn’t included me in their plans for tonight, or even acknowledged me directly since I’d walked into the apartment. I wasn’t a part of their evening plan. I tried to ignore the sharp slice of disappointment in my chest, but the realization made it hard for me to breathe.

“Heading to the shower. Hope you had a good day,” I offered him a wave and half a smile.

“Yeah, you too.” Hunter turned his back to me and began to discard the empty root beer bottles in the recycling can.

I halted, unable to take another step. Was it something I did that made him ignore me? I didn’t think so. We’d slept together last night. And the night before. This morning, he woke me up with his face between my thighs, biting, nibbling, and licking me all over.

But that’s just sex, I scoffed inwardly. A part of your arrangement. He doesn’t see you as more than a warm hole to keep him satisfied, a means to an end. Namely, his very fat inheritance.

I hopped into the shower, letting the extra-hot water pound against my skin. I also brushed my teeth to try to wash the bitterness from my mouth. By the time I stepped out of the bathroom wearing my Surely not everyone was Kung Fu fighting PJs (ten bucks on Etsy, a far cry from the people I was sharing a roof with this weekend) I was met with three pairs of angry stares.

Hunter, Knight, and Luna stood in the hallway, cross-armed, scowling at me like I’d wronged them somehow.

“What?” I looked down, making sure I’d remembered to put my pants on. I had.

“What were you doing in there? Finger-banging yourself to the image of me five hundred times? We’re already late, and you’re wearing your goddamn PJs. Put on some jeans.” Hunter waved a hand in my direction.

“Oh.” I flushed scarlet. “I didn’t know…I thought…” I clapped my mouth shut, realizing I was being super awkward again.

At the same time, I was also so relieved, I nearly threw up.

“Yeah, you didn’t. Letting me run around looking like this in a city full of red-blooded women and alcohol?” Hunter gestured to his full height, head to toe. “You’re supposed to keep me celibate and sober. So get your ass dressed and do.”

So that’s why he needed me there.

My heart sank. Figures.

An hour later, Hunter pulled over in front of the Cutler Majestic Theater on Tremont Street in my car. The place was famous for being apparently haunted. A former, albeit fictional, mayor of Boston had died there watching a performance. There were also supposedly the two spirits of a married couple and one of a little girl who accepted hidden gifts that were left there for her.

I shared this information with our guests, who looked like they were about to bolt back to California on foot as Hunter got out of the car and started opening doors for us.

“Ghosts? Blood? Murders? Vaughn would have married this place,” Knight said, making Hunter and Luna laugh.

I’d heard the name a few times, but it meant nothing to me.

“Well, fucker’s not on the continent. Besides, he and Sailor would’ve probably murdered each other, and I don’t have time or energy to be a witness at a lengthy trial.” Hunter closed the passenger door with a bang after we all poured out. “Especially when I can almost taste freedom. And pussy. I can taste that, too.”

You do, every day, I wanted to scream. Or do I not count?

But of course, I knew why he did it. We couldn’t show people we were together in the biblical sense of the word. That was our agreement.

“Anyway.” Hunter yawned. “I rented the place for the night. The personal chef is already here. We’re having organic, plant-based food, because Luna is vegetarian and Sailor is…like, a chick.”

“Oh!” Luna squeaked in response, high-fiving me. I tried to remain upbeat. Like a chick? Was I not an actual woman now? Besides, this was bullshit, and he knew it. We ate out together all the time, and I was the more adventurous eater. In fact, one time he said I had the metabolism of a quarterback frat boy.

“Leaves, dude?” Knight threw Hunter a look that said he’d lost all respect.

“Fear not.” Hunter raised a warning hand. “In return for our hospitality in the food department—if I can even indeed call vegetables food—we will be watching a marathon of old-school movies, consisting of Fight Club, Top Gun, and Dirty Harry.”

“I’m not sitting through that!” Luna exclaimed, coming down from her initial euphoria.

“Even if it’s on top of me? Bareback?” Knight grinned, hooking his muscular bicep around her neck. Luna swatted his arm and laughed.

We made our way into the theater. An array of dishes—salads, pastas, and casseroles—were waiting outside in the lobby, complete with a makeshift dining area. We ate quickly, then went into the theater. There were two theater staff present. They dimmed the lights, put on the first movie—Dirty Harry—and made themselves scarce. We were seated in the front row of the upper level, in complete darkness, on plush seats. Knight and Hunter crossed their long legs at the ankles on the railings, with Knight putting Luna’s hand over his hard thigh, stroking it lovingly. Hunter and I didn’t touch, even though we sat right next to each other.

I couldn’t concentrate on the first two movies—Dirty Harry and Top Gun. All I could do was mull over how much it bothered me that Hunter hadn’t shown me any special treatment, or any treatment at all, for that matter. How hard was it going to be to face reality when our contract was up?

Over the weeks we’d slept together and listened to Sylvester Lewis’ tapes wrapped around each other with our AirPods, I’d willed myself to imagine Hunter walking away from me, saying goodbye one last time. I did it over and over again. I hoped the pain would subside with time—the more I envisioned it and the more I practiced.

It never did.

By the time Fight Club started, Luna and Knight had given up pretending they were watching the movies. They were fooling around, Luna straddling Knight on his seat. They made noises. Moans and groans and wet kisses. Their teeth collided, fabric shuffled. I couldn’t even decipher whether it was Brad Pitt or Edward Norton on the screen. I glanced at Hunter, who was sandwiched between me on one side, and Knight and Luna on the other. His eyes were dead on the screen as he poured a bag of M&M’s into his bucket of popcorn, skillfully balancing the huge thing on his knee.

I returned my gaze to the movie, my pinky on the armrest between us twitching, touching his briefly.

Touch me, fool.

He pulled away from my touch to scrub his stubbled jaw. The small, unrequited gesture felt like whiplash. My need to break over that one, silly rejection overwhelmed me. I felt like I’d lost him unexpectedly and prematurely, ahead of time.

If only you’d practiced imagining him kicking you out a hundred more times, huh? a sarcastic voice inside me taunted.

“Have you watched Fight Club before?” I cleared my throat.

“Is this a joke? Do birds fly?” He threw a handful of M&M’s and popcorn into his mouth, chewing.

“Depends on the bird. Ostriches don’t.”

He turned to look at me. I could see him in my periphery, frowning, like I belonged in a mental institution.

Kiss me.

Claim me.

Show them I’m more than just the sitter.

Instead of voicing my dark, erotic, pathetic thoughts, I yawned and stood up, stretching.

“Restroom break. Will be back soon.”

“Now? Shit’s just about to go down.” Hunter’s eyes widened.

I chose the longer path, past the empty seats that weren’t occupied by Knight, Luna, and Hunter as an escape route.

“I saw Brad Pitt topless. That was the height of the movie for me. It can only go downhill from here,” I muttered to myself.

I slipped downstairs to the restroom. I didn’t need to pee, but I took the time to freshen up, wash my face, and stare at myself in the mirror. I wore a gray, off-shoulder dress and my checked Vans, paired with a denim jacket. Still comfortable, but not complete dudebro attire. Smoothing my orange hair with my fingers, I left the restroom. The idea of returning upstairs and facing more of Knight and Luna’s love, and Hunter’s aloofness, made me nearly violent. Besides, the place was allegedly haunted. There was so much to see.

I decided to take a stroll along the hallway. It was old and imperial, with dozens of golden lights glittering like diamonds everywhere you looked. Brown marble columns rose from the floor like trees. I stepped into the first floor of the auditorium, under the deck, where Hunter and his friends couldn’t see me. The arched ceiling and detailed decorations did something to my heart I couldn’t explain. It squeezed in pride—pride that I was a part of this city, a small part of this place’s history. I’ve been here, I thought. In a hundred years, or maybe two, when I’m long gone, someone else would see all this.

But now it was my turn to bask in this magic.

I ambled toward the stage, moving in the shadows, invisible to the rest of them. A quick glimpse upstairs confirmed that Knight and Luna were not in a condition to see anything. It looked like they were having sex under the slip of fabric from Luna’s flowery dress. She moved like a wave on top of Knight. Hunter’s eyes were still on the movie, cold and full of ire. I stumbled backstage, behind the screen, gliding my hand over every piece of furniture and prop. I guessed The Nutcracker was playing, because the stage equipment included white-and-red-striped swirly columns, an aeronautic balloon, and a Christmas tree. My hand halted on a simple wooden chair with a gown draped over it. I lifted the fabric and put it to my nose, breathing it in.

It smelled of sweat, polyester, and hairspray. I squeezed my eyes closed, knowing the movie playing on the giant screen hid me. I was completely protected.

Putting the gown back where it was, I picked up a piece of wrinkled paper on the seat that looked like it’d been read to death—a song, I realized.

His love was like the sun.

Even when it wasn’t there,

It didn’t mean it ceased to exist.

And even when his rays did not warm her skin.

He kept her universe alive.

And even when the night engulfed her in loneliness, when winter wrestled him out of her life.

She knew he would come back.

He always did.

Long after they said goodbye.

I clutched the paper to my chest. Bowing my head, I pressed my lips to the lyrics. God, what was happening to me?

I felt the paper snatched from my hands. My eyes popped open, and when I looked up, I saw Hunter, his eyes dead on mine.

I was the first one to break our gaze as I watched his fist clenching the paper, destroying it. I smiled sadly at the irony. Did that mean I was coming to terms with our fate? With our impending goodbye?

Hunter threw the balled paper behind his shoulder, erasing all the distance between us with one step. He was still in his work attire, pale gray suit with a silky, wine-red tie. He tilted my chin up with one finger. I slapped his hand away. I was irrationally angry with him and too scared to admit why, even to myself.

Because I wasn’t content with being just the babysitter he slept with to let off steam.

Because I expected more than being treated like an acquaintance.

Because I wanted us to have what Knight and Luna had.

He raised one eyebrow in question.

I turned around and walked away. I was almost at the stairs when Hunter wrapped his fingers around my wrist and pulled me behind the burgundy-velvet curtain that felt heavy and thick as it shielded us from sight.

He nuzzled his nose against my face, inhaling me with a shudder.

“When you’re like that, you make me want to fuck the defiance out of you, aingeal dian.”

For all the times I’d asked him what my nickname meant, I’d never had the courage to Google it and find out myself. I still hoped he’d voluntarily tell me before our time was up. Plus, I liked the mystery. I knew I was probably going to look it up as soon as we parted ways. I was bound to obsess over every little detail once he was gone. Which reminded me—I needed to start looking for apartments, since my parents had repurposed my old bedroom. Another thing I’d postponed.

“You barely even acknowledged me out there,” I protested, glad for the dim light that hid my bright-red blush. I was crammed between his hot, strong body and the wall.

“I didn’t know how,” Hunter admitted, his lips finding the lobe of my ear, nibbling at it. His mouth had a way of sending shivers to the rest of my body the minute it touched an inch of me. “I’ve never had a…” He paused, thinking about how to label us.

Girlfriend?

“Lady friend. A real one,” he finished, his mouth moving to the curve of my neck, his tongue sliding along it. “I don’t know how to communicate with you without unbuttoning your clothes with my teeth.”

“So you decided not to pay me any attention at all?” My breath hitched, but I kept the conversation going.

When he realized I wasn’t touching him back, wasn’t reciprocating, he took my hand and put it on the bulge between his legs. He was hard.

He just watched his friends bone right in front of him. Don’t feel so special.

“Since when do you care?” His lips skimmed mine. He used one of his hands to grab my butt and pin me against the wall, and the other to pull my dress up so he could push his hand inside me.

“Since you made me feel like shit,” I countered, squeezing him there. I didn’t put much strength into it, but I wasn’t gentle, either. If I hoped it’d clear him out of his hormone-induced fog, I was dead wrong. Hunter just laughed throatily, shoved my hand into his slacks, and curled his fingers over mine to make sure I was holding his shaft.

“Good girl. Up and down, now. Rub it, baby.”

“Hunt,” I croaked, but still rubbed him off. I hated that I succumbed to him. My only solace was the fact that I didn’t do it to get him off. I did it because it was incredibly hot. Us, making out in this haunted theater that was almost solely ours tonight, fooling myself by pretending I had what Luna had, when Hunter clearly offered me nothing more than sex.

“Yeah, baby,” he groaned, grinding against my hand. “Show those ghosts how it’s done. Casper porn all the way.”

“Answer me, Hunter. Why were you ignoring me?” I asked, going faster, watching as his eyes rolled backwards in agony and pleasure. He still didn’t answer, so I stopped midway, withdrawing my hand and folding my arms over my chest. His eyes widened.

“Jesus fuck, Sailor! What did you want me to do? Kiss you? Make out with you in public? That’d throw us out of fuck-buddies purgatory, which is exactly where we’re supposed to be. I have a shit-ton of money on the line. You’ve got your career. This shit’s almost over. Why kill the fun now?”

Fuck buddies.

The way his mouth formed the word—the mere existence of the word in his mouth—made every inch of my skin blossom with violent goosebumps. Fuck. Buddies. That’s all we were. Friends who had sex with each other.

Hunter wanted us to remain nothing, and I? I wanted everything.

Sensing he wasn’t going to get a verbal answer, Hunter twisted his hand between us, dipped it under my dress, and shoved my panties down to my knees. I shivered when I realized how wet and ruined my panties were, especially in the middle of our fight.

“Let me make you feel better,” he whispered into my mouth, kissing me once again. Slow. So slow. Designed to seduce.

“They might catch us,” I whispered.

“Let them. That’ll show them how much attention I give you.” He leaned forward and got rid of my panties, pulling them all the way down. I kicked them aside, still in my Vans. Hunter pushed me flat against the wall.

“Spread your legs for me,” he ordered.

“You’re not the boss of m…”

“Swear to God, Sailor, I will fuck your mouth so hard you’ll lose teeth if you disobey.”

I nudged my knees apart, opening myself in front of him. He crouched on his knees in his suit, using his thumbs to open the lips between my legs. He put his lips close to me, inhaled, then blew what I knew was a fresh, minty exhale inside me, peppered with a chocolate-y, M&M’s smell.

I quivered, my hands flying to his shoulders. “Do it again,” I moaned.

He blew into me again, and I clenched against the air, begging for more.

“Tell me.” Hunter spread me wider with his thumbs, and I felt the pressure, the slight pain down there as he stretched me. “Do you really think you can say no to me?”

I didn’t answer, because I didn’t like my answer. I just stared at him defiantly, even as he was close to giving me an orgasm while hardly touching me. Hunter Fitzpatrick is a dangerous habit, I thought. I should be glad to quit him.

He blew into me again, his eyes on mine.

My hands moved from his shoulders to his hair, tugging at the soft, silky strands.

“More.”

He plunged two fingers into me, curling them upwards to hit my G-spot, the sound of my wetness around him filling the air, and began to thrust. Slowly. So slowly I thought I was going to die. His eyes didn’t leave mine as he did it, his expression grave.

“Faster,” I croaked.

He shook his head.

“This is a punishing orgasm, not a rewarding one, Sailor. You should’ve thought about that before you had the idea of breaking this off.”

I collapsed down along the wall, keeping his head between my legs and wiggling my butt on the floor, trying to quicken the pace myself, but he wouldn’t let me. Hunter flattened one of his hands against my lower stomach, pinning me in place.

I moaned. “I want more.”

“Specify,” he nearly barked.

There was a commotion in the scene playing on the big screen that hid us. Brad Pitt and Edward Norton were not happy campers. I thought we were safe from being found.

“Have sex with me.” I swallowed my shame.

“Bzzzz,” he said. “Wrong terminology. Now say it like a proper twenty-first century chick.”

“Fuck me,” I whispered, looking down.

He quickened his pace, knowing I was close. “Louder.”

“Fuck me.” I raised my voice.

“Can’t hear you,” he sing-songed.

“Fuck m—” I began to yell, but before I could, he was on top of me, unfastening his belt and shoving himself into me. He went in bareback—the first time we’d done it without a condom—and my eyes bulged at the sensation of his hot, silky flesh inside me. I groaned into his shoulder, clutching his back as he began to move.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I was glad we’d had that conversation. The one about STDs. It wasn’t official or anything—Hunter had complained about his father forcing him into being tested when he moved back to Boston—but still, it was nice to know chlamydia was not in my near future.

He pumped fast—feral, jerky, and completely out of rhythm. Hunter had a few moves I’d become accustomed to. There was what I called the stripper move, where he would plow in and out in one, smooth, wave-like movement, like in soft porn movies. Then he had the frat-boy move, where he nailed me to whatever surface we were lying on and pumped into me in fast, deep, punishing thrusts. This was neither of those things. Tonight he entered me like he thought I was going to evaporate into air any moment and he needed to find his release before that happened.

I felt like he was slicing me, breaking me even more, and I decided to fight back. I clawed my raw fingernails from his shoulder to his chest, pushing him away, but not really.

“I hate you,” I muttered, and he replied by shutting me up with a filthy kiss full of tongue and teeth.

But I meant what I said. I hated that he made me feel, that he’d ruined my plan to sail through life smoothly, without having to get hurt. I hated that he’d invited me to drown with him at his parents’ butterfly garden, and the stupid girl that I was, I had.

Now I needed air.

I slapped his face, hard, to break the kiss. He pulled away, shocked, but when he was about to pull out of me, I grabbed his bare butt cheeks—the only thing bare about him, we were both fully clothed—and drove him into me deeper.

“No. Give me an orgasm, and then leave me alone. I mean it, Hunter. We’re through.”

Something in his face changed just then.

I remembered an important thing Hunter had told me one day, when we were lying together in my bed.

“It’s true that I’ve never stayed with a woman, but it’s also true that women never stay with me. My mom neglected me. The revolving door of nannies didn’t help, either. My only sister used to ask my da for permission before calling me because he’d told her I was bad influence. Any other chick who noticed me wanted to either fuck my face or get access to my wallet. Women don’t think highly of me, but the truth is, I don’t think so highly of them, either.”

I was dumping him without even being with him, playing on the notion he hated the most—women leaving him unexpectedly.

And he wasn’t happy.

Hunter thrust into me again and again and again, the pleasure he awakened in my body at odds with the sharp pain I felt in my soul. I wanted to take the words back, but I didn’t want to sacrifice my happiness for his, either.

When the climax began to rock me back and forth, euphoria washing over my limbs, I felt him pulsating and twitching inside of me. He pulled out, held his engorged red cock in his fist, and extended my neck by tugging my hair back. My heart thundered in my chest. He pressed the tip of his wet cock—that smelled exactly like me—to my hairline and glided it down my face as he came in spurts, creating a line of his cum along my face. He stopped at my mouth, one eyebrow slanted, his eyes daring me to refuse him.

I opened my mouth obediently, and he shoved it in, finishing in my mouth.

I tilted my head back, letting it hit the back of my throat, then swallowed.

Hunter stood up swiftly and buckled himself. He’d opened his mouth to say something—something harsh, something he would undoubtedly regret—when the burgundy-velvet curtain engulfing us swiped open.

“Whoa,” Knight whistled. He stood to the side of the stage, slow-clapping us.

Luna was beside him, cupping her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Is that a thing? A babysitter with a happy ending?” Knight grinned.

I felt so much blood rushing to my face, I thought I was going to explode.

Hunter turned and walked away, not even bothering to answer his best friend or pick me up from the floor, with his cum still dripping from my chin.