When he returned the next night, she invited him back to her place. At the time, he’d thought the bungalow was artsy and eclectic, like the one-night stand he’d stumbled into.
The sex had been fantastic.
Then they’d done it again the next night, and the night after that.
Now he looked around her cozy living room and saw a possible shared future together.
Jesus, he needed to go blow something up. His estrogen levels were getting dangerously high. Next thing he knew, he’d be suggesting a weekend of antiquing.
Flopping on her couch, he grabbed the laptop from the coffee table and plugged the as-promised attached charging cable to his phone. Then he opened the laptop and typed in her password.
He got half-hard remembering when she’d told it to him, curled up in his lap late one night a few weeks earlier.
He’d needed to check his email, but his phone had been all the wayover there.
“You can use my computer,” she’d murmured sleepily, her lips rubbing against his neck. He’d pulled the coffee table closer and opened it up.
“Type in your password, beautiful.”
“You do it. No laughing. It’s freakygrl2.”
“Freaky girl?” He’d palmed her ass and shifted between her legs. A condom had been equally as far away as his phone, and she’d been tired, so he’d restrained himself from making her prove it.
The truth was, she was sensual and earthy, but freaky?
He shook his head. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but underneath her artist exterior he’d found a sweet, warm, caring woman.
The marrying kind of woman.
Now he typed in that same password, chuckling to himself as her browser popped into sight. She’d been reading an article about raising chickens in an urban environment.
Real freaky, beautiful.
He clicked over to another tab, leaving that article for her to read later, half-wondering if his future might include chicken feed, so it took him a second to realize what he was looking at on the new screen.
Then he blinked. Twice.
Blush Shoppe, the website cheerily called itself in a pretty logo in the top left-hand corner.
Right above the picture of a butt plug.
Blink.
Hunter told himself to close the computer. He even guiltily looked over his shoulder toward the studio, becausesnooping was so wrong. But then he didn’t close it. He scanned the page, taking everything in. She hadn’t added anything to her shopping cart. Maybe someone else had sent her the link, like… haha, look at this pretty glass butt plug with a flower in its base?
His dick flexed and he shifted the computer. Not the time, buddy. He pressed the heel of his hand hard into his crotch, but his cock misunderstood the message and filled further with very interested blood.
God damn it. Squeezing his thighs together, he glared at the screen and hit the Back button to return to the last viewed page on that tab in the browser.
Holy hell. A glass dildo, this one matching the plug. And before that, other similar sets, but the pink ones with the flowers were the nicest. They suited Serena best.
His sweet, studious, future chicken-raising Serena.
Hands shaking, he returned the browser to how he found it and abandoned his plans to order in. He returned the computer to the coffee table, stood up, and stalked into the bedroom.
“Delivery will take forever at this hour,” he called out, shoving his arms into his shirt. “I’m gonna run out and grab something.”
Serena wasn’tsure how much time had passed since Hunter had hollered something about going out, but when she looked at the clock and it was nearly eleven, and her stomach was growling, she realized it had been a while.
