But without wanting to, I’m smiling. No one deserves this more than him.
I needed this, he texts, and this time, I know he’s revealing more of the real Hunter. The one who struggles every damn day now, even when he doesn’t show it to the world. Because he lost Ellis, the man he loves, and then the fun of this game.
Me: I know. I’m happy for you. I might not like football, but I do like you (kinda), so I’m always cheering for you.
Hunter: You only like me kinda? Now I’m sad.
Okay, so this slightly flirty texting has been happening more and more, and I’m not sure how to feel about it. For all I know, Hunter doesn’t realize he’s doing it, and I sure as shit shouldn’t acknowledge the fact that he’s doing it.
Me: I can make it up to you…
I’ll let him take that however he wants. This is all just for fun.
Hunter: Do you have plans on Tuesday?
Me: I do now.
Hunter: I gotta go. Talk soon?
For a reason I don’t want to contemplate, I feel out of breath, like his words had the power to reach into my lungsand pull it out. Even with the question mark at the end, it feels like this obvious thing, like of course we’ll talk later. Why wouldn’t we? This is something we do now. Hunter and I talk, and clearly, we hang out more than just once because we’ve been doing it.
Me: Yeah. Talk soon.
What I should do right now is get on an app, find a hookup, and fuck all thoughts of Hunter King out of my mind. Woman? Man? I don’t much care, as long as they’re not him.
But it won’t work. It’ll never work. Otherwise, he would have left my mind a long time ago, there would have never been a place in my brain for him, but there is. There always has been.
So, even though I’m horny and haven’t had sex with anyone since I started talking to Hunter, I don’t get on the apps. Instead, I go to the gallery and try to distract myself there.
Isla can tell something’s up, but she doesn’t badger me. She knows when I’m open to that, and I don’t doubt that something about my energy today says I’m not.
How can I be when still, after all these years, I want someone who will never belong to me? Someone who should never belong to me…
*
That night, alonein bed, my dick hard and hungry for action, I reach into my nightstand and grab my lube. I slick up my hand and grab my cock, stroking with my right and using my left to play with my balls. I could pretend I’m not thinking about Hunter, about his too-blue eyes and softbrown hair. About the bow shape of his mouth. About what his pink tongue looks like when it traces his lips, or the rich sound of his laughter.
The hot squeeze of my hand and the quick movements along my shaft aren’t enough, but they’ll have to do. I fuck into my hand, close my eyes, groan in this empty room, and wonder how he likes to be touched. Does he like his nuts played with? How sensitive is his head? Is Hunter a top? Bottom? Vers like me?
“Fuck,” I groan, imagining it, having his dick in my mouth, feeling his hot, hard length against my tongue. Feeling my hole clench for him, thinking about him filling me or how my dick would twitch at the thought of being inside him. I speed up my strokes. I’m leaking like crazy, precum sliding down my shaft and joining the lube as I jerk myself.
Fuck, Hunter had felt so good against me on that tree. He smelled so fucking good too. His hands trembled, his breath caught, and I swear, for a second before I pulled away, I thought he’d kiss me.
It’s that memory that has my back bowing off the bed, my whole body shaking, light dancing before my eyes as I lose myself to the pleasure. My balls draw up tight, cum spurting from my cock in short bursts and landing on my stomach and chest.
As soon as I’m wrung dry, I collapse against the bed, breathing heavily, but not sated. That’s what happens when you want someone so much for so long—you’re always chasing a feeling you’ll never have, and nothing else is ever enough.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lucas
Hunter came overagain for breakfast on Tuesday. This time, I made omelets and these high-protein fruit smoothies that are popular among athletes. I’ve fucked a professional athlete or two in my time, so I know enough things like that.
While I want him to eat some chocolate fucking cake when he wants it, I also don’t want to be a bad influence. I want him to take care of his body and excel at his sport, if for no other reason than I saw how happy it made him when he played so well last Sunday. He loves football the way I love photography, though it takes more from him than I think football deserves. But I don’t want him to lose that because he lost my brother—the brother I need to remember Hunter is in love with. He’ll never be mine. I should never want him to be mine…
After breakfast, we went on another hike, talking and laughing, being playful but also serious, like we did the previous week. This time, I invited Hunter up after our hike, but he didn’t come. I almost offered to show him my darkroom, just to get him back inside, but figured that’s a little obsessive, and if the man didn’t want to come, I shouldn’t try to manipulate him into it.
I hate the way I want him, want to spend time with him,the pull I feel in my chest to him…the same one that left me devastated when he and Ellis went from best friends to boyfriends.
