Page 85 of Only the Hunter

“Because it’s you,” he says simply. “It’s always been you.”

“Gabe—”

He nips my lower lip. “Yes. You were always special.”

My cardigan slips off my shoulders. He pulls back just enough to look at me—really look.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, fingers at the hem of my shirt.

I nod.

“Do you need time to think?”

In answer, I remove the cardigan and sweater, so I’m sitting on his lap in my bra.

“I’ve wanted this since I was fifteen.”

Is that bad to admit? Maybe. But the boys in my class didn’t visit me at night in my dreams. Just Gabe.

The guttural sound from Gabe as he cups my breasts is incendiary.

“It’s a good thing I stayed away. I would’ve ended up in jail.”

I shift off his lap and take his hand. “You stayed away long after I turned eighteen.”

“Life,” he says, standing with me. “Every holiday, I wondered if you’d show up with someone.”

I lead him to the bedroom, but he pauses at the desk.

My heart skitters.

He grabs his wallet, and I understand.

We’re on the same page.

In the bedroom, he tosses it on the nightstand.

I tug once more at his sweater, and he lifts his arms, removing it the rest of the way for me.

The afternoon light streams through the window. We’re not hiding.

“You’re sure?” he asks as I take in his tight, muscular chest, the mix of dark hairs and the divots along his abdomen.

“Evie?”

“Stop asking,” I scold. “I want this.”

He tucks my chin up, brushes his lips over mine, and pulls back. I stand there in only a bra and jeans, heart hammering, exposed in a way that has nothing to do with skin.

The bra tightens around my ribs for a split second, then loosens.

He guides the straps over my shoulders, and I let it fall.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful.”

My fingers lightly trace him—firm muscle, a thin scar on his side.

His hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I gasp.