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He shifted into reverse and slowly backed out of the complex, his cheeks turning pink. “You’re drunk,” he chuckled. But he didn’t move his hand.
“I’m horny.” I grabbed the blanket around my shoulders and pulled it off. My skin felt too warm, almost like I was suffocating under the layers of my jacket and shirt. I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter between my thighs at just the thought of being fully naked in the car beside him, with one of his hands on my clit and the other on the wheel. “Please.”
“Do you want me to take you back to the hospital or your house?”
His words barely registered as I moved myself around in my seat, squirming out of my jacket. I chucked it into the back. “I wanna go to your place.” The words came out in a jumbled mess, all at the same time.
“You can’t even speak,” he sighed, letting his head fall back against the headrest as we stopped at a traffic light. I fought with my shirt next, trying to work out which way my arms needed to go to get it off. “Please stop trying to take off your clothes.”
“I. Want. To. Go. To. Your. Place,” I said, enunciating every single word so he understood this time. Finally, I got my shirt off, setting my breasts free. “Touch me.”
“Lottie.”
I reached across the center console, inhibitions completely gone and wrapped my fingers around the shape of his cock over his pants. I was met with rigidness, his desire giving him away. “You want to,” I giggled. Another hiccup came out with it.
“Of course I want to,” he grumbled. “But you’re drunk, and I’m driving.”
The truck began to slow down. I blinked a few times, looking to see where we were at. We were parked outside of a three-story home built out of wood, a warm glow coming from the massive windows that formed a large triangle at the center. It was at least ten times bigger than my family home but it was warm and inviting, and so stereotypically Hunter. Even through my drunken haze, I knew instantly that it was his house.
I turned to him. His seatbelt was off, his gaze directed at me as the truck idled in park. I couldn’t remember the last thing that was said, all I could think about was how perfect he looked, how much he felt like home, how pretty his lips were, and how long his hair had grown. I wanted to drag my fingers through it.
“Lottie?”
I shoved the blanket off me that had somehow reappeared, baring my chest to him again.
“For fuck’s sake.”
I didn’t care. I unbuttoned my jeans, forcing them and my underwear down my thighs, kicking off my shoes in the process. I pulled everything off. Heat was burning me from the inside out, and within a second, I’d lifted the center console between us to reveal the hidden seat beneath and wiggled my way out of the seatbelt. I crawled across to him, and he welcomed me with open arms, pulling me into his lap to straddle him.
“You’re drunk,” he whispered, his cool hand sliding across my cheek. “So very drunk.”
“I don’t care.” I pressed my lips to his and he welcomed the kiss, humming his satisfaction against my mouth. Deepening it, I kissed him greedily, exploring every inch of his mouth and committing his taste to memory. My hips pressed against his stomach, seeking friction, seeking any kind of touch, but he didn’t give it. Only kisses, only gentleness.
I didn’t want gentle.
“Fuck me,” I begged, breathing the words into his mouth. “Please, Hunter.”
Images flashed in my mind of the things I wanted him to do to me. Bending me over, holding my hands behind my back, fucking me relentlessly until I was a sobbing mess on the floor. Pulling my hair, wrapping those perfect fucking hands around my throat, calling me a good girl. Telling me how well I take him. How perfectly I fit his cock. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“Fuck me,” I said again, more urgently, the words slurring together. “I need it. I need you,” I whined.
“You need water and greasy food,” he growled, his fingers tightening around my waist and the back of my neck. “And a shower. You smell wrong.”
I smelled wrong?
“You smell like…,” He pressed his nose to my neck, breathing me in, leaving little kisses everywhere he sniffed. “…like lavender.”
“Massage oil.” It came out as one jumbled, unintelligible word.
“What?”
“Massage… oil.” My eyelids felt heavy. So, so heavy, like cinderblocks were attached to each eyelash and were dragging them down. I let my forehead fall onto his shoulder and braced my hands against his hardened chest. Those images flashed in my mind again, taunting me, making me wetter, needier. “Fuck.”
“Lottie?”
Chapter 23
Hunter
