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There’s a moment of quiet understanding where everything feels right in my world. This is how it was always meant to be. He and I, laughing on our way down the hall to our bedroom, sharing the same air and being completely at ease with each other.
I squeeze my thighs around his hips, needing the rest of that story. For the fantasy to become a reality.
He groans, and then we’re on the move again. I’m amazed he remembers which bedroom is mine. It’s been several years since he and my family helped me move in.
There’s a pang in my heart, worrying about what they’ll think, but I ignore it. I’m not going to let nostalgia ruin tonight. And they don’t have to know.
He sets me on my feet at the foot of the bed. The room has a honey-colored glow from the streetlights outside the tall windows.
Hunter is so handsome that my breath stalls in my lungs. My knees go weak at the appreciation in his eyes, and my stomach is alternately tying itself in knots and unraveling in an endless loop of desire.
I tuck my hands beneath his sweater, eager to see the man beneath. He’s a work of art.
His fingers toy with the knot at the bottom of my button-up, and the two sides give. Every nerve ending is keenly aware of where his hands are and how close they are to where I need them most. It feels forbidden and delicious.
“I’ve been daydreaming about unwrapping you. These three buttons are a constant source of torment when you’re working,” he says, giving the shirt a playful tug. I love how his gruffness disappears when he’s with me.
I grin. “Is that right?”
The black button-up over a tank top is my standard attire when filling in at the bar. I love the idea that he’s been watching me so closely.
“Yeah.” He pops one button. Then another. I skate my fingertips up his sides, pushing the sweater higher and higher. He steps back, letting me pull it over his head. A soft gray T-shirt clings to his impressive chest, and my stomach does a holy-cow-he’s-hot flip-flop.
My sigh of appreciation is involuntary, and he huffs another laugh before yanking the shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor next to his sweater.
To say Hunter is gorgeous is an understatement. And all that muscle is hard-won from days of physical labor. I press a hand over his heart as I look my fill.
“Where was I?” His fingers come back to my buttons. “One day, I’ll rip this off you. But tonight, I’m gonna enjoy unwrapping the present I’ve waited so long for.”
Gawd, the things he says.
He undoes the last button and then pushes the shirt down my arms, trapping them at my sides. There’s a tiny flare of panic because I’m claustrophobic, but it’s quickly chased away when his palm slides up, closing gently around my throat. I trust this man. Always have, always will.
My pulse pounds against his palm as he looks me over slowly. I could swear there’s not a stitch of clothing between us because his regard feels like an actual caress.
“Still feeling okay?”
“More than okay.” Hot. Tingly. Slick and so fucking needy.
He bends down, burying his face against my throat as he tugs my shirt the rest of the way off. Then he lifts my tank top off to join the pile on the floor, and his fingers work the button of my jeans. I cling to his naked shoulders, my pulse thudding in my ears. Every brush of his skin against mine makes my knees weaker. My tummy quivers with anticipation. How does he manage it? Making me want him so badly that I’m about to dissolve into a puddle of need.
When I’m finally standing in front of him in nothing but my bra and panties, he leans back, and cool air chases across my skin.
“Fuck, Piper.” A deep groan rumbles from his chest. “You’re so gorgeous.”
“I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
Then he drops to his knees.
“Hunter—” He’s never been Mr. Dawson to me. Even after I found out he was my father’s bestie, he’s always insisted on being called Hunter.
“Yes, beautiful?”
Oh my god.
I bite the inside of my lip.
My pussy tingles and aches for his touch. For friction. For something.
