A knock comes at the door, while my phone vibrates at my feet, which are settled on my coffee table. I take the door first, checking peephole like a good girl.
Opening the door, I try and settle my face into an uncaring smile, like I’m too good for you, but you can have me if you really want. As long as you buy me diamonds later for all the suffering I’ll have to go through. I’m not sure I get it quite right, though.
Hunter MacLaine is a big guy; my doorframe the perfect border to his portrait. Swoon-worthy. Totally. He’s wearing that black hoodie again, a plain black t-shirt, and sweats. Oh yeah, those badass boots that I imagine him taking me in. And now I’m red. Awesome.
“Hey.” I do a stupid wave, like we’re a football field apart instead of three feet. Dork.
Hunter nods at me. “Uh, does Matty need Peter Pan again or something?” I ask, scratching the skin under my cast as much as I can.
Hunter clears his throat, blue eyes unreadable. “I wanted to spend the day with you.”
Sweet; he’s sweet. Then why do I want to throw up, and my throat hurts, I want to cry and run away, screaming my head off? He’s not my friend; I don’t know how to act with a man, alone, in my apartment.
“Alright,” I say, sounding like him spending the day with me is even worse than the Daleks taking over the known Universe. I clear my throat. “I was just gonna stay in, watch some TV, movies, maybe read. You’re welcome to join, if you want.”
He grins at me, that stranger’s look on his face has disappeared. “I apparently have to watch Pirates of the Caribbean. I’m under strict orders.”
I laugh, a nervous titter. I keep scratching at my right arm, that area under the cast that smarts like a mother. I swallow, and step back into my apartment, opening the door wider for him to come in.
“Where’s the little guy?” I ask, glancing back into the hall once Hunter’s inside.
“I wanted to be alone with you today. The kid steals my thunder.”
“Well...yeah. Have you met him?” I close the door, lock it, and move into my kitchen, hyperaware by the tingles on my back that Hunter is behind me and following me wherever I go. “Do you want something to drink, eat?” He shakes his head no. “You’ll let me know when you need anything? Alright. Lemme get the movie started.”
After nabbing a glass of water for myself, and blushing when I use my Star Wars coasters (mine has Han Solo on it), I pop in Pirates into my DVD player and hit play.
“Whose shirt are you wearing, baby?” Frak, I love it when he calls me baby. No, I adore it.
“Uh, mine. You like?” I turn away from the DVD player and face him. Sitting on my couch, he makes the thing look dainty. He sits with his legs splayed open, knees cocked. I know I’m not brave enough yet to walk between his legs, straddle him while I sit on his lap and kiss him until I can’t breathe. But maybe one day...soon.
I hold out the navy t-shirt with the word SAMCRO written on the chest, displaying my love for the show Sons of Anarchy.
Hunter’s eyebrows lower. “Yeah, but I want to know who it belongs to.”
I frown at him, taking in his rigid shoulders and tightened jaw. “It’s mine, Hunt. I’m not a klepto.”
“Whose was it before it was yours?”
The question throws me. Well, whose was it before it was mine? Does the online store actually make the shirts to order? Or are there some just waiting around to be delivered... or even, have some been returned and that’s the one that’s on me right now?
“I don’t actually know.”
His whole body winds up tighter as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. His face is the epitome of serious, and that’s sexy hot, too. Frak! “Did an ex-boyfriend give that to you?”
I stumble on my way to the couch, tripping over his foot and crashing into the leather and half his body. I start laughing, from embarrassment and his ludicrous thought process.
“Are you serious? I wear my shirts big, Hunt. I got it on-line, actually. Sweet deal, too.” I laugh, heaving myself up to stand between his legs. Hands on his hard thighs, I lean close to him, smiling still, and gather up what little courage I have and kiss him on the cheek.
“Why is that so funny? You’re wearing a man’s shirt. It was a logical assumption.”
“You’re right, it was,” I say, mollifying him. I take my seat next to him, and get his arm over my shoulders, a heavy warmth at the top of my back. The hint of possessiveness does things to me, things that I can’t put into words.
“You wouldn’t like it if I had Aly’s shit lying around at my place.”
I turn to look at him. Golden skin, blue eyes. Strong cheeks and jaw - manly, hard. Blonde-brown stubble on his cheeks and chin, tired eyes, sexy mouth. Fuller bottom lip than the top one.
I’m a firework about to explode into my show of lights in the night sky, just by looking at his mouth, thinking about the kiss we almost-almost had.
Tearing my eyes from his lips, I say, “Hunt, if you’re wearing her shit, then we’ve got problems.”
His eyes slide shut and he lets out a laugh, curling me into his side and kissing the top of my head. I let my bad arm snake around his waist, trying not to notice the chiseled perfection that are his abs, the six pack I want to trace with my tongue.
“Ten points to Gryffindor.” He grins down at me, then turns to watch the screen. I want to soak up all his attention, feed off the looks he gives me, feed off the way I make him laugh and smile.
“As soon as Captain Jack comes on screen, it’s quiet time. No interrupting. I get really into it, so I might fidget or make noises, or whatever. No judging allowed.”
I get another kiss on top of my head, and snuggle closer, finally realizing I could have this all the time if I could just let go.
Hunter finally understands my Pirates movie references. He laughs at Captain Jack, tenses when the Pirates become walking skeletons, and has the good grace not to comment on how hot Keira Knightley is like Josh, Tommy, Alex and Eli would’ve done. Point Hunter.
I check my phone when I start making us a late lunch/early supper.
Katie: So? What happened last night?
I end up calling her – texting with one hand is bad news.
“What’s up home-slice?” Katie answers. I want to fight my grin, ‘cause I wanna be mad at her for ditching me last night, but I just can’t. I mean, who keeps a straight face to home-slice?
“I broke my hand when Tommy’s face hit my fist. I have a cast and everything.” I look down at said cast, and wonder how I’m going to make grilled-cheeses with my left hand only. “Gimme a sec.” I hold my phone to my chest and recruit Hunter to help with the chopping of the salad. I stick my tongue out as I spread butter on the slices of bread I’m going to fry up.
“Did I just hear right? He’s there? What did he do, sleep over?” Knowing Katie’s voice and the problem she has with volume control, I quickly move to my bedroom, shutting the door.
“No. He didn’t. I’m pissed at you right now. You don’t deserve that story.”
“Are you kidding me? Sweetie, you’ve been waiting for this for twenty-five years – I’ve been waiting for ten, and you can’t even tell me if you had your way with Mr. SexyPants? You’re meaner than Voldemort.”
I snort, and cuss myself out. Making me laugh is halfway to making me forgive her. Katie knows this. Bloody hell.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, alright? Lunch – same time, same place.”
“I need details, Delos! Details!”
“I swear you’re worse than the guys, you giant horn-dog.”
“You know you love it. Speaking of those assholes, I think Tommy wanted to pass by your place and grovel today. I think you should enjoy the show and prolong it as long as possible.”
“He’s not coming here! He wouldn’t just show up like that. I don’t care, I don’t want to see him. I’m with Hunter, anyway. Can you spell awkward? T-o-m-m-y. No, thanks.” The smell of grilled cheese hits my room, making my stomach growl. “’K
ay, I gotta go. We’re eating now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Can’t you just give me a little nugget of information – please?” Katie whines, making me cringe. “Delos, don’t you dare hang up on m-” Click.
“Sorry, Hunt, I had to take that.”
His eyes are warm when he sees me, flipping over our grilled cheeses.
“Is this enough food for you? Do you have more protein next door? I ran out of everything – I have to go grocery shopping tomorrow.” I say in a way of apology.
“I’ll be good. I’ve been to the gym already, and you only have brown bread so the sugar intake goes down some.” Hunter tosses me a smile, using the spatula to squash the sandwiches down.
I get the plates out of the cupboard and pull down my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle glasses. They’re green, and have each turtle’s face painted on them, an angry gin, eyes hidden by their respective colored bandanas.
I take Leo away from the equation, and let Hunter choose between Mikey, Raph or Donny. He picks up Raph, grinning down at the glass. Interesting.
I pull out two Coronas, give ‘em a pour, and we settle in front of the TV, legs propped on the coffee table, plates in our laps. The man knows how to make some sweet grilled cheeses.
As the day progresses – I pop in more movies:My Cousin Vinny, Good Will Hunting, and 3:10 to Yuma. I laugh so hard, I nearly choked on my beer with Vinny Gambini, I cried when Will Hunting broke down, and my chin jutted high and proud when Dan Evans told his son that he was the only man that got Ben Wade to the train station.
By this time I’d drank three beers. Three. Beers. In Sera Delos land I might as well have chased tequila shots with vodka sevens. I was drunk, fuzzy in the head, tongue thick, no filter in my brain so whatever I thought immediately came out.
The glory that accompanies being drunk is I don’t care. I don’t care what people think of me, how I look, how I act and how that reflects on both myself and the friends I’m drinking with.
I can handle insults – convincing myself that all the memories associated with the temporary pain I would feel would disappear come morning, or remain fuzzy and unfocused enough that I can just forget them altogether.
I also become impulsive.
The empties sit on my glass coffee table, leaving rings of condensation behind, marking their spots like treasure chests. Lucky Number Slevin plays as background noise, as I formulate my plan. If this didn’t work, well, I wouldn’t remember it. If it did, I could break my own seal in the kissing department. Win-win.
“Hunt, you wanna play a game?”
Snuggled as I am against his side, I watch his throat work as he pulls on the neck of his beer. God, so manly and strong, and I have the insane urge to taste his throat, the salt of his skin, maybe even making him shiver.
Hunt smacks his lips together, his mouth glossy with residual beer that I know, just know will taste better than the Corona I just polished off. I pull in a breath through my nose, trying to settle my stomach, my jittery insides that are waiting, waiting, waiting to see what will happen next.
When he looks down at me, I pull his bottle away from his hands, putting on the table in front of us.
“Depends,” he says, staring down at me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. It’s there, in the way his eyes seem to be smiling at me, and the way one corner of his mouth has kicked up, his cheek hinting at the presence of his dimple.
Bloody hell.
I tilt my head to the side, loving the feeling of his warmth, how I’m tucked carefully so very close to him.
“How about you be the teacher and I be the student?” Those words are mine. I own them and what comes next.
I’m sure my cheeks are pink, I can feel the heat building off my skin. My heart beats double-time, and my muscles are restless to move. My lower belly is being gently scraped by butterfly wings, tickling and strange at the same time.
He licks his lips, slow and deliberate. My core spasms at the invitation, at my need to follow his unspoken orders and put my mouth where he wants me to put it. God, God, God! His blue eyes have darkened, sexy as frak, and glitter with something like want. I’ve never seen someone want me before, but this, his face just as it is, I wish I could draw it, download it into my brain to open it whenever I want.
I know what I have to do.
My hands don’t shake as they move to his cheeks, palms tickling from his stubble, hot breath warming my hands, my mouth as I move closer and closer to him.
“I don’t know what you want,” he whispers, so close to my mouth now I can taste his words. Exquisite torture I make myself endure as penance for making him wait so long, for making myself wait so long.
I take my time in answering, watching his eyes come to sit at my mouth, then back up to look into mine. “I want to play a game. You’re going to pretend to teach me how to kiss.”
Hunt’s eyes go half-mast, a smug smile on his perfect mouth. His hands come to the middle of my back, stroking the ends of my ponytail.
“Baby, just kiss me. You can’t do anything wrong.”
Another flutter in my chest – excitement. He’s going to play if I lie a little.
I move up onto my knees, and swing a leg over his lap. The way his fingers dig into my upper thighs and his teeth flash makes me feel all-powerful, stronger than Odin, more cunning than Odysseus, and more beautiful than Aphrodite. I did that. Me.
“Sera, how much have you had to drink?”
Oh, my responsible Hunter, sexy and strong, and a little broken so he’s not perfect and never will be – just like me. I smell his cologne, clean sweat and whatever scent his skin is letting go of, enticing me to taste.
“I’m good, Hunter mou,” I say, getting a thrill out of calling him mine in Greek. “I really am. I just want to play. You’ll let me play, won’t you?” My hands go to his neck, the throbbing pulse, the corded muscles and tendons that signal him to be a man, to be made of strength. My panties are wet and I haven’t even kissed him yet.
I smile slowly, licking my mouth, imagining his tongue on my lips, in my mouth, rolling with mine.
“I don’t get it. Just kiss me. We don’t have to play games.”
My fingers tighten around his neck, those blue eyes feel like lasers as they dissect my features, what my face is trying to say without my mouth doing any of the talking. His teeth come out to tug at his bottom lip. My breath ratchets up a notch; I tighten inside, pulse with need. My skin’s on fire, and I tingle all over.
I plant my ass more firmly into his thighs, pull him closer to me, feeling his big, warm hands come to my hips, then span my waist, thumbs so so close to the undersides of my breasts – just resting at the upper span of my ribs, telling me that they’re there, ready for me to say yes.
“I’ve been told I’m a really bad kisser.” His eyebrows punch low on his face, and his chest lets out a rumbled sound of disbelief. I’m dizzy from his complete conviction that I’m anything but. Oh God, please don’t let me suck at this. Please, please, please. “And I want you to teach me how to be a good one.”
His fingers spasm around my waist, thumbs digging into the almost-undersides of my breasts. I didn’t know they would feel so heavy, that they would tingle, swell, even, like they’re begging for his attention. But this is what he does to me.
A growl rips from his throat, that primitive male coming out.
“Baby, good kissing is about wanting to kiss me.” I shiver on his lap, my heart stuttering, my breath coming in pants. I’m pulsing and throbbing, dampening my panties further and further. “Do you want me?”
“Yes,” I moan, tugging on his neck, trying to bring him closer to me. His face is dark and dangerous, the navy in his eyes an abyss of knowledge that I’m dying to learn, waiting to be taught. I shiver harder, eyes pinned to his mouth, watching him lick his lips. My hips buck on his lap, and I watch his nostrils flare, color staining his cheeks.
My forearms slide on his shoulders until my underarms are settled there, our forehead
s touching as we share the same air. I take a part of him and he takes a part of me.
“Good, baby. Now come a little closer, fuck-” he groans as we touch in all the right places. Christ, I love you Corona! “And give me your mouth.”
Time is infinite – it stretches out; the future a glint on the horizon, the past a faded memory.
My head feels filled with cotton – no thoughts run through my brain. I’m not sure who does it first, who initiates the first luscious bit of contact, but it happens – the touch of our lips. Finally!
Our lips lightly touch at first, like we’re allowing ourselves just the barest taste of one another, too afraid to become addicted. Hunter is a drug I would ruin my life for. Even as the thought drifts through my mind, and the pang of fear that makes my heart trip over its beats, I tentatively move my mouth.
When Hunt pulls away, a crushing failure squeezes down on my chest and I can’t breathe. I suck at this. He’s going to tell me to get the hell off of him.
I can’t read what’s in his eyes, but the way they search my face, I find myself hoping he finds what he’s looking for.
“Do you want me?” he asks, voice deeper than I’ve ever heard it. I start to notice tiny things- the way his breathing has accelerated, the way his thighs shift underneath me with the tensing of his muscles, the way his chest pumps up and down with the more air he needs. And I’m sitting on top of him. And he’s not telling me I’m too heavy. Score!
I nod, frowning. I’ve already answered this question.
“Then show me. Kiss me like I’m the only one you’ll ever want.”
Fraking hell, he’s going to make me spontaneously combust. An inferno has built in my chest, blood pumping it out to toes and fingers and everywhere in between. My whole body jerks at his words.
I swallow, feel my belly twist with nerves. Hunt’s body keeps giving off heat like he’s a furnace, throwing my body temperature up higher and higher. My left hand is still touching the side of his neck, the accelerated pumping of his pulse underneath my palm. You can’t fake that kind of reaction, you just can’t.