35. Hunter

Playlist: me | Taylor Swift

I wake up as the sun rises the next morning. Immediately I feel awake , ready to start the day. Jo is spooning me, her body enveloping mine and her arm draped protectively over my hip.

I might be the feral guard dog, but she might commit murder for me, too.

I slip out of her arms and climb out of bed, walking straight to the dresser where I quickly take my meds with a PopTart. I put my robe on and lean back against the dresser as I munch on my pastry, watching Jo sleep. I’m basically Edward Cullen, but with an ass that won’t quit.

She’s so fucking pretty in this light, the golden glow of the rising sun illuminating her body. She’s still on her side, arm in the same position it was when I’d still been in bed. Once I’m done eating, I grab Loretta and take a few steps toward the bed, peering into the viewfinder and focusing the shot. The normal buzz of my brain quiets to a soothing hum when I shoot like this. Not for events, not for anyone else, just for me. I love shooting weddings, but there’s a special peace that comes with creating for myself. I move around the bed, shooting Jo from various angles. I climb onto the bed and settle on my knees, focusing the shot on the details of her body I can never get out of my mind. The lines etched into her upper arms, the luscious rolls of her back and way that her hips flare out, dimples and bumps I’m obsessed with. I’m reckless, straddling her hips as I zoom in on her eyelashes. They’re so long, even without a touch of mascara, and they deserve to be considered art.

“Are you taking pictures of me?” Her voice is so comforting that her sudden wakefulness doesn’t startle me.

I’m silent as I continue to shoot her, hair mussed and eyes squinted in the daylight. She stretches her arms above her head, a quiet groan escaping her mouth.

“Mmhmm. I had a sudden burst of inspiration and had to capture it. If you hate it, I’ll delete them and never do it again.” I lower Loretta from my face and look hopefully at her. “Sorry, I should have waited for you to wake up.”

Giovanna wraps her arms around me and pulls me down into her. “But then the light would have changed,” she mumbles, booping the tip of my nose with her index finger.

My hands are trapped between our bodies, otherwise I’d be fanning myself. “You get me.”

“I like you,” she says simply. “I like getting you. I remember how important capturing memories was for you that summer. How you were always taking pictures, and asking me to take pictures of you…”

One day I’ll admit to her how many photos she was the subject of. How many pictures of her favorite places and things I took. How I got prints made of them and have kept them in an old shoe box beneath my bed for twelve years. How I took the box to New Haven, and back to Georgia, and then to New York, without knowing if I’d get to see her again. I want to tell her how I’ve carried her spark with me all this time.

But right now, her hands are on my hips, grinding me onto her, and she’s so fucking pretty and goddammit, I want to fuck her.

I crash my mouth to hers, movements frantic and desperate, but somehow still mindful enough to place Loretta on the nightstand.

“You never rode the cowgirl last night. You just stole my hat without paying the rental fee.” I try to sound grumpy and unhappy, but how does one sound anything other than positively delighted when they’re straddling Giovanna Quinn?

“You made an outlaw out of me, honey.” She runs her hands down my back and grabs my ass through the robe. “But if you want me to behave, I’ll behave for you.”

I squeal as she flips us over. “My lover’s a bandit,” I breathe. “That’s so hot.”

She leaves slow, open mouth kisses down my jaw, my neck. She traces the trim of my robe with her fingers. “I hate this robe.”

I scoff, affronted by her blunt distaste towards my favorite robe. “You hate fun and fashion and whimsy, you grouch.”

“I was going to say I hate it because it’s covering you up, but wow, just attack me, I guess.”

Oops. Maybe I spoke too impulsively.

“I’d rather come for you in another way,” I say sweetly, batting my eyelashes and cupping my breasts through the robe.

She moves quickly, and I arch my back as lowers her head and sucks my nipple through the robe. I moan. “More.”

She releases my nipple. “So greedy,” she murmurs, firmly pinching my nipple between her thumb and forefinger. I whine, a wordless plea for more, and she captures my other nipple in her mouth as she rolls the one between her fingers.

She pulls away and I want to scream and pull her head back to me. Luckily, she’s just undoing the bow at my waist and opening the robe. She leans down and makes tight, slow circles around my nipple with her tongue. My hands knot themselves in her hair, tugging at the root to…I don’t know. Pull her away? Pull her closer? All of the above? My brain is muddled and I’m confident I’m not thinking straight. She releases my nipple and repeats her torture on my other breast.

“Jo, more,” I whimper, desperate for her.

“Not yet, honey. I need to wind you up first. Make you needy and whiny and bratty and achy.” She sits back on her heels and I sit up, the robe falling off my shoulders. “But don’t you worry, honey. I’m going to pay you your due. Where’s that pretty pink vibrator of yours?”

“Reba is charging behind the TV,” I tell her.

Jo gets the vibrator and climbs back into bed with me, straddling my hips and slowly running the tip of the rabbit up my belly and sternum. My breath grows heavier with each slow drag, and then she’s pressing the head against the seam of my lips.

“Open,” she instructs.

My jaw goes slack and she pushes it into my mouth. She keeps pushing until I gag, and then pulls it out, my saliva dripping from it.

“Can you relax your throat for me, honey? I want you to take me deeper.”

I nod and let my eyes close, opening my mouth and lifting my head as she presses it in again, until I feel it in the back of my throat. Instead of gagging, this time I moan, the imagery of me taking her too damn much.

She fucks my mouth with the same vibrator I’ve fucked myself to the thought of her countless times. The same toy I’ve clenched around as I imagined her touching me.

“Look at you. So pretty,” she coos, slipping her hand between my thighs as she fucks my mouth. She thumbs my clit, electricity sparking in every molecule of my body. My skin feels like it’s on fire. It’s all too much, and not enough.

I whimper when she pulls away, leaving my mouth empty. I’ve never particularly enjoyed blowjobs, always sort of saw them as a necessary evil. Giovanna fucking my throat with my pink vibrator, however?

Ten out of ten, would recommend.

“I promised I was gonna ride you. I keep my promises.” Her words are rough and filthy, but her voice is so soft, woven with tenderness.

I lift my head and press my mouth to hers as she slips the vibrator between us. I gasp and jerk when she powers it up and presses it against my clit.

Her tongue is in my mouth as she adjusts herself so that she’s also pressed against the vibrator, her body a delicious pressure on mine.

She starts to grind her hips, keeping her promise and riding me. I grab handfuls of her luscious ass, my legs wrapping around her calves. At this point we’re both brazenly panting into each other's mouth, hot, wet gusts of air.

I’ve never been slow to come. It’s always been relatively easy to get there which I recognize isn’t exactly the norm for many, many people. But somehow, it’s even easier with Jo. There’s no build, no fall, just a crack of lightning through my bones and the weight of Jo’s body on mine to bring me back.

She breaks contact and pulls her face away, keeping the vibrator firmly between us. I know my next orgasm is inevitable, and wonder if it’ll be another sudden explosion, or a slow burn.

“Give me your eyes, honey.” Her voice is raspy and deep—she’s close. I force my eyes open and when our eyes meet, the softest, sweetest smile slowly grows on her face. The little imaginary mason jar where I’ve tucked away her laughs and smiles since moving in is shattered on the ground, the sound of her laughter and brightness of her smile too much for it to contain.

We shatter together, eyes locked as we cry each other's names, falling apart with the promise of putting each other back together.

“I love you,” Jo whispers after rolling off of me. The sheets are tangled between our legs, and my head is on her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. “I love you. I love you.”

“That’s so weird!” I tease. “I love you too! We have so much in common—are you single?”

Jo laughs, the sound reverberating against my cheek in her chest. “Am I single? Really?”

“I mean you might be. Are you?” I ask it casually, but then my stomach sinks. What if it ends when this weekend ends? What if—

“I hope not,” she says softly, and I can hear the hesitation and nerves in her voice. “We don’t have to define anything but…I hope you’re mine, Hunter. I’m not sure how to do this right, but we’re really good co-parents and roommates already, and if the sun ever explodes and we lose sunlight, I’ll always be able to see because I have you lighting everything up.”

“Of course I’m yours, silly goose,” I tease, silencing her with a swift kiss. “I’ve been yours for twelve goddamned years.”

Jo exhales with relief. “I’ve been yours for just as long.”

I kiss her again, my fingers running through her waves. “The historians will be wrong ,” I muse happily.

Jo pulls away. “Pardon?”

“You know how historians are all like oh these two single women lived together for fifty years, and never married and were buried in the same casket what good roommates these straight women were! ” Jo stares blankly at me. I ignore her and continue. “When I first moved in and had a giant-ass crush on you, I was distraught because historians would be correct if they said we were just roommates and…”

I screech and jerk away when Jo tickles my sides. “Oooh, you had a crush on me, honey?”

“We’ve had sex. Multiple times,” I remind her. “We’ve exchanged bodily fluids and love declarations. Kindly pull yourself together.”

Jo opens her mouth to respond, but is interrupted by a sharp rap at the door. Our eyes meet, and hers widen comically.

“I pray to every god who has ever existed that it’s another noise complaint,” she whispers excitedly, eyes sparkling with mischief.

I groan and roll out of bed, shrugging my robe back on and tying it at my waist. Jo snickers loudly behind me.

“What?” I ask, my back still to her.

“Is that what you’re wearing to answer the door?”

I turn toward her, my brow furrowed. “Yes?”

She snickers again, this time having the decency to try to hide it behind her hand. “Nothing. Speaking of, that’s what it covers. Nothing. It’s a sheer robe.”

I look down, making eye contact with the headlights on my chest. It’s so see-through you can even see the love bites I hadn’t realized she’d left on the tops of my breasts. When did those get there?

“Okay. Cool. Thanks,” I stammer, my cheeks heating. I feel her eyes on me as I take the robe off and pull my favorite teddy on before putting the robe back on over it.

“Better,” Giovanna says decidedly.

I roll my eyes. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

I hear the smile in her voice when she responds. “Yeah, I really am.”

Now I’m the one having to pull it together. I want to do a happy dance, to spin around the room and grab a hairbrush to use as a microphone. This is joy. This is belonging and safety.

But then I open the door.