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16. Winter

SIXTEEN

WINTER

M y days consist of hanging out with August and yearning to see Hunter, but I'm terrified about what I'll do when I face him.

It's exhausting.

I woke up with my body entangled with Hunter's, and the immediate feeling I had upon opening my eyes was peace. He was in a deep sleep, but with my leg slung over his hip, I panicked when I felt the pressure of his heavy erection against my core through the layers of fabric.

So I slid away from him and rushed out of the room, calling Kitty to follow.

I cried in the shower until Kitty started scratching at the bathroom door. That was a week ago.

I think I was so pissed off that even after all the things that were stolen from me in the span of those short days, I'm continuing to lose things. I'm losing time with the man I love. I'm losing the ability to create new, happy memories and experiences. I wanted Paris, damnit. And I didn't get it because of Adam Fucking Collins.

I'm tired of him winning. I won't let him win again. I won't let him have my future.

Keeping my mind and body busy during the day stunts the frenetic energy that seems to be ever-present these days.

I'm always on the edge of anxiety, keeping sharp panic just beyond the surface and manageable enough not to fall off the cliff. Kitty is always at my side, but he hasn't had to bring me down.

I feel good about that.

I'm glad I kissed him. I'm glad I did what I wanted, and I wasn't scared at the moment. But now that we're apart, I'm scared again, and I fucking hate that.

So during the day, I'm okay. I can compartmentalize. I don't think about Veronica and how shit I was to her. I don't think about Adam. I don't think about the fact that I killed someone. I don't think about Hunter and how much I fucking miss him, even though the thought of him seeing me, feeling me, fills me with near-overwhelming panic.

I don't have those thoughts during the day.

But at night, I'm out of control.

There's an hour and a half until sunrise, and I haven't slept at all. Every time I close my eyes, different images creep in.

Nightmares.

Adam is alive in the cabin, his face pitted from stab wounds and deteriorating with death as he chases me .

In another, Hunter throws me away—never caring to rescue me.

The realities of the past merge and morph to become part-fiction and part-fact.

It's a nauseating cycle.

I give up on sleep, deciding to head to the bathroom to wash my face and disturbing Kitty's place in the bed beside me. I usher him over to his dog bed, where he flips over and falls back to sleep, facing the wall.

Dark bags take up residence under my eyes, and my cheeks look sunken in. My skin is tinged a sick yellow-green. My tight sweatpants stretch over my ass, and my shirt feels snug across my breasts and arms. My body is doing strange things. I'm gaining weight, probably from the late-night sugar binges.

You're chasing dopamine .

None of this is working.

I put my palms flat on the cool marble countertop.

Name three things that will make you feel better in this moment, Winter.

I keep staring at the counter, noticing the drip-drip-drip of the faucet in my periphery.

One: Make your bed.

I don't overthink it, forcing my body to move immediately when the thought comes to the forefront.

It takes me all of one minute to get the bed straightened and the decorative pillows back in place.

Okay, two more things.

Two: Throw away your trash .

I look around the room, observing the empty soda bottles and chip bags. Grabbing the trash can from the bathroom, I walk around the room, picking up all the garbage. Then I wet a cloth from the linen closet and wipe down all the surfaces.

Hunter has a housekeeper who would usually keep this room clean, but I've barred the woman from entry .

I know I stress her out with the level of filth around the suite.

Three: Take an actual shower.

I raise my arm, grimacing when I smell myself. With the same quickness, I head back to the bathroom, starting up the water.

I love this shower. With the multiple shower heads and aromatherapy inserts that make the whole bathroom smell like a spa once it gets steamy, I could marry this shower.

Marry.

Don't think about Hunter.

I didn't lie to him when I said I might never be ready for him—ready to go back to how we were.

I didn't tell the whole truth, either.

If you can't be honest with yourself, how can you be honest with anyone else?

The truth is that parts of me are starting to come awake. Not only do I crave his closeness, the intimacy of being in each other's presence, but I also crave his touch. His body. How it feels pressed against mine.

I miss how good he makes me feel.

I miss feeling good.

With the steam swirling around me, I soap up the loofah and begin rubbing it across my body.

I allow myself to think about Hunter.

The last time we were in the shower together, I called on my bravery to suck him down, to make him feel good, versus him getting me off all the time.

I was so scared I'd be shit at it. Plus, it's a trigger for me.

But when he lost control, pumping in and out of my mouth, I prided myself on how I could swallow him. I felt powerful. I felt electric.

I felt seen. Cherished.

The rough plastic whispers over the tips of my breasts, and I allow myself to linger .

This feeling is safe.

I run it up my neck and over my arms, leaning into the sensations of the material on my skin.

This feeling is safe.

I put my right foot on the ledge and trace the loofah up my flesh to wash my leg. I take a moment to stop at the crude apple Adam carved into my skin. The marks fade more and more each day—I'm religious about applying the prescribed cream—but the scars remain visible to anyone who looks close enough.

He's not here. You are safe.

I trace the path down my leg and up my inner thighs. I switch to the other leg, repeating the pattern.

Then I bring the loofah to my womanhood. I rub it in circles over my mound, whispering it over my lower lips. When my walls clench, I screw my eyes shut.

The only person I see is Hunter.

Flashes of us before race through my mind.

Hunter looking up from me as he ate me on my kitchen island. Hunter holding me in his arms while we slept. Hunter smiling at me with that happy grin he always gives me after we made love at the country club.

I step back into the stream, rinsing myself off. I take a few breaths, trying to calm my body, but then I remember the first time he and I made love. I remember how powerful I felt as I claimed him, and he claimed me. I remember the power of choosing when and how it would happen. I remember how he held me as I ushered in a new phase of my femininity.

It was so beautiful. It was everything.

Hunter.

I use my finger to glide over my clit. It zings in response, and my other hand squeezes my breast, focusing on my nipple.

This feeling is safe. You are so safe.

I moan. Loudly. Rubbing my clit and squeezing my nipple, I stumble back until I'm sitting on the bench at the far side of the shower, away from the stream.

Opening my legs wider, I let myself dive into these sensations.

I moan again, and then I allow a word to fall from my lips. A name. " Hunter. "

"Winter."

My eyes snap open, and I jerk my head to the left to look outside the glass doors. Hunter stands at the entry to the bathroom, one hand gripping the door.

"What are you doing here?" I say on a gasp. A small part of me realizes I still have my hands on my breast and pussy. Through the steam, I track the movement of his Adam's apple.

"It's six-thirty. I brought you breakfast." Just as he always does.

"Th-thank you, H," I pant out, unsure where to go from here. My clit hums beneath my finger, beckoning me to continue rubbing it until I explode.

He looks at me, silent, but his knuckles flex against the wood door. I don't dare look to see if he's hard.

"You moaned my name," he says, his voice so low it grates against my skin.

I start to shake.

"I..." I don't know what to say. I don't know what I want.

I want him to come in here and fuck me. I want him to close the door and leave. I want him to kiss me gently, showing me his love. I want him to vocalize the disgust he's never said he carries—but I know he must.

Do I know that?

The shaking gets stronger. "I don't know what to do."

The statement isn't seductive. It's raw, unsure. My eyes plead with him for the one thing I know I need: for him to take the next step .

I need for him to bring us back to some approximation of what we were, inch by inch.

His brows lower over his stormy eyes, and he steps fully into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The temperature goes up several degrees, even though I haven't touched any of the controls.

"Did you ever play red light, green light as a kid, baby?" Hunter toes off his shoes as he says this. His clothes are pristine—it's obvious he was ready to start his day of handling important CEO business, but now he's in here with me.

He's in here with me.

"Ye-yes, I have," I stammer, and Hunter removes his suit jacket and cufflinks.

He smiles softly. "Good," he says. "Let's play a game, Sunbeam," he says just as gently. Then he unbuttons his shirt. When his chest is free of the clothing and his slacks are unbuttoned, I force myself to swallow the saliva that's pooled in my mouth.

I will not drool, even though this man makes me lose my mind with lust.

"What's the game, H?" He's fully naked now, and my clit thumps when I see his full erection.

Even if there's a war brewing in my mind, my body remembers.

I want my mind to get with the program.

You can decide to work on that too.

He steps into the shower with me, the spray immediately wetting his hair. He slicks it away from his face and then moves out of the stream. Standing with his back against the wall opposite mine, the waterfall between us acts as a physical barrier.

"The game goes like this," he says, his voice raspy with the same strength and command as when he spread me on my kitchen island. "I'll tell you something I want you to do, and you tell me green light or red light. If you say green light, you do the action, but if you say red light, we move on. Sound good?"

I swallow again.

"Do I get to tell you what to do too?" I ask. I squeeze my nipple without thinking about it and find myself suppressing a whimper.

"Of course, baby." The side of his mouth kicks up.

The feeling is heady, being this close to him but not touching. Being in the seclusion of the shower stall creates an entirely different level of intimacy.

A level that I could only conceptualize needing at this exact moment.

"How do we know who wins?" I lick my lips after I speak.

"The first one to come loses."

Or wins , I think.

"What does the winner get then?" I ask.

He quirks his eyebrow.

"We can decide the prize together." His look shoots fire through my body. "You ready to play, baby?"

All I can do is nod.

"Good girl," he says, whisper soft.

Holy hell.

"Remove your hands from your pussy and tit," he says in a low tone that goes directly to my snatch.

"Green light," I whisper and immediately move my hands to my side. My pussy pouts in protest. "But I thought you'd want me to do sexy things with this game?" My voice is fragile, wispy.

My legs are spread obscenely on the bench, and I rock back and forth slightly, aiming to relieve some of the pressure on my parts. Or maybe to add to it. My head falls back against the wall.

"We're making up the rules as we go, Winter. Go with the flow," he replies.

"Okay," I say. "Wash your hair. "

His eyebrows twitch with amusement. "You want to watch me wash my hair?"

"Yes," I reply, panting.

"Green light. But why?" He's already moving to pump shampoo into his hand.

I pause but then decide there's no room for secrets or lies in this space. "When you raise your arms above your head, the way your abs flex makes me insanely hot. I want to lick your six-pack." I bite my lip, and his eyes twinkle. With deliberate movements, he lathers the shampoo in his hands before bringing his arms up to wash his hair.

Jesus Christ on toast.

The movement of his arms and chest and abs flexing as he scrubs at his scalp brings me to another level of arousal. He's so strong.

He flexes his abs, and his cock jumps. I rock harder against the seat, and the amused look on his face vanishes. He immediately steps beneath the spray, rinsing his hair in three quick swipes.

"Spread your lips for me, baby."

I know he's not talking about my mouth. I shake at the vulnerability in the movement, but I heat at the look of desire on his face.

He wants me. He wants me.

"Green light," I whisper. I hold his gaze, and he growls.

I lift my legs higher so my feet can rest against the foot pads on the side of the bench. I'm spread wide, feeling the stretch in my hips and thighs.

"More," he says roughly. "Use your right hand." Taking a deep breath, I use my hand to separate my lips, spreading my pussy for him to see.

"G-green," I say.

"Good girl," he says on a breath. "Hold the position." His voice is a command .

"Green light," I reply. I try not to moan. "Stroke your cock." The tip looks red, angry at being neglected for so long.

"Green light," he says. He grabs the base of his dick, squeezing it tight for several long moments before slowly stroking up and down the shaft.

Breathing harder, he says, "Use your other hand to get your finger nice and wet by dipping it inside your pussy. Then rub your clit."

I follow his command with my free hand, not pausing with fear as I slide my finger inside my body to the knuckle. When I stutter out, "Green light," the words are lost in my moans.

And he grunts; the look in his eyes is nearly feral.

He steps closer to me, so the spray is on his back. "On your clit, baby," he barks out, and I do just that, a full-body wave rushing through me and making me arch my back.

"Goddamnit, Winter," he grits out. His dick is wet with precum, practically weeping.

"Go faster," I pant. I'm close. So close. The image of Hunter pounding into me, filling me with his cum, trips me right to the precipice. His hand picks up speed, and he steps closer, leaning over me with his free arm resting on the marble above my head. I could put his dick in my mouth if I wanted to.

God, I so want to. My mouth waters with need. So I do it. I lean forward and suck the head of his cock into my mouth. I groan with the explosion of his flavor on my tongue.

"Red light, mouth off," he says, and he sounds damn near incoherent. When I don't stop, done with the game, he growls and pushes back from me and my mouth. I whimper and then nearly scream when he drops to his knees and sucks my clit between his lips after batting my hand away.

" Hunter, God! " One suck, two, three, and then I'm yelling and shaking and coming so hard that the only image I see behind my eyes are stars. As I come down, I hear him groan low and long, and I open my eyes to see him jerk his cock roughly, angrily, as he comes on the tiled floor.

He stops sucking and licking at me, the pressure turning into a lazy kiss.

One. Two. Three more kisses.

We both breathe hard when he moves my legs down to a more comfortable position. My muscles thank him. Then, while still between my slightly spread legs, he lowers his head to rest it on my thigh.

My hands automatically run through his hair.

His eyes close, and I see a wave of tension release from his shoulders as soon as I touch him.

We're both silent, and I thank God for the tankless system and the near-infinite hot water. The weight of this moment feels pivotal.

I know it's pivotal.

"Was that okay, Sunbeam?" Hunter's voice is so quiet it's almost drowned out by the sounds of the shower running.

I keep running my fingers through his hair.

"I loved every minute of it," I reply just as softly.

He hugs my legs. Then he turns his head and slowly presses a gentle kiss to the apple carved into my skin. He doesn't move his mouth. He just presses his lips to the spot.

He must feel me shaking because, without a word, he grabs my hand and brings it to his cheek.

"I love you, Winter Leigh Vaughan," he says with absolute reverence.

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