21. Hunter

Chapter 21

Hunter

then

I wake up disoriented, cracking my eyes open and taking in my dark surroundings.

Reaching out, I hit one of the paneled buttons on the nightstand, and the curtains open just a crack. Soft, hazy light streams in through the gap, although it's not particularly bright. It must still be early morning.

I stretch slowly, waking little by little. There's a little café in the hotel lobby that serves the most perfect dirty chai lattes. My stomach felt off last night, though, so the idea of espresso doesn't do it for me this morning like usual. I'm well rested enough anyway that I should be okay without the caffeine.

Spence starts his day early and doesn't ever seem to stop, so I typically wake up alone. His work ethic is unparalleled. That makes sense, since he's running multiple nightclubs, a huge music festival, an elite awards show, and, in an interesting plot twist, a highly secretive security company I know little about.

He contains multitudes .

He also excels at giving me multiple orgasms each time we're together, which has been a lot as of late.

It's my fourth sleepover at his place this week. Grinning at the thoughts, I lift the sheets all the way up to my chin.

It's just sex , I remind myself.

When I turn to my side, I'm surprised to find him lying in bed, watching me. His smoldering gaze makes my stomach flip, and when he licks his lips, my thighs clench involuntarily.

It's just sex , I silently chant.

"Good morning, love." He leans over, kisses my forehead, and pulls me under the covers until our naked bodies are tangled up in a familiar, intimate way.

"Your hair's all wet," I protest as water droplets rain down on my bare shoulders. I twist in his arms so I can face him, then run my hand up his smooth jaw.

He shaves every morning, but it doesn't last. I savor the soft skin now, knowing that it will be coarse enough to leave a rash on my inner thighs if I wind up here again tonight.

I scratch my nails against his scalp and pull on the wet ends.

"I had an early call with Tokyo," he tells me. "Then I worked out and showered."

"Why did you come back to bed, then?"

His face softens into a smile as he traces the bow of my upper lip with his thumb. "I love seeing you first thing in the morning."

Oh .

Just sex , I remind myself again. Just sex. Just sex. Just sex.

"Do you have plans for the weekend?" he asks before I can come up with an adequate response to his confession.

"I work tonight and Sunday, but I'm off tomorrow night."

"Can I take you to dinner tomorrow, then?"

"Spence," I softly chide, even as I secretly want to throw my arms around his neck and immediately tell him yes.

Just sex. Just sex. Just sex.

"Hunter. "

The way he says my name, with that accent, is melodic. He rarely says my first name, preferring to call me love or Firecracker instead .

We're both fond of the other nicknames he comes up with in the heat of the moment, too. His favorite whore. His dirty little American slut .

Last night he called me a useless hole while he fucked me.

I came so hard I swear I momentarily blacked out.

Spence has the power to silence the internal dialogue I can't escape in any other way these days; when he's in control, his words are a balm.

"We're just sex." I walk my fingers up his bare chest, though I avoid his gaze.

The reminder has played on a loop in my head for the last week. This connection between us is starting to feel like… more. We're trudging into dangerous territory.

Spence captures my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers. "You need fuel for sex, love. We could be dinner companions who also have sex."

"Can we?" I have to force the question out past a lump in my throat.

Maybe he's capable of extending those boundaries, but I'm not sure I'm cut out for anything more than what we've got. I can feel myself falling for him, despite all the barriers around my heart, all the broken pieces. Because with him, I feel safe and cherished and loved.

If I can't put a stop to it, then I worry I'll get in too deep, and then there will be no way to course-correct.

"We can. I'll make a reservation for eight p.m.," he tells me as he rises from the bed and heads toward his closet.