Chapter Twenty-Eight: those summer nights

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"That's what you want," Daisy realised. Not a question. It was so glaringly obvious that she wanted to slap herself for not seeing it.

She'd told Hunt that she didn't do relationships. She didn't have boyfriends, didn't do love. Of course she was his dream. What man wouldn't want that?

Air rushed out of her, leaving her empty in its wake.

Casual.

Tears pricked her eyes. That lovely fluttering tension still rippling through her turned bruising, and she felt a sudden need to scrub herself clean from the inside out.

Hunt tilted his head, frowning. "No."

The word didn't make it to Daisy's brain. She couldn't reconcile it with what he'd just said. "No?"

"No," he repeated. "That's not what I want."

"So ..." She could only stare, could barely breathe through her confusion. "So what do you want? What ..." She blinked furiously, her throat clogged with tears. "What do you want, Hunt?"

Hunt sighed. "Are you really going to make me say it?"

She stared, unmoving.

He groaned into his palm. "You're going to make me say it."

Well, that wasn't good. Daisy shimmied onto her elbows. Her vision was blurry, her guard was down, and she was going to break. But she had to know. If he didn't want casual, what did he want? What on earth could he—

Hunt tore his hand from over his face. "You."

The world fell away.

"I want you." Hunt blushed. Blushed. "God, Daisy, isn't it obvious? I've wanted you since I overheard you going toe-to-toe with the concierge during check-in. I wanted you when you were juggling those suitcases, and when you beamed them a death promise when they exploded on the floor. And then I laughed, because it was adorable, and you glared at me, and I wanted you even more. I wanted you when you scowled at me, when you threatened to beat me with a whisk, when you called me a prick and when you looked at me like I was worth something. The first time you smiled at me, I thought I'd die. When you danced for me, I think a part of me did. It was too much, Daisy. Too much, and not nearly enough."

His chest worked on an inhale, deep and unsteady. His finger fell to her cheek, her lips, like he needed to touch all of her at once. A complete one-eighty. He was rambling, because she was silent. She couldn't talk.

Definitely not without crying.

"I want to kiss you," Hunt murmured, tearing his hand from the bed to splay both on her cheeks. "I don't want to stop. I want to fuck you. God," he growled, "I want to do that forever. I want to make love to you, even if you think making love is stupid. I want to taste you, Daisy. I want you to ride my tongue until you can't take it anymore, and then I want to hold you and fall asleep knowing you'll still be there when I wake up. I want you. So if you just ... if you want casual, if that's what you need ... "

He swallowed, and she understood the difference; if she wanted casual.

"I'll do it," he said, nodding once, but not at all convincingly. "Whatever you want. Just ... tell me. I'll give it to you. I told you. You can have anything."

Her lashes were working overtime, blinking to keep the tears filling her eyes at bay. Her lips wobbled, and she forced them together even though a sob was clawing at her throat.

"And if I don't want casual?" she asked.

There was a terrible pause.

Hunt's face paled. His hands slipped from her cheeks. "Then I'd be grateful just to know you. In any way you ..." His eyes guttered, and he cleared his throat. "In any capacity that you're comfortable with."

Shock crashed through her. That's not ... Daisy openly gaped. Why would he think that's what she'd meant? Was his self-worth so low? Had Vanessa bruised him that much?

Daisy shook her head. "No, Hunt. I mean, if I can't do casual. Not with you. If I ..." It felt like a betrayal—to speak the words out loud. She hadn't in so long. Hadn't dared to want.

But Hunt deserved to hear them. To know.

"What if," she asked, slowly reaching for his hand, "I want ... more?"

Hunt's eyes widened with near comic shock. "With me?"

Her heart shattered for him then. For every time he'd thought he wasn't worthy, wasn't loveable, wasn't good enough.

"Hunt ..." His name on her lips was nothing like the last time she'd said it, when he'd catapulted her high enough to swim amongst the stars. Such bitter sadness claimed every inch of her pleasure. A tear sprung free from her eye, trailing down her cheek.

He watched it, mesmerised, and she pushed herself up, taking his face between her hands.

"You're kind," she told him, letting another tear fall. "You're good. You ran after me, helped me, when anyone else would have let me walk away. You stood up for me. You quite literally just blew my mind twice, and then you offered to do it again. You're not worth something. You're worth everything I own. More. I'd trade it all for you, and I could kill anyone who's ever made you feel like you're worth less than the world."

His eyes rose from her tears, and though they gleamed with quiet laughter, they bored deep into her soul. "Kill them?"

"Say the word."

He pulled on the legs she'd hooked around his waist, drawing her onto his lap. His body heat curled around her, a phantom joining, and, slowly, he moved his lips to her cheek. Kissed the first tear. Nudged her face to the side, and kissed away the second.

When she was tear-free, he murmured, "Is it ... bad? That I find that very, very attractive?"

She let out a breathy laugh, and he flattened a hand on her lower back, as though trying to capture the vibrations of the sound.

She shook her head, nudging his nose with hers. "Probably not as bad as me admitting I'd kill someone for you."

"God. Yeah." Hunt lowered his mouth to her neck. "That is very attractive."

He brushed his lips over her pulse point, and Daisy sighed softly, her whole body catching fire.

"There's something wrong with us," she managed to murmur.

"Maybe." He did it again, and she arched into him. "But you make it feel right."

She snorted a laugh that was wholly unattractive, but the way he laughed back, his arms tightening around her ... Daisy felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.

And that was when she realised. It was more than lust, wasn't it? Something was happening here. Something irreversible. Their first kiss had moved mountains. His friendship alone had empowered her to face her darkness, to conquer it. This ... it was going to change everything.

She didn't know whether that scared her.

"I blew your mind, huh?"

Daisy laughed again. Had she actually said that out loud? "There's no way you don't know that you're good at that."

She didn't just see how the words affected him. She felt it. Felt ... it.

Right.

She had a score to settle.

And Daisy always settled the score.

She shifted in Hunt's lap, even though she was sure he didn't need reminding that they had business to attend to. He edged back enough to peer at her questioningly.

With a lust-addled smile, Daisy inched her mouth toward his, nipping his bottom lip. "What was that thing you said you wanted to do? Forever?"

His grin was seven different kinds of unholy. "Yeah?"

"You're not breaking your word already, are you?" Because those windows were looking marvellously intact.

The way Hunt's eyes burned ... Yeah. Daisy thought he'd try all night if he had to; the glass was on thin ice.

"Do you take ..." Hunt trailed off, cocking a brow.

She read the room. "No."

He nodded, untangling himself. "One good thing about a couples' retreat." Hunt aimed for the nightstand. He rifled through the drawer, emerging victorious with a gold plastic. "Freebies."

Daisy gaped. "You knew they were there?"

"Kenji might have said something."

Daisy scrunched her nose at the mental image—of her two best friends being more than friendly. "Too much information."

Hunt crawled back to her, gathering her in his arms. "They are having a baby, you know." He caught her grimace between his teeth. "Together."

"Please stop."

He grinned against her lips, and before she could slap that smug smirk away, his hands were between her legs, his fingers gliding along the mixture of new and old slickness.

"God, you're a dream." He groaned, nipping her throat. "Are you always this turned on for me, Daisy?"

She pressed her lips together, because she wouldn't be able to deny that she was.

"Silence is your new tell," he teased, his voice rumbling through the darkness.

"Silence"—she batted her lashes—"means you aren't keeping your promise."

Air hissed between Hunt's teeth, and he slid a finger through her. Already, she was trembling. Squirming for him all over again. His eyes were luminous as he studied the way his touch affected her.

But she'd already shattered too many times while he stayed whole.

Daisy reached up, seeking him out in the dark.

Unaware, Hunt asked, "Do you know why I love that book of yours so much?"

She settled into the mattress, stroking a hand up his leg. "The flowery prose?"

"Because it's us, tiger. After that kiss, every time I read it ..." He paused to swallow another mouth-watering groan as she laid her hand flat over his crutch. "Every time, it was you and me. It was ..." He groaned outright when she palmed him through his pants. "Research."

"Research?" she purred, smirking, quite enjoying the sight of him unravelling with just one stroke.

His eyes flung open, and she knew she was in trouble.

Swiftly, Hunt hoisted her up, wasting little time pulling her dress over her head. Her fingers fumbled over his buttons before he gave up waiting and tore the bottom half of his shirt open, ripping the material from over his chest.

Daisy blinked away her surprise, her heart pounding. That was ... God. She could have finished to the image of that alone.

But Daisy needed to see him. Feel him. She'd been good. She'd waited. And now she wanted her reward.

She nodded to Hunt's pants. "Let's see how good your comprehension skills are."

In an instant, all of him was revealed to her, and she didn't bother hiding her satisfaction.

Her eyes dipped down. She let them. She took all of him in like she was studying a menu, deciding exactly what she wanted to try first. But Daisy wasn't gifted with patience; she eyed the golden length of him, the starlight and wall sconces working in tandem to bathe him in an ethereal glow. He was so hard she wondered how he could stand it, so damn big she didn't know how she was going to weather him. Beauty and strength and abs on top of abs, all for her.

She was writing every single god a personal thank-you note.

Hunt fidgeted. When her eyes drifted up his torso, his arms, she swore he was flexing. Just a bit.

He really didn't need to.

"What?" he asked, sounding almost sheepish.

Daisy rolled her eyes, but they quickly wandered back down. "Don't what me. You know exactly what." To put it simply ... Belle had been right. Daisy's stomach hollowed out, and when it filled again, it spun like a dryer of acrobats. "You're going to kill me."

She started weighing up the pros and cons.

And then got distracted.

Yeah. He was flexing.

Hunt's features pulled into an expression that she could only describe as the epitome of male gratification while she surveyed every inch of him, squirming when the tension between her thighs hummed, like it was trying to reach out and grab him. "We'll be even, then." But, gently, he lifted a finger to her bare breast, dragging a knuckle over the sensitive skin he'd ravished like he was starved for her. He planted a kiss on her forehead. "Tell me if it hurts. You say stop, and we stop, okay?"

She nodded, even though she knew she would never utter the word. She'd ruin herself for him, just like he would for her. He pinched her skin in gentle discipline—like he knew.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "No more playing."

"And no more pretending?"

"No more," she agreed.

"Real, Daisy?"

Her heart pounded happily against her chest. "Real."

He swallowed thickly.

And then kissed her in earnest.

His tongue swept along the seam of her lips, and she granted him the permission he craved. The sound of paper tearing curled her stomach. Hunt lowered her to the bed, nudging her legs apart with his knee. She'd fight anyone else for dominance, for control. But she trusted him, and she knew he trusted her. He was the song she'd been waiting for. The one she could dance to without thinking about everything she'd lost because she was too swept up dreaming about everything she could become.

"I've wanted this ..." He shook his head. "You have no idea how much I've wanted this."

"I think I have some idea," Daisy breathed.

"The way you look at me ... I want you to know what it does to me. I want you to feel it."

She ran a finger up his throat, wondering if it felt as rough as his voice sounded. "Show me, Shepherd."

Her chest surged with anticipation as Hunt's shadow fell over her. He positioned himself over her entrance. She lifted herself up, up, up—

"Not yet," he told her roughly. "You're not ready."

"I am."

"You're not." A feral smile. "And I'm not coming without you."

Daisy lifted a hand, aiming for what she wanted, ready to twist his arm—

Hunt caught her wrist, then lowered it.

"Touch yourself," he ordered.

"What?"

"Let me watch you."

"For fuck's sake, Hunt—"

"Daisy."

So she did it.

Of course she did it.

Hunt lowered his face to her chest as she rode herself beneath him. He rotated between watching and fondling her breasts, and every logical thought eddied from her mind. She bared herself for him, half-wondering if he could even see what she was doing in the near pitch black room. From the sounds that ripped through him, she knew he could.

He pulled back slightly, dragging his eyes over her body. She became acutely aware of each inch of skin his gaze touched, the liquid heat pooling in her stomach turning to an ocean of sputtering nerves. He was so beautiful, and she was—

"So pretty." He shook his head, still sweeping his eyes over her, as vigilant as a jeweller assessing a new cut of quartz. "Look at you. I don't ... Fucking hell." He shifted above her, his hand creeping toward himself, toward what she wanted to touch, to feel, to taste.

"Don't," she barked. "Don't you dare."

He groaned, his hips bucking over her.

But her gaze was unyielding. Her smile was lax with lust. He'd set the rules. She was just enforcing them. Daisy moaned as she drove her hand deeper between her thighs, but she knew her eyes glittered with feline amusement.

"With me," she told him, making herself squirm again, "or not at all."

He made a noise in the back of his throat, but he rested his hand beside her face, fisting the pillow with enough frustration it made the warmth inside of her blossom at the thought of what else his hands could do.

She didn't have to wonder for long.

With his other hand, Hunt helped build her up again, helped her crest the mountain that would take them both to paradise. When she was dangerously close to coming undone, the smell and sight and feel of him too much, too real, Daisy loosed a shallow breath, and nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

She almost withdrew her hand just to slap him. "Please."

He grinned at her haughtiness, the slice of teeth its own aphrodisiac. But then it melted into something softer, and tentatively, he asked, "How do you want it?"

She was shivering. "Whatever you want."

"No. You choose."

Because he knew; she didn't do this. Didn't do eye contact, didn't lie down, didn't let herself rest or bask or enjoy. Daisy always made sure it was work for her, always made sure her pleasure was marred with exhaustion and pain. It was the only way to pacify the guilt.

But ... "I want to see you."

Hunt blinked. "Yeah?"

Without hesitation, she nodded.

Hunt was too loose, too close to release to veil his relief. "Thank god."

Purely primal, the way he pounced. He dragged himself over her entrance, hovering there as his hot, ragged breath punched out over her skin. She instantly knew what he was waiting for. Taking as much of him in her hand as she could, she pumped him and positioned him. She arched up. He pushed in.

The world exploded in bursts of glitter.

Daisy felt sweet sharpness like candy-laced arrowheads shoot through her body, her soul, tension ratcheting up like a cresting symphony.

She pressed a hand to her mouth at the same time as Hunt threw his face into the pillow, both of them caught somewhere between a moan and a shout. She swore the darkness trembled, swore the world stopped turning. He paused long enough for her to adjust, even though she could feel his body throbbing, begging for more. There was more of him, and the thought alone had her whimpering again.

He turned his face toward the sound, pressing a kiss to her throat.

"Stop?" he asked, a broken, lust-laced question.

She shook her head furiously. She'd kill him if he tried.

He pulled back to withdraw slightly, and before she had a chance to protest, he was plunging back in slowly.

So damn slowly.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, but she didn't think he cared. Didn't think he noticed as he looked down, watching her take him. Each time he went deeper, and each time she bucked with a delicious concoction of pain and pleasure, of everything she wanted, everything she'd always known they could be. She scraped her nails up his arms, over his shoulders, down that sculpted, muscled back that shifted every time he thrust. Faster, harder, then slow but deep until she was spiralling. She was going to pass out.

She was on the brink when Hunt brought her back.

"Good girl," he murmured, voice rough with pride. "You're taking me like such a good fucking girl."

"I don't have a praise kink."

"Okay." He smiled, then angled his mouth over hers. "But you're still my good, pretty girl."

She groaned, and his grin broadened. Her entire being reached up to merge with his.

Okay. So maybe Amira was onto something.

His tongue swooped in to claim what he already possessed. Their kiss was flame and satin and languid and thorough. A chorus of groans and gasps and skin on skin filled the room. He was so hot on top of her, and she knew she was a roaring, silken fire beneath him. But, tired and blazing, they worked in tandem, neither of them dropping a move or a note, as though the score was etched on their souls, as though those souls were twining and twirling, finally—finally—free.

His breath was hot on her skin, and she wanted to devour the rough sounds that caught in his throat. He stilled inside her, and when she clamped herself around him, he groaned her name.

"You are ..." She couldn't swallow the urge to tell him. He had to know. "You're perfect. You feel so perfect."

One of his hands inched towards hers, and he lifted her arm above her head. Their fingers intertwined. Her lids fluttered erratically as she squirmed against him, silently begging him to go deeper, deep enough that he

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