All Fired Up (Green Valley Heroes #7)

Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

MADELINE

W hen I open my eyes again, it’s still dark out, but with the faint gray light of early morning creeping around the edges of the window blinds. Hunter’s next to me, his face peaceful in sleep. In my drowsy state, I mentally trace the slope of his forehead, down to the dark slashes of his brows and straight nose. I get stuck for a moment on his lips, remembering how they’d felt against mine, how good it’d been between us. I’d never expected that kind of chemistry with Hunter, of all people. Then again, my experiences with him have been nothing like I expected, either.

How caring he can be, tending to my ankle like that. How thoughtful he is, helping out with all those things around my house. How responsible he’s become with all of our training and studying.

How he watched a show for hours only because I wanted to watch it. How he asks questions and listens to me, like he’s interested.

How he makes me feel important.

My heart squeezes, realizing all those things I told him I find attractive in a guy are true with him.

Shifting to my back, I look up at the ceiling and tell my heart to stop it. That’s not what this is. Hunter is...He’s a player. He’s not interested in anything long-term, even if he’s hinted he’s into me right now.

Christ, how many girls have slept in this bed, too? Woken up in this exact position, wondering about their life choices that brought them to this point?

A sad smile curls my lips upward. No, they’re probably waking from a long night of pleasure, their bodies still sensitive in all the right places. An echo of my own remembered pleasure pulses within me, his rough voice in my ear telling me to ride him, his thumb teasing my nipple.

“What are you smiling about?”

I yelp, my hands tightening into fists as I look over at Hunter. “You’re awake?”

My eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness by now to make out his grin. “Am I not allowed to be?”

“Of course you are. I wasn’t expecting it, is all.”

He stretches and something cracks in his back, then he turns on his side to face me. “So, what were you smiling about?”

“Nothing, it’s stupid.”

His grin grows wider. “Well, now you have to tell me.”

Crap. It’s like I’m throwing bait at him. “Fine,” I huff. “You want to know? I was thinking about how many other girls have woken up in your bed like this.” I pause. “After a very different kind of night, obviously.”

I doubt any of them fell asleep on his couch after marathoning a baking show.

His smile vanishes. “None.”

I nearly laugh, then realize he’s serious. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

A beat of anger throbs below my breastbone unexpectedly. “There’s no way you can tell me you haven’t had girls in this bed.”

An uncomfortable look crosses his face. “I didn’t say that. Just that they haven’t woken up here. I don’t want them spending the night.”

But he let me? And not only that, but carried me to his bed himself when he could have left me on the couch?

No, that’s different. We’d both fallen asleep and were tired. He was being nice.

“So, what? You kick them out before midnight or something?”

He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Nothing as merciless as that. But there’s a mutual understanding that what we’re doing...It’s not the kind of thing where you spend the night.”

“Because you don’t want it leading to anything more?”

“Yeah,” he admits.

“So, you take what you want and send them on their merry way?”

He shakes his head, even as his lips curl in amusement. “You’re painting an awfully bad picture of me. And I’d never only take what I want. I’d make sure she had a good time, too.”

That pulse between my legs aches again. “And if she didn’t have a good time?”

“Then I’d make it up to her.”

“How?”

The bedsheets rustle as he shifts. “You know how.”

I’m silent, both wanting to imagine him doing that stuff to me, but not wanting to think of him doing it to anyone else.

“I can feel your blush from here.”

“Stop it.” I push his shoulder, not that it moves him at all. At least he broke some of the rising tension. “Well, that’s very chivalrous of you, I guess.”

“Did your ex do that for you?”

“Do what?”

“Make sure you were satisfied?”

I wet my suddenly dry lips. “It wasn’t a priority for him,” I admit.

“Because it wasn’t important to him?”

“Right,” I whisper, feeling stupid. It sounds so obvious now. Why be with someone who can’t even be bothered to make their partner come?

“And with other guys?”

Heat travels up my chest and over my cheeks. “He’s the only person I’ve been with.”

Hunter goes so still, I can’t even hear him breathe.

“You haven’t been with anyone in three years?” he finally asks. I can tell he’s trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice, but he doesn’t fully succeed.

“I haven’t.”

The idea is probably unfathomable to him. How often is he with someone? How often does his itch need to be scratched?

“So, in the two years you were with him, he didn’t make you come?”

My cheeks are scorching now, but I don’t think he can tell in the barely there light in the room. “I didn’t say that. It was just...rare. And I had to help things along...a lot.”

His hand reaches out, sweeping over my cheek. “You deserved better than that.”

I’m not sure if it’s the gentle way he says it or the tenderness in his touch, but I get a little emotional. “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter now.”

“It always matters.”

His hand moves to brush my hair back away from my face, and I close my eyes, reveling in the connection. He always knows exactly how to touch me.

“So, what do you do with unsatisfied customers?” I ask.

His hand pauses in my hair. “There are no unsatisfied customers.”

A thrill runs through me, just as I think what a big ego he has. “How do you know?”

“I ask her if she came.”

He’d asked me that. “And if she says no?”

“Then I ask if she wants me to finger her or go down on her.”

He says it both casually and brazenly, like he’s daring me to say something about it or shock me. Or maybe I’m simply shocked because it’s so out of my realm of experience.

“And what’s usually their answer?” I find myself asking, more curious than I ought to be.

He strokes my hair one more time, then removes his hand. “What would be your answer?”

“I’m not asking for me.” That would be crazy.

“Really? Because I’m assuming your ex didn’t do either of those things for you.”

“He didn’t,” I confirm. What’s the sense in lying?

“Are you curious?”

Maybe it’s the sense of anonymity the darkness brings, or the growing ache within me at all this sexual talk, but, against all reason, I whisper, “Yes.”

He moves closer, though still doesn’t touch me. “So, what’s your answer?”

About if I’d have him finger me or go down on me?

A nervous laugh escapes me. It must sound crazy. I feel crazy. Maybe I’m actually dreaming all this. “Either,” I admit. What the hell? What do I have to lose after admitting to him I haven’t had sex in three years, and that before that, it was with a guy who, in hindsight, didn’t care all that much about me? “Both. Anything.”

His hand moves to my hip, resting there, as if to see what I’ll do. Waiting for me to tell him to stop.

But I don’t. The truth is, I like his hand there.

“All you have to do is ask.” That rough promise is back in his voice.

“You would . . .” I trail off.

He squeezes my hip. “Yeah, I would.”

My thighs clench with the sudden rush of arousal that runs through me.

This is a terrible idea. Didn’t I just tell him last week this wasn’t happening? That we’re better off not adding stuff like this to the mix while we’re training partners? What if things get weird afterward? Or awkward?

I guess they’d only get that way if I made them that way, though. He seems completely casual about it. Sex isn’t a big deal to him.

Not that what he’s offering is sex. It’s a sexual act, which is different. I think. I’m not really sure. God, I’m so inexperienced when it comes to stuff like this, compared to him.

And I’ve probably been sitting here for who knows how long debating everything in my head while looking like a slack-jawed idiot.

“Okay,” I blurt out, going with my gut instinct.

Is it the responsible choice? Maybe not. But I’m in a hot guy’s bed and he’s offering to pleasure me. And not just any hot guy. It’s Hunter. The guy I’ve come to trust. To seek out. To think about, day and night.

Oh my God, I really like him.

There’s no more thinking as he covers my body with his own, his lips on mine, taking me back into oblivion. Into that place of pure sensation.

The way he kisses me over long minutes, as if he’s desperate for me...is that the way he kisses everyone? Or is it just for me?

Okay, I need to get out of my head and stop the comparisons. I’ll drive myself crazy otherwise.

I thread my hands in his hair, letting myself go. Don’t think. Only feel.

He makes a low mmm , then breaks away, shifting to his left side. “Can I touch you?”

I nod, afraid to speak. It might come out a croaky mess, begging him for relief from this growing ache.

His hand sweeps over my stomach and underneath my shirt. Unlike last time, there’s no teasing. He cups my breast, both of us sighing. It’s not enough, though. I still have a sports bra on from training earlier.

He pulls me up and strips my shirt, then my bra. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my leggings, and my panties come off along with them, leaving me completely nude.

His gaze devours me, radiating lust. The only reason I’m not covering myself is because he seems to like the sight.

“Christ, Madeline,” he murmurs, then bends to suck a nipple into his mouth.

Oh my God, oh my God. I didn’t know I’d like that so much. Didn’t know someone could be that talented with their mouth.

He takes his time at my breast, in no apparent rush, but tell that to the rising lust within me. I make the mistake of looking down, where he’s lapping at my nipple with the flat of his tongue. An inarticulate sound escapes me, and I grip his broad shoulders, wanting to feel his skin, too. He lets me take his shirt off, then he’s right back on me, working at my other breast, his hand gently squeezing me.

I run my hands over him as far as I can reach, loving how attentive he is, how much he seems to enjoy this. I can’t help but squirm against the bedsheets, wanting more even as I never want him to stop.

“Hunter,” I say. “Can you...” I’m not sure what I’m even asking for. All I know is I need more.

He looks up at me, eyes glazed over with desire, then realizes what I’m asking. A wicked smile crosses his face.

“Fingers or tongue?”