hunch and one of his hands tunnels back through his messy hair.
I whisper, “I heard about Sarabelle.”
He whirls toward me. His mouth is twisted sharply, and his eyes are harder than I think I’ve ever seen.
“I’m so sorry. I know you knew her.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he murmurs hoarsely.
“I’m sure that’s true.” I hold his gaze. “But I could listen if you wanted to talk or something.”
“Wouldn’t help.” I watch the edge in his eyes give way to desolation, and I take a half step closer. When he doesn’t react, I close the distance between us and gently touch his elbow.
He jumps a little. “Jesus, Libby.” He lifts up his hand, like he’s going to touch me, but instead he takes an unsteady step back. “You need to get your shit and go. Just go.”
“I don’t want to go yet.” I want to wrap my arms around him, but he grabs my hand. His fingers grip mine and his eyes grow tortured. “I can’t make any promises...unless you go. Sometimes when I’m angry, I...”
Wreck bedrooms?
He swallows, and my eyes roll down his body. I’m surprised to find his long erection punching out against his jeans.
“Sometimes when you’re upset, you want to have sex?” I whisper.
He nods, just barely.
“That night at your house, you were upset, weren’t you? I saw your room. There was a broken wine glass and the pillows were all over the floor.” That was just after I’d heard him having sex with Priscilla. “Hunter…you should talk to me.”
His eyes slide over me, and I think it’s the most honest I’ve ever seen him look. I’m reminded, oddly, of an angry, despondent child before he reaches out and grips my shoulder.
“You should leave.” His voice is hoarse and low. “Libby, please. Turn around and leave.”
I bite my lip, and I consider doing just that. But I can’t. This is Hunter. And maybe I’m an idiot for feeling how I do, but when I’m with him, I feel good. More alive than I am without him, and that’s not something I can just let go of, even if it’s risky.
“Do you think that you could talk to me?”
Hunter looks into my eyes and I feel like he’s trying to communicate with just his gaze. Then, suddenly—roughly—he tugs me to his chest and wraps his arms around me. I feel his head come down on top of mine.
“Libby.” It sounds like he’s pleading with me. I close my eyes, wishing I knew what he needed, and his hands come up frame my face. “Why don’t you just do what I say?”
“I don’t want to go yet.” I clutch his biceps and press my cheek against his chest. “I really wish that you would talk to me. I’m a good listener.”
He nuzzles my face with his, his scruffy cheek rough on mine, before our mouths join in a kiss. I expect that it will quickly turn hard and fierce, but instead his lips are feather gentle, so soft it doesn’t feel quite real.
I pull him close and hungrily deepen our kiss. His tongue glides past mine and we’re moving faster, everything more frantic. He’ll pull off my mouth to gulp down air and then go right back at me. I’m doing the same. My whole body feels like it’s half melted—everything so shaky, sweaty, my heart beating like a drum below my tight throat. I’m feeling dizzy when he whispers, “Keep your eyes closed.”
I think about the strangeness of his request, the way I saw him with his hand on Priscilla’s throat, and I can hear him in the limo: “You’re riding an awful fucking lot on intuition.” I try to feel some of the recommended skepticism as his fingers stroke my cheeks, his lips moving over my temples, teasing my ear. And, right there, he groans and shudders like he’s lost control, and pulls my hips against his lower body.
“No, open them. Open them, Libby. I want to see your beautiful eyes.”
His eyes are dazed and heavy-lidded, and when I look into them, I swear I feel a swell of heat between my legs. I nod, then arch up and lick my way into his mouth. We kiss until I’m so worked up, I’m gasping. Hunter’s body is warm and weighty, hard and solid. He’s got an arm around my back, holding me against him, and another one behind my head. I grab his hips as he rocks against me with increased frenzy, panting, “Oh God, Libby.