I know I shouldn’t have accepted the laptop from Hunter, but it’s already improved my life dramatically. I had been sketching out ideas by hand for Sara and Indigo to type up for marketing materials for Autumn Apple. Now that I can type my own thoughts at my own pace, I’ve completed absolutely everything on our checklist and even set up a website for the event.
Every evening, I’ve been teaching myself to use content management software, which is so thrilling because now I can also help Rose with updates to the college website and share her fundraising successes more quickly. It’s funny how one little thing like a laptop can make such a difference, but I guess it’s not just the laptop. I have the freedom to use my skills, to stretch my ideas. I have people here who get excited about change.
Well. Some changes. Ed Hastings tapped me on the shoulder when I was working at the coffee shop the other day, wanting to “make sure” I wasn’t planning to skirt the rules about alcohol in his dry town. I bought him a muffin, and that seemed to appease him for a bit. Mary Pat told me he’s planning to write a big story about how I refuse to cooperate with town rules. I got Ed to tell me about his background as a journalist and it seemed to make him happy to hear that I aspire to be a great writer like him.
Rose told me to go ahead and work from home this week, since she’s going to Panama to speak at some conference, and I’ve been finishing up my work day by 3, using the afternoons to chip away at my novel. Has it only been a week since Hunter gave me this computer? My whole life has changed again, it seems like.
Friday, I decide to hang around the house, doing laundry and sipping tea in the kitchen while I write from a stool at the counter instead of the coffee shop or the library.
When I hear the familiar sound of Hunter grunting and groaning, I realize it’s been days since I’ve made time to exercise.
Then I feel guilty, because I haven’t been working with him on his proposal, either. Life has been such a whirlwind. If I’m really honest, I’ve been avoiding him a bit until I figure out my feelings since he bought me the chair and the laptop. There’s no denying each of those gifts bring up intense emotions. We had such a nice time working together at the pub, even held hands walking there. I don’t know what to make of it all. I’m definitely attracted to him, but I’m in no position to start a relationship when I can’t even figure out what my life plan should be.
Things just feel so right with Hunter, though. He’s brutally honest, up front, and completely earnest at all times. He’s passionate about his work and even though he lost his job, he maintained his staunch belief that his research matters. He refuses to stop doing the work, even if he’s no longer being paid for it. I find that passion so…sexy. I find it sexy.
Everything about Hunter Crawford is sexy, from his intense stares to his taut ass to the way he touched my face when he tried to kiss me in my bedroom. And then my stupid body reacted and he left my house thinking I didn’t want him.
So when I hear Hunter grunt again through the thin walls of the kitchen, I decide to go on over and join him. It’ll feel good to lift weights with him. To be near him.
Only, when I open the back door to his place, he’s not lifting weights.
I freeze in my tracks inside his doorway as I see his hand flying at his crotch and realize I have, once again, made a terrible assumption about the noises coming from Hunter Crawford’s house.
“I’m so, so sorry,” I say, backing up as he moans. “Oh my god, I’m leaving. I’m so sorry.”
“Abigail, wait.” His voice is oddly calm, and his body seems relaxed in a way I’ve not seen before.
“I…should let you have privacy,” I say, but I don’t leave. I’m transfixed, staring at his crotch as he tucks his cock back in his shorts.
“I was thinking about you,” he says, his voice like liquid sex. “And then you appeared.”
I bite my lip, unsure what to make of this. Was he really thinking of me while he did that?
“Do you remember that article you were reading with your colleagues?” Hunter tosses a towel on the floor and stands, walking over to me. His hair is disheveled and I see his athletic shorts bulge. He’s still at least semi hard, even after he came.
I nod. Of course I remember that article. I keep dreaming about it at night and waking up when I realize it’s Hunter crouched beside my body, worshipping me in my dreams.
He stands so close to me, but doesn’t touch me. I breathe through my nose, trying to calm my racing thoughts, my soaring pulse. This feels too real, too big, and then he speaks again. “I’d like to kiss you if that’s all right.”
I nod, barely, but then I’m lost because he has pulled me against his body, devouring my mouth, claiming me with his tongue. He moans into my mouth and I’m ruined for all other kisses.
I can feel his heart beat against my chest as I open for him. My hands sink into his dark hair, slide to his sweaty shoulders. I inhale the salty, musky scent of him, so raw, so feral, and I groan. I want him, very badly.
“Abigail,” he whispers against my lips. “This is exactly what I imagined it would be like,” he says as he licks the delicate skin of my throat. I drop my head back and he nips at my flesh. I love this side of him, crazed with passion. My blood boils in my veins as his hands travel up and down my sides, as his fingers squeeze into my ass.
“Hunter,” I breathe. “Yes.” I suck on his bottom lip, pressing my body against his, rocking my hips against his cock, desperate for friction. Desperate for release.
“I want to pleasure you, Abigail,” he says, and when I nod, I feel him yank down my leggings and panties in one strong tug. With my pants halfway to my knees I wobble, and Hunter lowers us both to the padded mat he has covering the floor in his dining room, next to the weight bench. And I don’t even care that I’m going at it on the floor. All I can feel are his hands on my skin, traveling up and down my legs as he removes my leggings, leaving me bare.
He licks my thighs as he settles beside me, just like the illustration in the article. Just like in my dream. He raises his dark head to make eye contact with me and gently nudges my legs apart with his hands. I place a hand on his neck, breathing heavily. “Yes, Hunter. Please.”
When his strong hands make contact with my clit, I scream. He parts my delicate folds with the fingers of one hand, stroking my slit with the other, then sliding a fingertip inside my body. “Abigail. You. Are. So. Wet.” He punctuates each word with a stroke of his long, hot fingers and my hips buck against his body. My heels dig into the floor and my knees fall open even farther.
Then he dips his head and begins to lick. I can hear myself moaning, feel myself thrashing on the ground. This is unlike anything I have ever felt before. Hunter Crawford has unlocked the secret to my body and swallowed the key along with every drop of my excitement. “Oooh, yes. Hunter, fuck. Yes. God, just like that.”
His tongue laps sideways across my clit as he kneels to the right of my body. His left hand parts my folds and works at my clit, and then his right hand begins to massage me inside and out. He slips a long finger gently along my opening, gently working toward my ass.
“Hmmm,” he moans against my body, and then sucks my clit between his teeth.
All conscious thought leaves me as I detonate. I feel his finger thrust inside my center and my body pulses, contracts, spasming. I feel my limbs thrashing as I scream his name, coming so hard I see stars and gasp for breath.
Never have I come to orgasm so quickly with a partner, but then, never have I been with someone who pays such careful attention. As I return to earth and open my eyes, I find Hunter staring at me, smiling, caressing me so gently. Aftershocks of my orgasm jolt through me, and Hunter keeps his hands on me, smiling at me, until the spasms stop. I feel completely safe and content. Boneless, utterly at peace.
This feeling vanishes when I hear the front door open and a man’s voice curse. “Aw Jesus fuck, Hunter. Shit. I’ll wait in the car.”