Page 19 of Because I Liked A Boy (Because I Liked A Boy Trilogy #1)

Surrendered

I’m fucked. The thought hits me like a punch as Hunter drags his nose up the length of me, slow and deliberate, breathing me in like I’m something he can’t live without. Every nerve ignites. My mind reaches for something solid and finds nothing.

Holy fuck.

My hips twitch up, begging for more, and he groans, filthy and low against my skin. The vibration alone steals my breath.

His thumb finds my clit and circles, rough and steady. My thighs clamp around his shoulders before I can think. The world narrows to the press of him.

“Hunter—” It rips out of me, half cry, half moan.

“Don’t think,” he murmurs into the hollow of my thigh, voice wrecked. “Just feel.”

Then he pushes a finger inside me. Thick, sure, filling me so fast my back arches off the mattress. He curls, slow and exact, and another sound tears free, raw and disbelieving.

“Jesus, princess,” he breathes, curling deeper. “So tight.”

He stills to check me, his forehead against my skin. “Talk to me. Is this okay?”

“Yes,” I gasp. “Don’t stop.”

Relief and hunger flicker through him. He slides out almost to the tip and presses back in, his thumb never leaving my clit. The rhythm is careful at first, precise enough to feel like worship.

My hands knot in the sheets. Every pass hits that spot and squeezes a noise from me I don’t recognise. He glances up, sweat dampening his brow, eyes burning.

“Still good?” he asks.

I nod, breath catching into a sob. “Yes. God, yes.”

He groans, something breaking in his chest. “Good girl.” His voice runs tight, like he’s the one barely holding on. “You don’t know how much I love hearing you say yes.”

A second finger presses in beside the first, stretching me around him. The fullness makes my hips jerk. The sound I make is animal, not pretty, just honest. Loud. Messy. Desperate.

His thumb circles faster, relentless. “Fuck, princess,” he mutters. “You take me so good. Tight for my fingers.”

He drives them deeper and harder, curling to find me each time. The pace builds, careful into greedy, and I meet him, grinding down, letting the need take me. His voice drops to a growl.

“Ride them,” he orders, rough and reverent. “Show me how much you need it.”

I do. My body moves on instinct. The pressure swells sharp and fast. My legs shake, my breath shreds, and the world splits as the wave hits. I scream his name, ruined and loud, and he keeps going, pumping me through it, voice ragged with his own loss of control.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Fall apart for me. Yes. Perfect.”

When it eases, I’m a trembling mess. He slips his fingers free and stares at them like they’re holy, then groans and sucks them clean. It should embarrass me. It only roots me deeper in him.

“Let me clean you up,” he says.

“Yes,” I whisper, and panic flares at the thought of space. I catch his wrist.

“No. Your tongue. Clean me with your tongue.”

His grin turns feral. “Fuck, princess.” He settles between my thighs again and breathes me in, hot and close. “You have no idea what you’ve asked for.”

He pauses to look up, pupils blown. “You sure?”

“Yes. Now.” My voice is raw and certain.

He answers with one long, flat lick, bottom to top. My back bows and a sound tears free I couldn’t hold if I tried. He licks again, slower, learning me, then faster, building until I’m keening. His mouth is greedy and reverent in the same breath. He eats like it’s a need.

“Cum on my tongue,” he rasps between strokes, voice ruined. “Let me drink you.”

I do. I give in to his mouth and the filthy worship. The orgasm hits hard and full. He works me through it until I’m shaking, the sheets a wreck around us.

He pulls back at last and kisses the inside of my thigh, then looks up with that wrecked grin. “You did so good,” he murmurs. “Perfect for me.”

Something in his tone lands harder than anything else. No pity. No sugar. Just reverence. My chest aches.

He crawls up my body, mouth slick, and kisses me slow. The taste is sharp and intimate, and I lean in, hungry for all of it.

When he breaks for air he breathes, “You’re going to kill me, princess.” Then, soft and certain, “Now that I’ve had a taste, we’re not friends.”

The words should terrify me. They feel like a promise I’ve been craving. I press my forehead to his. “I don’t want friends,” I whisper. “I want you.”

His grin turns feral and tender at once. He folds me into his arms, the world shrinking to our breath and the steadying beat in his chest, and for the first time in a long time I let myself believe that could be enough.

His words still hang in the air when his mouth leaves mine, his breath hot against my cheek.

I’m wrecked and trembling, but he doesn’t push.

He looks at me like I’ve already given him everything.

My chest aches under the weight of it, because part of me knows he’s right.

I’m his now, whether I meant to be or not. God help me, I don’t want to fight it.

He brushes a damp strand from my face, knuckles gentle against my skin. “Stay here,” he says, low and certain. “I’m running you a bath. You need cleaning up after what I just did to you.”

Heat sparks again, but before I can answer he’s gone. Water thunders into porcelain. Steam curls into the hall. His voice follows, rough and sure, like he knows I’ll obey.

“Strip in your room, princess. Then come to me.”

My breath stutters. The command shouldn’t make my chest tighten like this, but I’m already moving, fingers trembling as I peel my shirt over my head. Every piece I shed feels like stepping deeper into something I swore I didn’t want.

I told myself I’d never let anyone matter this much again. Standing bare, heart pounding, I can’t deny it. I need him. There’s no going back. Worse, I don’t want to.

For the first time since Maplewood, I don’t crave escape. I don’t ache for the life I left. I want this—his arms, his voice, his wrecked smile. I want a life here with Hunter Hayes.

All because I liked a boy.

I strip down to a white vest and matching bra and almost laugh, stupidly grateful I wore decent underwear to work. Getting eaten out by Hunter Hayes wasn’t on my bingo card. I tug the vest off, unhook the bra, and keep moving.

By the time I step into the hall I’m bare. It doesn’t feel like defeat. It feels like surrender.

At the bathroom door I stop. Hunter’s shirtless on the tile, leaning over the tub to test the water, one tattooed arm braced against the rim. Ink and muscle, steam sliding over his skin.

Hot damn.

He looks carved out of sin. And he’s mine. That thought is the most dangerous of all, because I’ve never wanted to claim anyone this badly.

“I want him,” slips out before I can catch it. “Every inch. I want to drown here.”

His head snaps up. Green eyes lock on mine. A slow smirk spreads when he clocks me—naked, flushed, caught.

“Well, well.” His laugh rumbles. “Could’ve sworn I just heard my good girl talking about drowning in me. That right, princess?”

Heat scorches my cheeks. He shakes his head like he can’t believe his luck. “Fuck, you make this too easy.”

His gaze drags down my body again. The smirk deepens but something raw flickers under it, like seeing me bare rattles him more than he’ll admit.

“Climb in,” he says, leaning back and pushing a hand through his hair. “If you keep standing there naked, looking like that, I’m never going to clean you up.”

The words punch heat through me. My feet move like he’s pulling strings. He straightens and holds out his hand because he can’t not touch.

My fingers slide into his. Warm, rough, steady. An anchor as I step in. The water is hot, steam curling, but it’s nothing compared to the burn of his stare. I move slow, not from nerves—though my heart is frantic—but because I want him to see all of me.

His breath catches when I sink my first leg. When I lower the other, his grip tightens until his knuckles pale.

A low groan spills from him. My thighs press together under the water.

Holy fuck. He’s groaning because of me.

I slide down to settle. His gaze never wavers, hungry and intent. A growl roughens his voice. “You’re killing me, princess.”

A smirk tugs at my mouth. For once, I want to drive him mad.

If this is what being in too deep feels like, I never want to come up for air.

He kneels and takes the wash cloth. He dips it, wrings it slow, and brings it to my skin with reverence. He starts at my shoulder, drags the warm cloth over the curve and down my arm. His palm follows, smoothing the trail of water. It isn’t just cleaning. It’s worship.

“Relax,” he murmurs, dipping again, moving across my collarbone and over the swell of my breast. His thumb brushes the top curve by accident and his jaw tightens like not touching more is a fight.

I let my eyes fall shut and sink into the heat. Being taken care of has never felt like this—like being undone gently.

I shift and the water ripples. He exhales hard. “Christ, princess. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

I meet his gaze. Green and burning, fixed on every inch he touches. The cloth drags lower, over my stomach. His palm follows, circling as if he’s memorising me. My chest heaves. My skin hums.

He slides closer on his knees. Dips. Wrings. Glides the cloth along my thigh. His jaw locks. Restraint frays.

“Hunter…” I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking.

“I said I’d clean you up,” he says, mouth tight. “And I will. Even if it kills me.”

He works down my legs, slow and sure. Calves. Ankles. He lifts my foot and runs his thumb along the arch. I gasp. He smirks, strained and wrecked, like touching me this way is his personal torture.

When he trails the cloth up the inside of my thighs, his breathing turns uneven. Sweat beads at his temple. His hand lingers and trembles, stopping just short of where I ache.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging the cloth higher and halting. “Do you know how hard it is to do this without—” He cuts off, jaw flexing.

He’s not just touching me. He’s fighting himself. Somehow the restraint is hotter than giving in.

I catch the damp edge of his hair and press a kiss to his temple.

He groans, low and guttural. “Princess…”

I don’t stop. I kiss the corner of his jaw, then his cheekbone. His breath stutters. By the time my lips brush the corner of his mouth, his hand has gone still on my thigh. Every muscle locks.

“Still in control, Hunter?” I whisper.

His growl vibrates against my lips. “You’re playing with fire, baby.”

“Maybe I like fire.”

His restraint fractures. His grip tightens on my thigh and his mouth crashes into mine, wet and fierce, tasting of steam and want. The kiss is hot and relentless. Water laps against my skin while he kneels like I’m both holy and forbidden.

I fumble at his overall straps. “Your turn to be looked after,” I breathe.

For a heartbeat I think he’ll let me. His breath hitches. His hips twitch. He catches my wrists, firm and gentle, and lowers them.

“Not tonight,” he says, rough but steady, eyes hot and resolved.

Before I can argue he rises in one smooth move. He grabs a towel. “Be good, princess,” he adds with a crooked grin, offering his hand.

I take it. He hauls me up and wraps the towel snug around me, tucking the corner with careful hands. Warmth holds me, but it’s the way he looks at me that unravels me like I’m his, even when he’s holding back.

He kisses my forehead and laces our fingers, leading me down the hall.

“Pyjamas,” he says gently. “Get dressed.”

I pull the towel tighter while he checks his phone on the night stand. The screen lights his face.

“Shit,” he says with a crooked smile. “It’s already eleven. We both have work.”

Reality returns, quieter and steadier. For the first time tonight it feels less like chaos and more like something dangerously normal.

He sets the phone down and looks at me at the drawer. His eyes go soft. “Time for bed, princess.”

It hits fast: it isn’t just his bed I want. It’s his life.

I clutch the towel and swallow. “Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you stay the night?”

His mouth curves, green eyes flashing. He crosses back, tilts my chin with a rough fingertip. “Only if you promise to be good,” he murmurs against my lips.

Being good is the last thing on my mind.

I let the towel fall. His eyes flare as I pull on black shorts and a matching vest.

“Not exactly a good-girl move,” he says, voice low.

“Maybe I don’t want to be good.”

“Careful, princess,” he warns, grin spreading. “You keep talking like that and I won’t be the one losing sleep.”

I laugh, crawl into bed, and pat the mattress. “I can resist you,” I tease, even as a yawn betrays me.

He chuckles, low and warm. “We’ll see.”

He shrugs off his overalls and drops them. Boxers cling indecently to his hips, chest inked and solid, muscles flexing as he moves. My breath catches. One thigh slips free of the covers as he steps closer. His jaw tightens and he drags his gaze back to my face.

“Tease,” he says, no heat in it, only hunger.

I grin and roll to my side. He climbs in, kisses my forehead, and pulls me against his chest. His arm wraps around my waist.

“Go to sleep, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with his own yawn.

And I do. With Hunter’s arms around me, the world outside stops mattering. For the first time in a long time, I’m not bracing for disaster. I just feel safe.