Page 22 of Because I Liked A Boy (Because I Liked A Boy Trilogy #1)

No Turning Back

Inside, the warmth and noise wrapped around me, thick with beer and perfume. A week ago this place had felt like freedom. Tonight it felt like something else entirely — like possibility.

Hunter leaned close, lips brushing my ear. “What’s going through that head of yours, princess?”

“Just remembering last time,” I said honestly. “And how much I don’t want to throw up in your arms again.”

His laugh rumbled low. “Didn’t mind. You’re cute when you’re wrecked.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“Relax.” He squeezed my hand. “Tonight’s different.”

And somehow I believed him.

We moved to the bar where Dean polished a glass. He looked up, surprised. “Well, well. Didn’t expect to see you two back so soon. Together.” His eyes flicked to our linked hands.

Heat rose in my cheeks, but Hunter didn’t flinch. He leaned on the counter, tattoos flexing. “Pour us something decent, Dean. None of that watered-down crap you gave her last time.”

Dean smirked. “Somebody’s got opinions now. I heard you were sick last time from your date.” His gaze slid to me, then to Hunter.

“I really don’t want to talk about that,” I muttered.

“She’s fine,” Hunter said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Dean reached for bottles. I surprised myself. “Actually, I want a cocktail.”

“Any particular one?” he asked.

“Surprise me,” I said.

“Brave.” He tossed the shaker and slid a pale pink drink across. “French Martini. Vodka, Chambord, pineapple. Smooth. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Sweet at first, then the vodka hit. Danger dressed up pretty. I licked the foam from my lip. Hunter’s eyes tracked the motion, his smirk darkening.

“Good?” he asked as if he already knew.

“Very,” I breathed.

His hand found my thigh beneath the bar. “Good girl,” he murmured.

He grabbed a beer, then tugged me through the crowd to a booth in the back. Quieter. Dimmer. Ours. He stretched his arm along the back and I curled into the space.

“Not bad, princess. Looks classy on you,” he said, eyeing my glass.

“And you?” I arched a brow. “Beer isn’t exactly refined.”

He lifted the bottle for a slow pull. “Beer’s honest. No pretence. You know exactly what you’re getting.” His eyes dragged over me, deliberate and slow.

Heat spread low as I sipped again, feeling watched in the best possible way. His fingers brushed the bare skin at my shoulder. Every light graze sent my pulse stuttering.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low, “this feels dangerous.”

“What does?” I asked, keeping my hands steady around the stem.

“Sitting here. You, dressed like sin. Me, pretending to care about anything else in this bar.” His thumb traced the shell of my shoulder, raising goosebumps. “Feels like I’m one wrong move away from starting something I won’t stop.”

My throat tightened. “You wouldn’t dare. Not in public.”

He leaned until his breath ghosted my ear, laugh low and wrecked. “Try me.”

Heat coiled through me. I set the glass down and felt his hand slide lower, settling heavy on my thigh, thumb drawing slow circles beneath the hem of my dress.

“Hunter—”

He smirked. “Relax, princess. I’m only touching what you’re letting me touch.” His fingers pressed firmer. “And you haven’t told me to stop.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Mm.” He leaned back, hand still where it was. “And you love it.”

He was right, and that annoyed me more than anything.

I finished the Martini and stood. “Come on. If you’re that worked up, let’s burn it off.”

“Burn it off how?” he asked.

“Darts.” I nodded toward the back wall where the board hung above a scarred table. “Unless you’re scared I’ll beat you again.”

His smirk went lethal. “Princess, the only thing you’re beating tonight is my self-control.”

He followed with his hand at the small of my back, thumb stroking my spine. He let me throw first, leaning against the wall, beer bottle dangling from tattooed fingers. I lined up, released, and the dart landed just shy of the bull.

“Not bad,” he said, stepping behind me until his chest pressed to my back. His hand slid over mine to steady my grip. “But here’s a tip…”

His other hand settled on my hip, firm and possessive. I felt him hard and unmistakable. My breath hitched.

“Hunter—”

“Focus, princess.” His lips brushed my ear. “You’ll never hit the target if you’re shaking this bad.”

I swallowed a laugh and let him guide my hand. He whispered filthy things meant only for me. “Bet you’re soaking through that pretty little dress just from me standing this close.”

The dart clattered dead centre.

“Bullseye,” I said, smug.

His grin was sinful. “Yeah. You fucking are.”

He didn’t move away. If anything, his grip tightened. “You said something earlier about not doing this before,” he murmured.

My throat closed. “Hunter—”

“Don’t deflect.” He adjusted my fingers, caging me to the table. “What did you mean?”

Heat crawled up my neck. I forced it out. “Dates. Choices. I’ve never been the one picking.”

The playful edge in his smirk softened into something raw. He pressed his forehead to mine. “No one ever let you choose?”

I shook my head. “Everything was arranged. Expected. My father’s idea. I went along.” My voice broke. “You’re the first one I actually wanted for me.”

His jaw flexed. “Fuck, princess.” He held me there, breath hot. “Do you know what that does to me?”

“You look like you want to eat me alive.”

He laughed, low and dangerous. “Because I do. You’ve always been mine. The fact I get to be your first real choice? That’s what’s keeping me from bending you over this table right now.”

My knees went weak. I dug my nails into the dart-stained wood. “Hunter—”

He smiled, wicked and certain. “I’ll wait until we’re home. Then I’ll take my time showing you exactly what choosing me means.”

We ended up back in our booth, shadows swallowing us whole. The Ember buzzed around us laughter, clinking glasses, the jukebox spilling old rock—but none of it touched me. Hunter’s gaze was fixed on me like I was the only thing in the room.

“You keep looking at me like that, princess,” he murmured, thumb tracing my thigh beneath the table, “and I’m going to forget we’re in public.”

I tilted my chin. “Then what are you waiting for?”

His grin turned wicked. He leaned in, kissed me once, and then again slower, deeper.

The kiss was a match strike: sudden, hot, greedy. My fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. He groaned into my mouth, his palm cupping my jaw as if he couldn’t stand a single inch of distance.

When he broke away his forehead rested against mine. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here before this storm gets worse.”

“Your place or mine?” I asked, breathless.

“Mine’s a mess.” His smirk darkened. “Yours?”

“Closer,” I whispered.

He rose and threaded his fingers through mine, clearing a path through the crowd as if he owned space itself.

We hit the rain the second we stepped outside sheets of water that plastered my dress to my skin. Thunder rolled, neon flickered, and Hunter cursed under his breath as he pulled his collar up. “If I’d known it was this bad I’d have called a cab. Sorry, princess.”

I couldn’t stop grinning. “Don’t apologise. I don’t care about the storm. I’m—” The words tumbled out, too true. “I’m happy. You make me happy, even when you drive me insane.”

He froze, rain dripping from his lashes, staring at me like I’d just handed him something he hadn’t dared hope for. His thumb brushed my cheek, wiping rain away. “Jesus, Isabella.”

Then he kissed me hard, frantic, filthy. Beer and thunder and rain and him. My fingers clawed at his shirt, pulling him in. He pinned me to the brick of the shopfront, hands brutal and demanding, one wrapping around my hip, the other tangling in my hair.

“Fuck, princess,” he groaned, mouth pressing into mine, teeth grazing, lips bruising. “I can’t hold back.”

“Then don’t,” I breathed, answering him with the same reckless hunger.

We broke to breathe only long enough to see each other. Lightning flashed, throwing the street into white light. I pulled him down, close to my ear. “Come on, fuckboy. Let’s get home and get these wet clothes off.”

He laughed dark, feral and kissed me again before we ran.

By the time we reached my flat we were drenched: shoes squelching, dress clinging, his shirt a dark, skin-tight second skin. We stumbled in laughing, shaking the rain from our hair, water pooling at our feet. He kicked the door shut and his hands were on me again before I’d taken off my heels.

“You look like you crawled out of the ocean,” he rasped.

“Then maybe we should start with the clothes,” I said, tugging at the hem of his soaked tee.

He growled low and kissed me like an animal, hands bracing my waist hard enough to bruise.

He pressed me back against the wall, rainwater running from our hair, his mouth trailing down my jaw to my throat, biting, nipping, promising.

When his teeth grazed the skin above my collarbone a dark welt bloomed and my knees went soft.

“Not yet,” he murmured, pulling away just enough to meet my eyes. His thumb dragged over my lower lip. “I want to take my time with this, Isabella. Every single piece.”

He eased the wet fabric of my dress up slow and deliberate, like unwrapping something precious. Lightning stuttered across the windows and for a moment the storm felt like it was inside us thrumming, alive.

My body hummed under him, every nerve raw and alert. When his mouth found me again it was patient, tasting the rain on my skin, mapping each drop with his lips and tongue as if he meant to remember it.

It was messy and tender and feral all at once, and I let myself fall into it.