Page 25 of Because I Liked A Boy (Because I Liked A Boy Trilogy #1)

The door creaked shut behind us, Hunter’s hand still warm around mine as he pulled me into the quiet.

His place wasn’t what I expected. Small. Ordered. Kitchen and dining squeezed into one space, a leather couch facing a flat screen, a desk tucked neat against the wall. Clean lines. No clutter. No photos. Nothing that told a story beyond the man himself.

Hunter watched me take it in, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth. “Not exactly a palace, princess. But it does the job.”

“It’s… neat,” I said.

“Neat?” He huffed a laugh. “That’s all I get?”

“I don’t know what I expected. Maybe more… chaos.”

“Chaos I’ve got covered.” The smirk lingered, then softened as he braced a shoulder on the frame. “Hey. If you don’t want to be here, say the word. I’ll take you home. No hard feelings.”

The out sat there, easy and tempting. My walls. My habits. Distance. But the truth was already moving through me.

“No,” I said, quieter than I meant to. “I’d like to stay. If that’s okay.”

Warmth flickered through his grin. He stepped close and brushed his knuckles along my cheek. “More than okay.”

He motioned around the room. “Kitchen. Living room. Computer corner. Nothing to write home about.” His fingers slipped back through mine, heat sparking where we touched. “Upstairs is my favourite.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “The bedroom.”

“Bingo.” His thumb pressed over my knuckles. “I can show you why.”

My pulse kicked, but my feet followed. The stairs creaked as he pulled me up. He nodded toward the first door. “Bathroom. Nothing exciting unless you’re planning to lock me out.”

I rolled my eyes, cheeks warming. He opened the next door.

Dark sheets pulled tight on a low bed. A dresser. No photos. No soft edges. Stripped back and spare, yet saturated with him.

Hunter sat on the edge of the mattress, elbows on his knees, watching me with that half-smile. “So,” he said, patting the space beside him, “what do you think of my favourite room?”

He wasn’t talking about the walls.

I stayed by the door, folding my arms. “Tell me why it’s so… bare. No photos. No colour. Just black sheets and catalogue furniture.”

He leaned back on his hands, amused. “Funny. I could ask you the same. Your place is just as empty of the past. No pictures. No family. Don’t act like you’re any better, princess.”

A retort died on my tongue. He wasn’t wrong.

He watched the thought land, then patted the mattress again, voice roughening with a smile. “Uh-uh. Not today. No serious shit. Shut that pretty brain off and get over here.” His gaze dipped to my mouth. “Put those lips to work.”

Heat flooded my skin. “You’re impossible,” I said, but I was already crossing the room.

“Good thing you like me that way.” The grin turned smug as his hands caught mine and tugged me down onto his lap.

“Hunter—” I squeaked when his mouth found my neck, heat sparking where his lips dragged up the curve. He kissed my cheek, then the tip of my nose, then hovered over my mouth with that wrecking smile.

“Stop,” I managed, palms pressing to his chest even as my body arched into him. “I need a shower.”

“After,” he murmured against my skin. “Or before. Or during. I’m flexible.”

I laughed, breathless, and wriggled free. It took effort to slide off his lap and put space between us. “I mean it. Shower.”

His eyes raked down me, shameless. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Alone,” I warned, pointing at the door.

He stood with that lethal calm that always unravelled me. “My house. My rules.”

“Fine,” I said, arching a brow. “Lead the way, fuckboy.”

His grin went bright and dangerous. “That’s my girl.”

Before I could blink, he swept me off my feet, one arm under my thighs and the other around my back. I yelped, clutching his shoulders as he carried me out like I weighed nothing.

“Hunter!”

“Relax, princess,” he rumbled by my ear. “You asked for a shower. I’m escorting.”

Steam curled out as his shoulder nudged the bathroom door. He set me on the counter, stepped between my knees, and found the hem of my cami with slow, possessive fingers.

“Hunter—”

“Shh.” He stole a quick, filthy kiss and pulled back with a smirk. “Quick, before the water turns cold.”

His hands slid under my cami, catching at the lace I’d put on for him, but I caught his wrists.

“No.” My voice was breathless but steady. “I’m undressing you.”

He went very still. A pulse jumped hard in his throat. His inhale hitched into a sound between a groan and a growl, heat igniting his eyes.

“Jesus, princess.” His voice dropped, rough and dark. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Maybe that’s the plan.” I lifted his shirt. Slow. Cruel. Ink and muscle revealed inch by inch until the fabric hit the floor.

His mouth crashed to mine, urgent and hungry, but when his fingers tugged at my shorts I pressed a palm to his chest.

“My turn,” I said, undoing his button. “Hands to yourself.”

“Fuck,” he gritted, forehead tipping to mine as his hands fisted at his sides. “You’re actually going to make me lose it.”

“That’s the point.”

Denim slid down his thighs. He looked half feral, every muscle tight with the effort of letting me lead.

He lifted me easily, carried me into the stall, and pressed me to the cool tile as the spray hit hot and heavy. Water streamed down his face as he kissed me again, messy and wet.

“You taste better soaked,” he groaned, hips grinding so the thick heat of him dragged between my thighs, teasing me slicker with every glide.

“Hunter—” My head knocked back against the tile.

He caught my chin and forced my eyes to his. “Here,” he said softly, then slid two fingers inside me in one steady thrust.

My nails bit his shoulders. His thumb found my clit, circling hard, relentless.

“Christ, princess,” he rasped, eyes on my face as I writhed. “You’re drenched. Didn’t need the water for that.”

“Please,” I gasped. “Please—”

“Please what?” His mouth marked a line down my throat. “Stop? Keep going? Wreck you so good you can’t walk out of here?”

“Hunter,” I sobbed, thighs shaking.

He pulled his fingers free, slick with me, and pressed them to my lips. “Taste.”

The command undid me. My tongue flicked out. His groan went low and unhinged.

“That’s it.” He lined up, breath shuddering. “Now watch.”

He thrust into me hard and deep.

I screamed, the shower’s hiss swallowing the sound. My reflection bloomed in the fogged mirror. Flushed cheeks. Wet hair. Open mouth.

“Look,” he growled, pounding into me until the stall shook. He slid a hand into my hair and pulled just enough to hold my gaze to the glass. “Watch me fuck you. Watch what I do to you.”

Tile slick under my palms. Water hammering. His hips relentless. The wrecked girl in the mirror was me and I couldn’t look away.

“Eyes open,” he ordered, thumb grinding my clit until white burst behind my lids. “Don’t you dare look away.”

I shattered hard, clenching around him, a broken cry tearing free as the orgasm ripped through me.

He didn’t let me hide. He held me there and drove through the aftershocks, thrusts turning rougher as he chased his own edge.

“Jesus Christ, Isabella,” he gritted, voice wrecked, rhythm slipping. “You’re mine. Every scream. Every drop. Mine.”

He slammed deep and came with a raw sound, teeth catching my shoulder as heat flooded me.

For a moment there was only water and breath. His forehead rested in my wet hair, his hand flattening over my stomach to keep me tight to his chest. He kissed my jaw, softer now.

“Look at you,” he whispered, reverent. “Mine. Every inch.”

After, his touch went gentle. He cleaned me with careful hands, quiet and focused, like it mattered. Exhaustion tugged at my eyes.

“Uh-oh,” he chuckled, scooping me up. “Princess is crashing.”

I yawned into his throat and let him carry me upstairs. He laid me on cool sheets and slid in behind me, one heavy arm banding my waist and hauling me back into his chest.

Across the room, the ridiculous bunny slumped in a chair, bow crooked and ears bent. Hunter snorted and kissed the top of my head. “Matches you,” he mumbled, already half-asleep.

I smiled against his skin, lulled by the steady thud of his heart. In the quiet, with his arm locked tight around me, the words I’d been afraid to say formed anyway.

I want more. Not just tonight. Him. Us. All of it.

Tomorrow, I’d tell him.