Page 14 of Crossed Paths (The Ramblers of St. Claire #2)

Alexandra

T he soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm amber hue across my bedroom, the only light in the room.

It’s enough to see Hunter’s face as he leans in, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, his eyes locked onto mine.

There’s a hunger in them, raw and unfiltered, and it mirrors the ache building inside me.

It had been a long afternoon with Hunter behind the bar. Constant touching and then the stolen kisses in my office. Closing time couldn’t come soon enough. The only way to describe what I feel now is horny and desperate and full of need for this man.

His lips find mine, and the kiss is electric, a collision of desire pent up for far too long.

His hands are firm on my waist, pulling me closer, and I melt into him, my fingers threading through his hair.

The kiss deepens, his tongue teasing mine, and I can taste the hint of mint from his gum, mingling with the sweetness of his breath.

It’s intoxicating, and I feel my body respond, my heart racing, my skin flushing .

Hunter breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against mine, our breaths mingling. “You’re stunning. I'm never letting this image go,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need. I blush, my cheeks warming under his gaze. He makes me feel seen in a way I haven’t ever.

His hands move to my polo shirt, pushing it up and over my head.

I shiver as the cool air brushes my skin, and he pulls the fabric away, revealing the lacy red bra beneath.

His eyes darken, his pupils dilating, and I see the control he’s been holding onto begin to slip.

“Fuck, Alex,” he growls, his voice low and husky. “You’re killing me.”

I smirk, a flush of pride warming my chest. I’d chosen this lingerie specifically for tonight, hoping it would drive him wild. But his reaction is more than I could have imagined.

His hands tremble slightly as he reaches for the button of my black trousers, his fingers brushing my skin as he slides the zip down. The fabric falls away, pooling at my feet, leaving me in nothing but my bra and matching lace knickers.

Hunter’s gaze rakes over me, his hunger palpable. “On your knees,” he commands, and the words send a delicious shiver down my body. My heart skips a beat, a mix of excitement and nervousness fluttering in my chest.

I kneel on the bed, my legs slightly parted, my face resting on the pillow in front of me. The scent of lavender from my sheets fills my nostrils, grounding me as I hear him move behind me. His hands rest on my hips, his touch firm but gentle, and I feel his breath on my skin, warm and heavy.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers, his lips brushing the curve of my shoulder. His hands slide down, tracing the lace of my underwear, and I bite my lip, anticipation coiling tight in my core. “I’ve wanted to taste you since the moment I walked into the pub today.”

His words send a shiver down my spine, and before I can respond, his fingers hook into the lace, pulling it down my thighs. I lift my knees, one at a time, helping him remove the last barrier, and then I’m bare, exposed to his gaze and touch.

Hunter’s hands roam over my skin, his fingers mapping the curves of my body, his touch both tender and possessive.

“ Spread your legs wider ,” he murmurs, his voice a command I’m more than willing to obey.

I do as he asks, and I feel the cool air on my most intimate place, a stark contrast to the heat building inside me.

His fingers brush my folds, teasing, not yet entering, and I let out a soft moan, my body arching slightly. “So wet,” he growls, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re so fucking wet for me, aren’t you?”

I nod, my face still pressed into the pillow, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and desire. “Yes,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Please, Hunter.”

His response is immediate, his mouth latching onto my pussy from behind, his tongue tracing the length of my slit, slow and deliberate.

I gasp, my hands clutching the bed sheets, my body tensing as pleasure surges through me.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, his tongue firm yet gentle, his lips sucking softly, his teeth grazing my sensitive flesh.

“Fuck,” I moan. His hands grip my hips, holding me steady as he devours me, his tongue flicking over my clit, circling it, teasing it, driving me to the edge. “Hunter, please—”

“Not yet,” he growls, his voice muffled against my skin. His fingers slip inside me, stretching me, filling me, and I cry out, my body arching, my toes curling. He’s relentless, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Say my name,” he demands, his voice harsh, his breath hot against my skin. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“Hunter,” I pant, my voice desperate. “I need you. Please, I need you inside me.”

His response is a growl, primal and raw, and then he’s pulling away, his hands gripping my hips, positioning me. I feel the head of his cock press against my entrance, thick and insistent, and I whimper, my body aching for him .

“Ready for me?” he asks, his voice a dark whisper.

“Yes,” I breathe, my heart pounding, my body trembling with anticipation.

He thrusts into me, hard and deep, filling me completely, and I cry out, my back arching, nails digging into the sheets. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his voice strained. “You feel so perfect .”

He begins to move, his cock sliding in and out of me with a rhythm that’s both brutal and exquisite. Each thrust hits the perfect spot and sends waves of pleasure crashing over me, building, building, until I’m teetering on the edge, my body coiled tight, ready to explode.

“Touch yourself,” he commands, his voice harsh, his breath coming in short gasps. “I want to see you come.”

I hesitate, my cheeks flaming, but I reach down, my fingers finding my clit, circling it, adding to the friction of his thrusts. “That’s it,” he growls, his pace quickening. “Come for me, Alex. Let me feel you fall apart.”

His words are my undoing. My body shatters, my orgasm ripping through me, a cascade of pleasure that leaves me breathless, my cries echoing in the dimly lit room. Hunter follows, his thrusts becoming erratic, his growls filling the air as he spills himself deep inside me.

For a moment, we’re still, our bodies connected, our breaths ragged. Then, slowly, he pulls out, his hands guiding me to lie back on the bed. He collapses beside me, his arm draped over my waist, his forehead resting against mine.

We lie tangled in the warm hush of my bedroom, the duvet half-kicked down, skin cooling in the quiet. My head rests on his chest, the steady thump of his heart loud in my ear. His fingers move through my hair in slow, absent strokes, like he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

I could stay like this forever.

I tilt my chin slightly, my voice soft. “What are you thinking?”

There’s a pause.

Then a breath of a laugh rumbles beneath my cheek. “Trying to get my brain and heart to shut up.”

That makes me lift my head just enough to glance at him, brows raised. “Clarify.”

Hunter’s chest rises beneath me as he lets out a long breath, like he’s been waiting for permission to say the next part.

“It’s just…” he starts, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I’ve had this relationship with you a hundred times in my head. Maybe more. All the different versions of it. What I’d say, what you’d say. How it might go if we ever actually got the timing right.”

My heart gives a small, foolish flutter .

He glances down at me, his fingers still gently combing through my hair. “So, sometimes, when I’m lying here with you like this, it feels like we’re further along than we are. Like we’ve already done the hard bits and found our rhythm. Like this is year three, not week three.”

I smile faintly against his skin. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“No,” he says, voice rougher now. “It’s a dangerous thing. Because if I let myself lean into it too far, I’ll end up saying something that scares you away. Like asking you to move in with me tomorrow, bring your cat and your sourdough starter and stay with me forever.”

I huff a laugh. “I don’t have a sourdough starter… or a cat for that matter.”

“See?” he says, lips curving. “It’s clearly too soon.”

But there’s something sincere underneath the teasing—something that makes me go still.

He’s trying. He’s pacing himself. For me.

And I don’t know what to do with that level of care. Other than feel it. Everywhere.

I lift my head slightly so I can see him better, my fingers lightly tracing the edge of his collarbone.

“I’ve had those versions in my head too,” I say, voice quieter than I mean it to be. “Maybe not a hundred, but enough.”

His eyes flick to mine, sharp with surprise. “You have?”

I nod, heart thudding. “I don’t even know when it started. There wasn’t some big moment, no lightning bolt. Just… little things, I suppose. And then one day I realised you were in my head more than you weren’t.”

Hunter stares at me like he’s trying to lock in every word. His expression shifts—surprise first, then something warmer, deeper. His mouth parts slightly, like he wants to say something, but doesn’t want to interrupt the sound of my voice.

“I kept pretending it was nothing,” I murmur. “That I was imagining it. That it would pass.”

He shakes his head slightly, almost in disbelief. “Alex…”

“I think it snuck up on me,” I go on, cheeks warming. “But lately… every time you run past the pub on Saturday mornings? My heart just—” I let out a soft laugh. “It properly goes bonkers.”

Hunter lets out a low, breathy sound—half-laugh, half-gasp—and his arms tighten around me. His face buries in my hair, and I feel the grin pressed against my scalp.

“You have no idea what it means to hear you say that,” he murmurs.

“I might,” I whisper, eyes fluttering shut.

There’s a beat of silence, then Hunter huffs a soft laugh against my hair. “So you’ve been spying on me.”

I grin into his chest. “Well, if you didn’t want attention, you shouldn’t be parading that very fit arse of yours past the pub in those shorts.”

He lets out a scandalised noise and immediately retaliates, fingers finding my side and making me squeal as he tickles me, just enough to make me squirm and giggle, limbs tangled in the sheets.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, mock-offended, “Objectified. Reduced to nothing but glutes.”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what you’re doing,” I say through laughter, trying—and failing—to wriggle away.

Eventually, he relents, and we collapse back into each other, breathless and warm and grinning like idiots .

His hand settles gently against my back again, smoothing over my skin. When he speaks next, his voice is softer. Steadier.

“I’ll try to take it slow,” he says. “Even now. I know what this is for me, and I don’t want to rush what it needs to be for you. So… I’ll give you time.”

My heart twists at the sheer care in his voice.

“But,” he adds, tone dipping lower, “I can’t promise it’ll last forever. I’ve waited a long time, Alex. I don’t think I’ve got another year of pretending I don’t want to wake up next to you every morning.”

I smile, then shift slightly, just enough to wiggle my hips against him, slow and teasing.

He groans, telling me just how much he wants me.

“I’ve got a feeling,” I murmur, lips brushing his collarbone, “I won’t need that long.”

He groans softly and pulls me tighter.

And just like that, the night folds around us—warm, safe, and humming with something that feels a lot like the start of everything.