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CHAPTER FORTY

EVE

I tear the strip of tape off the canvas slowly, balling it up and tossing it in the trash. Right as I’m dabbing my paintbrush in linseed oil to start on the lower half, there’s a knock on the door.

I freeze, a cold fist of fear tightening around my windpipe. When I got here fifteen minutes ago, the entire building was silent and empty. The exact solitude I was craving to worry about Hunter. But now, the silence seems menacing.

“Eve? You in there?”

I recognize his voice and relax.

Then tense again, because I have no idea what him taking off earlier means. Hunter doesn’t take off. He shows up.

Conor was clearly worried about him. Harlow had to talk him into going to the event celebrating the championship that the team won. That was almost as concerning as Hunter’s choice not to go.

“Eve?” Hunter says again.

I slide off my stool and walk to the door.

When I open it, Hunter has one hand braced on the doorframe, right next to the plaque with my name on it.

He looks…devastated. His eyes are red-rimmed and his hair is a chaotic mess that looks like it’s had hands run through it repeatedly. He’s wearing a dress shirt and slacks, but no tie or jacket. Like he started getting ready for tonight and suddenly stopped.

“Sean overdosed,” he states before I can say a word.

I clap a hand to my mouth. “Oh my God. Is he…okay?”

“He’s awake. My mom called a little while ago with that update. But when she first called…” He swallows. “They found him unconscious.”

“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

Hunter shakes his head, then glances down. “Nothing I can do either. My mom told me not to come, and I just—” He blows out a long breath. “I feel so fucking helpless.”

I step into Hunter’s chest, wrapping my arms around his waist.

He hugs me back instantly, like he needs the contact. “I drove around for a while. Then I went to the rink for…habit, I guess. Skating helps when I’m upset. But they melted the ice. I was leaving campus and it occurred to me you might be here.” He exhales. “Glad I was right.”

“Painting helps when I’m upset,” I tell him.

His arms tighten around me. “I know. I’m so sorry about earlier. I would have called or texted to explain but I just—I was in shock.”

“Don’t apologize. I was just worried about you. I knew you wouldn’t miss the dinner unless it was important.”

Hunter rests his chin on the top of my head.

And we just stand like that, holding each other.

“I told him not to call.”

“Sean?” I question.

“Yeah. The last time we talked. It was this endless cycle, it seemed like, and I thought that maybe me cutting him off might help. Like talking to me meant something and stopping might be some type of wake-up call.” He scoffs. “As if.”

“He’s sick, Hunter. Addiction is a disease. And it’s not because of anything you did or didn’t do. You were trying to help him. And deep down, he knows that.”

Hunter lifts his chin and tilts mine up. His blue eyes scan my face like he’s never seen it before.

“You look beautiful, Eve.”

I changed out of the dress I was wearing for the dinner after Conor showed up without Hunter. But I didn’t touch my hair or makeup, because both took a while.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

The kiss starts out sweet. Gentle and purposeful and safe. Then, something shifts. It becomes more raw. Less disciplined.

Tension hums through Hunter’s rigid muscles.

He’s holding back , I realize.

Has he always held back?

When we’ve had sex, it’s been a perfectly choreographed dance. I’ve followed his lead, and each step has felt completely right. Even the times I’ve initiated intimacy, he’s seized control in some way.

It doesn’t seem like Hunter is following a plan right now. Part of his world was just upended, and he’s still reeling. Still coming to terms with how close he came to losing his brother.

He came here for comfort, and he’s never sought me out in that way before. When he told me about Sean, it was because we were already together when his brother called. And with everything else, he’s so solid . Disciplined and capable. He’s the person you go to for help, not the one who seeks it out.

“I’m not breakable,” I whisper, running my palms down the sculpted planes of his chest. Even through the starched cotton of his button-down, I can feel the energy buzzing beneath taut skin. “You can be rough. You can lean on me. I’m not going anywhere.”

I mean the last part in the emotional sense, not the physical one. Because I am going somewhere, and he is too.

A topic we’ve avoided talking about, aside from his decision about Penn.

Amidst all the big and scary feelings I have for Hunter, discussing our lives after graduation feels especially big and scary. I molded most of my relationship with Ben around the future. I was attracted to his interest in living in New York, to the joint life I saw there together.

With Hunter, it doesn’t feel like a factor. I never expected—thought—that we would end up in the same place post-graduation.

And I fell in love with him anyway.

I’m in love with him .

Hunter exhales, and a little of the tension releases too. “I didn’t come here for sex, Eve.”

My right hand moves lower. “You’re hard.”

“Well, yeah.” His voice is rough. “Happens a lot around you. Especially when I’m kissing you.”

His lips land on mine again.

This time, it doesn’t start out sweet. Immediately, there’s the same unrestrained intensity.

I kiss him back just as passionately, to the soundtrack of my racing heart and ragged breaths.

I’ve never felt less in control. It’s thrilling…and terrifying. It feels like I am falling.

His hand settles on the waistband of my shorts, then slips inside.

“Fuck, Eve. You’re so wet.”

My head falls back from the first brush of his fingers along my underwear. The hit of pleasure is so sudden and powerful it’s almost dizzying. All thoughts flee from my mind, smooth like sand after a wave washed the grains flat.

“You’ve turned me into a sex addict,” I tell him.

It’s true. I had no idea this level of physical desire—of need —existed.

“Well”—the tone of Hunter’s voice is wry—“there are worse things to be addicted to.”

“Right.” Mine is apologetic. I didn’t mean to remind him about Sean. “There are.”

Hunter tugs on one of my curls with his other hand. He touches my hair a lot, I’ve noticed. I’ve started wearing it down more often, hoping he will. “As long as it’s just with me.”

He’s teasing, a little, but he’s also serious.

And I’m very serious when I reply, “It is.”

Too serious, maybe. Now that I’ve realized I love Hunter, it feels like maybe that’s stamped on my forehead or something. Obvious in some way, when I look at him.

“You ever have sex on campus before?” he asks me.

Until now, the concept had not really occurred to me. My world narrows to Hunter when we’re in the same place. I completely forgot that we’re in a school building. In my broom closet with a door that locks, but still.

“ No ,” I answer, in a way that suggests it should have been obvious. I may be trying to be more impulsive and adventurous, but I’m still a rule-follower at heart. “Have—have you?”

“No.” His lips move to my neck, sucking gently on the skin there. I’ll have a hickey in the morning. “Is it on your list?”

“I could add it.”

His pelvis presses into mine, the hard, hot ridge of his erection nudging my inner thigh.

I tug his button-down out of his waistband, impatiently pulling the buttons open until his chest is exposed. I drag my fingernails down his pecs and over his abs, running a teasing finger back and forth along his waistband once I reach it.

His hands land on the backs of my thighs, erasing all the distance between our lower bodies. I whimper, the pulse between my thighs a second rapid heartbeat.

I squeeze them tight together as I rise on my tippy-toes. My tongue swipes along the curve of his collarbone, then I scrape my teeth on the same spot.

“I can handle it, Hunter.”

His fingers bite into the backs of my legs so hard I’ll probably have bruises. “Tell me if it’s too rough.”

“I will,” I promise.

He releases me and then spins me around, pressing a palm flat on my back until I’m bent over the stool I sit on to paint. My hair falls over my shoulders, partially covering my face.

I can’t see Hunter, and that makes the quick tug of him pulling my shorts and underwear down especially erotic.

I gasp, feeling the cool air hit the wetness that’s gathered. I clench around nothing, trying to alleviate a little of the ache.

I barely register the feel of his cock at my entrance before he thrusts without any hesitation, filling me with one stroke. He drags his dick out slowly, so slow I can feel every ridge, and then fills me fast again.

Arousal flows through me like an endless cascade of water.

I’m pinned in place, the press of the stool against my stomach all that’s keeping me from collapsing. I have no leverage in this position. I’m entirely at Hunter’s mercy. He’s controlling everything—the angle, the speed, the depth.

And I love it. I’m completely relaxed, letting him use my body however he wants and enjoying every second.

He pulls out and flips me on my back. I arch so the stool doesn’t dig into my spine, and Hunter’s heated gaze lands on my breasts. He yanks my shirt up and the left cup of my bra down until my breast pops free. He palms it, rolling my nipple between two fingers.

I suck in a sharp breath, then cry out when he thrusts inside of me again.

I tighten my inner muscles around his erection, trying to keep him inside of me. My legs wrap around his waist too.

“Fuck, Eve.” His cock twitches inside of me and his hips rock harder into mine.

His hands roam all over my body. All the spots that aren’t normally sensitive—my ribs, my shoulders, my hips—come alive under his touch.

“More,” I beg.

His arm circles my lower back, lifting my pelvis higher and forcing my thighs to open wider.

I moan when he slips even deeper, almost orgasming from that alone.

“This fucking view. Look at you.”

I’m looking at him . Watching his muscles work to fuck me.

He rubs at my clit, and sparks of light dance across my vision. “Your pussy is so tight. It feels like you’re trying to suck the cum right out of me.”

I was barely holding it together before he started talking dirty. Now, I’m a breath away from nirvana.

Hunter reaches toward the palette I left out, running his finger through the smear of green.

I crane my neck to watch as he draws a heart on my stomach with the paint. He adds two lines on each side, then several angles and a circle.

And I laugh, realizing they’re stick figures.

“Impressive,” I pant.

“Told you I was talented.”

His hand slides lower, smearing some of the paint, pulling my knee up higher. He hits a deeper spot, and it pushes me past the peak.

He covers my mouth when I start to convulse, which is when I remember that we’re in a school building .

He also pumps faster, the pace quick enough I can hear the collision of our skin as sweat builds between our bodies. My thighs quiver and my toes curl and my vision blurs.

Hunter kisses me. It’s a messy, wet tangle of tongues, both of us distracted by the pulse of pleasure. I bite his lower lip, and he moans in response.

“I can feel you coming,” I tell him.

The flood of warmth has become one of my favorite parts of sex. It feels like more than usual, already seeping out of me as he continues to thrust lazily. My inner thighs are slick with it.

He groans my name like a prayer.

I don’t let those three little words slip out.

But they’re right there, waiting, on the tip of my tongue.