Page 22 of The Boy Next Door

How do I end up in Hunter Cruse's bedroom?

As the weather turns colder, so does the mood at home, though it has nothing to do with winter. I spend time with Hunter, get busy with schoolwork, and receive two more acceptance letters from nearby schools, including Stillman University. Nothing from art schools yet.

Mom is still adamant I see things her way.

She starts talking about setting up an interview at Steadfast for a scholarship, so I leave the house to get away from her.

I'm angry she won't let me make my own decisions.

.. and a little scared that maybe it's not everyone else who is wrong, maybe it's me.

.. but Hunter's home and he invites me inside since it's cold out and then…

We're alone in his room. In Hunter's bedroom.

Avoiding the bed with the dark-colored comforter, I view the band posters that have been in his room for years.

I know they aren't new because there's still a few boxes he hasn't unpacked yet.

And one stretch of space is completely empty, not even a discarded shirt on the floor, nothing touches the place his drums should go.

"Why did you leave your drums behind?" I ask while standing in the middle of the room, unsure where to go.

He shrugs as he shuts the door. "Only the important stuff came back with me."

Since I can't think about a closed door in Hunter's bedroom, I hold up an item from his nightstand. "Like this?"

"Actually, uh." He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. "I'm glad I packed that."

The small balloon animal figurine is a metallic magenta color, meant to resemble a dog that clowns twist into shape with a single balloon. It's cute, silly, and totally out of place in his otherwise simple and slightly punk/grunge room.

"This matters to you?"

"Yeah..." he reaches toward me to grab the figurine.

I twist away. "It reminds you of your first dream to be a circus clown?"

"No, clowns scare the hell out of me." His mouth tightens, but I'm not about to drop the subject, so he's forced to continue.

"I never even got a balloon animal or one of those balloon swords, which always seemed pretty cool.

That's what Mom said when she bought this for me, that it's about time I got a balloon animal.

" He nods to the object in my hands. "This is my first."

"Oh." I look down at the dumb thing. It has no eyes to look back. "Uh, what?"

"Housewarming gift, I guess. She figured five teenage guys weren't going to think about decoration, and we couldn't keep a plant alive."

"Wow." It hits me I'm holding something of sentimental value to Hunter in my hands. Without his drums, it's maybe the only item he cares about in his room... unless I count?

"Don't make a big deal," he groans.

"You love your mommy!" I ignore his request, making a huge deal.

"Hey!" he steps toward me.

I dart around him. "You still have her little pink present because it warms your little pink heart."

"Shut up."

Turning the tables and flustering him feels so rewarding, even if he's sorta chasing me around his room to get me to stop, and it's all fun and games at first. I laugh and he scowls, but I've seen him grouchy enough times to know he's not really angry. He corners me and I try to escape.

"Gotcha," he says, two arms wrapping around my waist from behind.

I struggle, he holds on, and somehow I'm free for a second before he catches me again. This time, we tumble onto his bed.

We're together on his bed.

Our eyes lock and his body over mine isn't the only reason I'm suddenly a few thousand degrees hotter. Time seems to freeze as we realize where we are and our position. All the breath evaporates from my lungs, the tension in the air entirely sexual.

There's not much space between our lips. When the distance closes, the stillness shatters, and we're kissing. His hand cups the side of my face as his mouth works, changing the angle of our faces, and everything slots together, just right and hot as hell.

I groan, his tongue and hands are everywhere, oh god. I'm going to die, the sizzling sensation in all the million places our bodies are touching is going to fry me alive.

Instead of pushing him away, my hands clutch at his back, drawing him closer.

His fingers are under my shirt, brushing the bare skin above my jeans, and my body jolts into his. And then our lower halves grind together, which feels amazingly awesome... and a tad terrifying. But the terrific feeling chases away the fear.

Hunter pulls back, placing his palm against the center of my chest.

"Maybe we should stop," he whispers. "Or…"

Or, or what? I don't know whether he means to stop there on purpose and drive me wild or cuts off there to avoid continuing in case I'm not on board.

"Or?" I ask.

"It's okay if you need to take a moment or slow down."

This is a great time to take a breath and evaluate the situation. To slow down or stop entirely and let sanity prevail. But he's on top of me, everything smells like him, and either the blue in his eyes is indistinguishable or it's gone, and his eyes are all pupil.

What happens next isn't even really a choice. It's natural. Why did nobody mention this before? Boldness is easier when there's so much lust in the room and you're ready to explode with desire.

"I want you," I breathe.

"What?" His body goes still.

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to say? It's true. I want you. Hunter, I want yo—"

Time moves into hyperdrive, and it's still not fast enough, because I need, I don't even know, but more of him.

There isn't enough Hunter, and he makes the best noise when I accidentally bite the skin under his left ear, so I do it again.

His groan shakes through me, making me dizzy as he crushes his lips to mine.

We barely even stop kissing to breathe. Everything is hot, molten lava hot, and no other thoughts exist, nothing exists outside of this room.

Not quite as innocent and pearl-clutching as my friends think, there were a few reasons I had virtually no experience with boys before.

One, my huge crush on the neighbor who was always just out of reach.

Then there was how to get my act together and not be a tongue-tied loser who over thought every little interaction.

I feared getting close to someone else would be a minefield of anxieties.

But Hunter makes it easy to stop thinking and just feel. Feel his hair against my fingers, feel the muscles of his stomach, and feel everything he does to me, how I moan into his mouth and wordlessly beg for more.

Our shirts are off, his jeans are unbuttoned, and we aren’t planning on stopping anytime soon when—when Dylan and Clay burst into the room.