Page 35 of Vital Signs (Wayward Sons #7)

I yanked Hunter through the parking lot. I needed to erase Wright's voice, Roche's touch, every memory that wasn't him.

"Misha, slow down," Hunter said, stumbling behind me. "Where the hell are we going?"

I didn't answer. My skin crawled with phantom sensations of Roche's camera and their hands positioning me like a doll.

No. Not again. Never again.

I shoved through the side door, dragging Hunter upstairs and into my bedroom. I locked the door behind us.

"Are we fighting or not?" Hunter asked, face flushed, breathing fast. "Because I'm starting to get mixed signals."

I stalked toward him, stopping inches away to breathe him in. Soap. Cigarettes. Hunter. Real and solid and mine. "Take off your clothes."

His eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"You heard me."

Hunter's confusion morphed into understanding, then hunger. His eyes darkened as he studied my face. "Still pissed at me?"

"Yes."

"Your solution is sex?"

"Also yes."

A slow smile spread across his face. "You want to fuck the anger away."

I stepped closer, my hand shooting out to grab his throat. Not squeezing, just holding. My thumb pressed against his racing pulse. "I want to erase everything but this. Right now."

"Then take what you need," he said, his voice rough against my ear.

He raised his arms, allowing me to yank his shirt roughly over his head. God, he was so sexy. Even after the drugs, the weight loss… It was impossible to keep my hands off of him.

My eyes caught on his DNR tattoo. He caught my wrist and pressed my palm against it. Permission.

I tossed his shirt aside and moved lower. My hands went to his belt, fingers clumsy with renewed urgency as I unbuckled it, unzipped his jeans, and shoved them down his legs.

"Bed," I ordered, pushing against his chest.

Hunter stumbled backward, hitting the mattress and falling onto his back. I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. His pupils expanded, eyes dark with hunger.

"Fuck, Misha," he breathed. "What's gotten into you?"

"Shut up," I growled, biting his lip as I kissed him hard.

The kiss was rough and claiming, without an ounce of kindness. Copper flooded my mouth as I licked into him. My free hand tangled in his hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. His body bucked beneath me, his cock rock hard against my ass through the thin fabric of his boxers.

I ground down, the friction making us both groan. His wrists strained against my grip, testing my strength rather than truly fighting it. I released him only to tear at my own clothes, buttons flying as I ripped my shirt open.

Hunter's hands flew to my hips, fingers digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks as I rocked against him. "Christ, you're sexy when you're angry."

"I said shut up."

I leaned down to bite his collarbone, sinking my teeth in until he hissed in pain. He tasted like salt, his pulse hammering beneath my tongue as I sucked hard. When I pulled back, a fresh bruise darkened his skin.

My jeans joined his on the floor, followed quickly by our underwear. His cock pressed against my stomach, thick and leaking. I wrapped my hand around it, squeezing hard enough to make his breath catch.

"Fuck, Misha," he groaned, head slamming back against the pillows. "You're gonna kill me."

I stroked him once, twice, watching his face contort with pleasure.

He groaned, body tensing. "Wait—fuck—"

And then he came without warning, hot ropes of cum spilling over my fist and his stomach.

His eyes flew wide, mouth dropping open in a silent 'oh' of surprise.

A deep crimson flush spread across his cheeks and down his neck as his eyes darted away from mine, jaw clenching tight enough to make a muscle jump beneath the stubble.

"Shit," he gasped, covering his face with one arm. "I didn't mean to—and you were so—Christ, I'm sorry."

It stunned me. The sheer humanity of the moment jolted me back into my body. The world suddenly snapped into focus after hours of disconnection.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

Hunter peeked through his fingers. "You laughing at me?"

"Not at you," I managed between giggles, wiping tears from my eyes. "With you. This is... perfect. You're perfect."

"I just came in ten seconds flat. That's not exactly a stellar performance."

Another round of laughter escaped me.

Then silence fell between us. Hunter watched me, his expression changing to something guarded and braced, as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For mockery. For judgment. For me to use this vulnerability against him.

I reached out, cupping his face in my palm. "Hey," I whispered, all laughter gone. "It's okay."

His eyes met mine, uncertainty still lingering there. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone. "I'll take it as a compliment."

The tension in his shoulders eased. "Fuck you," he growled, but a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "It's been two days, and withdrawal's made me oversensitive. Plus, you were grinding on me like a demon."

I collected myself, though occasional giggles still escaped. "Oh, mon loup. The big bad wolf has a hair trigger."

I lifted my hand to my mouth, maintaining eye contact as I slowly licked his cum from my fingers. His eyes widened, pupils dilating again as he watched my tongue curl around each digit. "Mmm. At least you taste good."

His embarrassment shifted to determination. "Give me ten minutes and I'll show you who's got a hair trigger."

I raised an eyebrow, sliding off him to recline against the pillows. "I’ll hold you to it."

The levity faded as reality crept back in.

"What if this is all we get?" I asked quietly. "What if our plan doesn’t work? What if Wright wins?"

Hunter's arms tightened around me. "He won’t."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I believe in you. In your family." His certainty steadied me. "We've survived worse odds."

I closed my eyes and cringed at the sound of Wright and Roche’s voices bleeding into the moment. Fuck you. Fuck you both. Get the fuck out of my life, and the fuck out of my head.

"Misha?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I studied him sprawled across my bed, this man who'd fought the world his entire life yet had just surrendered to pleasure so completely in my hands.

The power of that realization washed over me, displacing the echoes of Wright and Roche with something more immediate, more visceral.

This was what I needed. I craved not just physical release but control. The ability to make choices. To have someone trust me enough to surrender when I needed it most.

I sat up straighter. "You wanted to come fast? Cool. Now lie down. Face down."

Hunter froze. His eyes widened. "Face down?"

"You don't have to," I said softly, giving him an out. “If this is a hard limit…”

"It’s not," he said, voice rough. "Just... don't make me regret trusting you again."

The words carried weight beyond the bedroom. We both knew what he meant. This wasn't just about sex. It was about putting himself in my hands after I'd already broken that trust once before.

With a shaky exhale, he turned over. He rested his cheek against the pillow, eyes still on mine, exposed and open in a way that made my heart stutter.

"Like this?"

I couldn't speak for a moment. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the sight of him. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Hunter Song, willingly exposed and waiting for my command. My fingers trembled as I reached toward him, stopping just short of touching his skin.

"Perfect," I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just like that."

I reached out, my hand hovering just above his back. "If you want to stop at any point—"

"Will you?" Hunter cut in. "If I say stop, will you stop?"

The real question was clear: Would I respect his autonomy this time? Would I listen where I hadn't before?

"Yes," I promised. "Without hesitation. Your body, your choice. Always."

The tension I hadn't even noticed released from his shoulders. He nodded once, a small gesture that carried the force of absolution.

"I trust you," he said simply.

Three words that shouldn't have been possible, but were. After everything—the DNR violation, the forced withdrawal, the endless arguments—he was choosing to trust me again. With his body. With his boundaries. With parts of himself he'd kept guarded from everyone else.

I couldn't speak past the tightness in my throat. Instead, I placed my palm against his back, a gentle promise of my own.

"Arms above your head," I instructed softly. "Legs spread."

He complied immediately, positioning himself as instructed. The sight of strong, capable Hunter willingly making himself vulnerable for me sent a surge of power through my veins.

I noticed his eyes tracking my movements as I pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside lay an array of toys and supplies, neatly organized. I selected a bottle of lube, tossing it onto the bed beside Hunter's hip. His breath hitched at the sound, but he remained still, waiting.

I positioned myself behind him, hands gentle on his hips. "You're safe," I promised, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. "I've got you. We’ll take it slow."

His whole body shuddered beneath me, a soft groan escaping his lips. The tension in his muscles began to melt away as I continued my path of kisses back down his spine, taking my time, letting him experience my reverence for his body.

When I reached the curve of his ass, I spread him open. "Let me help you relax," I whispered before leaning in and tracing my tongue around his rim.

Hunter's entire body jerked, a strangled cry torn from his throat. "Fuck, Misha!"

"Too much?" I asked, pulling back slightly.

"No," he gasped, pushing back against me. "Please don't stop."

I smiled against his skin before diving back in, using my tongue to work him open with slow, deliberate circles. His thighs trembled under my tongue, caught between need and overstimulation.