The Hunter

“Suck it,” he said simply.

I opened my mouth and took him in, feeling embarrassed and gratified as a result. I was breaking my own word—from only five minutes ago—because it felt good. Well, maybe not technically. I wasn’t the one on my knees for him. He’d leveled up with my face. But those were just semantics.

I wondered who the hell I was anymore.

“Coming in your mouth now,” he said before I even had a chance to suck. I realized going down on me alone had gotten him off. I gave him a slight nod, feeling his hand fisting my hair, guiding my head the way he wanted it while he came between my lips. Hot, thick liquid slid down my throat smoothly. I tasted it, salty and warm and sticky.

Hunter pulled his cock out of my mouth and put his thumb inside of it instead, swiping it over my coated tongue. He took the residue of his cum and used it to rub my cheek. Marking me. He tucked himself back in with his free hand.

“See, baby? One-hundred-percent domesticated. I may be a hunter, Sailor, but I think in your case, I’d like to keep you as a temporary pet.”

“I hate you,” I said quietly, feeling so hot with shame I wanted to explode.

He stood up, turned around, and waved his hand dismissively, his back to me as he walked out of the bathroom.

“You know, I’d have probably bought it if it wasn’t for my pussy breath. Also, you’re welcome for the protein shot.”



It was a combination of many things that landed me at the mall.

First, Junsu was giving me two cold shoulders as my one injured shoulder was recovering. I took physical therapy every day with Dave, the guy Hunter had hooked me up with. I also got my shots and avoided heavy lifting, but Junsu’s irritation only grew. If anything, he was now dodging my calls and always busy when I came to the range. I gathered he wasn’t happy with the Fitzpatricks’ involvement in my career. I couldn’t fully blame him. Stray dogs weren’t loyal, and Hunter was as hungry as they come. Not to mention, his reputation alone would make Scott Disick look like salt of the Earth.

Since I’d gotten a second opinion from another doctor as promised—which matched the initial diagnosis about my shoulder—I chalked Junsu’s behavior up to a bruised ego and decided to give him a few days to chill.

Second of all, there was my dire fashion situation. I was getting more interviews and attending photoshoots, now that Crystal was pushing me around, and I preferred to do it in clothes that didn’t imply I was missing both my eyesight and common sense.

The third reason was, sadly, Hunter. I didn’t want to consider him a factor, but the truth was, I wanted to impress him. I wanted him to think I was pretty, to make him forget about the Emilys and Alices of the world.

Okay, if I was being completely honest, the transformation was ninety percent Hunter-related and ten percent about the mounting attention from the press and my excess of free time. But that wasn’t something I was eager to share with another living soul. It could be mine and my (obviously absent) brain’s secret.

So here we were, Aisling, Persy, Emmabelle, and I, armed with pumpkin spice lattes even though summer temperatures were clinging to Boston’s fall months for dear life, refusing to retreat, carrying our shopping bags.

I’d purchased an entire training wardrobe of tight black pants that were as comfy as yoga pants, but looked sleek and elegant, like cigar pants. My bland, snug shirts had been replaced with cropped, trendy tops featuring lace and patterns and carefully cut designs, and I’d also been successfully bullied into buying a few cute dresses I had no doubt I’d never wear.

I’d sworn to my friends that I’d throw away what they referred to as my “boner-killing” wardrobe—mainly yoga pants that had seen more washes than Michael Phelps’ swim trunks and hoodies that were so frayed, they seemed to have created more sleeves for themselves. To drive the point home, my friends had decided to accompany me to my apartment. They wanted to see for themselves that I got rid of my old clothes.

“Know what would be rad?” Emmabelle stopped everything as we were on our way out of the mall. The only thing I could think of was, to get out of here. I wasn’t going to be that party pooper, though.

“Getting a new shoulder?” I asked wistfully.

“Cupcakes!” wholesome Persy exclaimed.

“Flight lessons,” Aisling suggested shyly, covering her mouth with her cup of joe.

We were beginning to detect a rebellious streak in our little gazillionaire friend. It made me like having her around even more. Plus, her being here made the decision not to confide in my friends about getting eaten by Hunter Fitzpatrick like an all-you-can-eat buffet fairly easy. After all, Aisling was a member of his immediate family, which would make the revelation that I’d made out with her brother twice:

Gross beyond friendship repair

Dangerous



What if Aisling decided to tell her parents? Or her other brother, Cillian? In fact, she needn’t even tell her family for it to be a disaster. If by chance someone found out Hunter and I had been admiring each other’s tonsils with our tongues, and knew Aisling was privy to that information, she would take the heat for not telling her family. It was a lose-lose situation.

“Sailor should get a haircut,” Emmabelle emphasized the suggestion by snipping the air with her fingers.

I shook my head vehemently.