Chapter Seven

Valen

“It’s so fucking awkward,” I whine, stretching my arms over my head. The sheets smell like sex. My sofa smells like sex. My bathroom has leaky come drips all over the tile floor, and my pussy is thoroughly punished and still aching for more of Hutch’s cock. He wasn’t lying when he said his dick was better than Vince. Vince doesn’t have abs, or delicious balls, or a mouth that speaks dirty things as he comes down my throat.

Hutch groans. “It’s just meeting my friends for dinner.” His married friends. Or those with long-term girlfriends. I huff out a frustrated breath. He continues, “You’re my girlfriend now. As if my seed seeping from every orifice of your fucking body didn’t alert you to that fun fact.” My ass puckers. “Want more? You know I’m good for a fourth round tonight if you can handle it. I’ll never get sick of fucking you.”

Hutch is standing in the bathroom, back lit by a low lamp in my room. He is stark naked, brushing his teeth. His ass is shaped like a Greek Gods, and his back muscles actually flex as he works his toothbrush across his teeth. I lose myself in thought, wondering how that’s physically possible. He’s waiting for my answer. “Will those friends be there?” I stumble out.

He turns then, to face me—his cock hanging between his muscular legs. Pausing his brushing he says, “Those friends don’t have significant others. Obviously. People you haven’t met yet. It’s imperative you meet them if you want any kind of future with me.” Well, at least the friends I’ve slept with won’t be there.

Closing my eyes, I envision their scrutiny, but having Hutch for my own cancels out any reservations I have. “I’ll go. But we need a code word. If I say it you have to excuse us for some random emergency.”

He turns around to spit into the sink and then prowls back to my bed. “A safe word?” His smile is beatific.

Rolling my eyes, I explain, “A not safe word. Meaning I want to leave and if we don’t you won’t be safe from my wrath.”

“And I get to fuck you in the parking lot?”

My pussy clenches. Will it ever not want his cock? My mind is clear, my goddamn lady boner is a heat seeking missile only wanting more, more, more. “Maybe,” I deadpan, opening my legs to give him a view of his new favorite pastime.

He clears his throat. “I’m not sure it’s healthy. How much I want you plays a factor in most of my daily decisions. The vision of you, just like this, pops into my head almost constantly. I worry for the safety of the nation,” he says, rounding the bed to place a hand on either of my knees.

“You’re joking.” I say, bringing my knees together to close his view.

With little force, he separates them again and leans down to kiss my inner thigh and then my clit. “I’m sort of joking,” he amends.

Laughing I slide up the bed to rest my head on the pillow. “Come to bed. We need to sleep. I have a trip tomorrow too.”

His body stiffens. “Where are you going?”

At his terse tenor I sit up. “A work trip. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I mean, you can do whatever you want. Why didn’t you mention it before?”

I shrug, and lay back against the headboard. “I go on trips pretty frequently. You caught me on a slow month. I have to meet an IT guy. My client merged with another company and they want me to work with him.” Hazards of my job. Most of the force is comprised of men. “It’s a couple days, I think.”

He crawls into bed and pulls the sheet up to his chest—sex all but forgotten. “I’m feeling a little bereft here. You were about to eat me out thirty seconds ago and now you want to sleep?”

He laughs, rolls toward me and presses a kiss into my shoulder. “I leave tomorrow, too. It was your idea to get some sleep.”

It was. What a horrible idea at that. He’s leaving for an entire week and I’ll be left with clean sheets and no dick. More importantly, no him. Falling for Hutch was easy. The sexual chemistry was on point from the word go. We mesh so well, it was a seamless transition from single, white, horny bitch to a couple status with Hutch. He told his parents we are dating, and tonight as proof, his friends know. I’m invited to a dinner next weekend.

His breathing evens out and I know he’s sleeping. Hutch always falls asleep before I do, and it leaves me alone with my thoughts. His arm wraps across my waist and he hugs me close—almost like a child would hug a teddy bear. It’s endearing, and more intimate than sex. It means a whole hell of a lot more, that’s for sure. This is us doing life together instead of doing each other.

This is what I’ve dreamed of, it’s the exact scenario I would have outlined for myself had I the foresight to know what would make me happiest. It’s hard to force myself into a place where I’m able to push all naiveté aside and exist amidst this perfection without a care in the world.

Then again, I’m only human and no one is without flaws. I’ve yet to figure Hutch’s out. Surely, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t own any.

Surely.

****

My trip was cancelled last minute. Something about the man flu, and vomit and pansy men who don’t know how to life when they have a sniffle. I can’t complain too much because it worked out to my benefit. I got to see Greer for an entire day, mid-week. The traffic was horrible, but as always, I left her house feeling like a new woman. I swear it had nothing to do with the in-house massage, or the bag of designer clothing she forced into my arms before I left. Famous people get so much free shit.

We talked work and high-school friends. We talked men and recipes. We talked the most about Hutch. She made the executive decision that this was going to be it for me—the man that would capture not only my pussy, but my heart. She said I had a glow and I wasn’t being the ice-cold bitch I usually am. Greer says that with the kindest heart and with the utmost care. She would never lie or do anything to upset me, and vice versa. Maybe telling each other brutal truths counts as being mean, but isn’t that what best friends are for?

She agreed to meet with Hutch’s friend Baz on one condition. That she gets to be present when I tell Hutch how deep my feelings for him run. An odd request by most people’s standards, but perfectly normal for Greer Sinclair. Her Grandmamma, bless her soul, used to tell everyone Greer had another sense. The sense of heart. She was able to tell a lie from a truth, and a traitor from a friend in an eye blink. That old southern woman sounded like a bat-shit crazy fanatic at the time, but I believe she was right.

I’m sitting at my desk in the spare bedroom finagling code on one of the computer monitors. I have on an overpriced sweatshirt courtesy of Greer and no pants. My yellow glasses, which help my eyes after hours upon hours spent in front of a blue screen, are leaving indents on my nose. I worked out before I came home, so my hair is piled on top of my head in a bun the size of Texas. It makes perfect sense Hutch would video call me right now.

The ringer startles me as it’s not the normal chime, it’s the video call ringtone. I grab it quickly and slam the green button to silence the disturbance as quickly as possible. It’s not until I’ve already accepted that I realize what he’s about to see.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whisper, tossing the glasses onto my desk. I rub the bridge of my nose to no avail. I’ll look like I’ve had ski goggles on for twenty-four hours straight. His smile pops up on my screen and I face the camera toward the ceiling.

“Why are you video calling me? It’s the same thing as stopping by in the middle of a work day. What did I tell you about that?”

“That you don’t have on pants. Am I right, or am I right? Let me see your pretty face,” Hutch says. I see the upholstered headboard behind him. He’s in his hotel room. “The lack of pants isn’t even on my radar.” He waggles both brows seductively. “Though I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to show me. As proof, of course.”

Sighing, I center the damn camera on my face. “I’ve been working. I don’t have on any makeup. I was at Greer’s house all day, and then the gym, and now I’m logging the hours so I can go out to lunch with my friends tomorrow instead of being squirrelled away inside my house.” I prattle on, and realize how petulant and vain I sound, but I can do nothing to stop it. Here I am. In all my fucking glory.

“You look beautiful, baby. That’s all I wanted to see. Your face.” If he doesn’t stop, I’ll blush from my toes up to the top of my head. “It would make it even more arousing if you’d smile.” That gets me. Grinning, I take the phone with me to the living room where there’s more light.

“Sounds like you had a nice day,” he says, sighing as he tucks a hand behind his head. He’s shirtless and tan, and his glorious muscles take up most of the screen. Mentally, I chastise myself for being unable to write code to travel across time and space.

I pull my lower lip between two fingers. “I did. It was great to see Greer. I miss her all the time.” My conversation with her from earlier bubbles back, and I’m feeling gun shy. Does he know I have feelings for him? He says he can read people, but can he tell I’m keeping this from him? Greer reads hearts, can he read minds? “You look tired. How was your day?” I turn the conversation around.

“Ah. It was a long one I was up before the sun rose to jump out of airplanes. I need a nap. Almost dying ten times really takes it out of ya’.” My eyes widen. “I was perfectly safe, Valen.” Hutch knows I need reassurance because of how I look. Fuck, he is good at reading people.

Clearing my throat, I lean back. “Obviously. I don’t know how you can do it more than once a day. There is no way I could ever do that.” The risks I take are rarely more dangerous than wearing a bold red lip during day light hours.

He laughs. “You could. And you’d live. It’s second nature for me now—like walking, or chewing. If I only did it once per day, it wouldn’t be second nature and I wouldn’t be able to perfect it when need be.” The smile falls from his face and we’ve officially crossed into work territory. A place he holds close—afraid to scare me away with too many details.

“You remember why I was attracted to you to begin with, right?” Grinning, I lick my lips. “You can talk about work with me, Hutch. I’m not some frail flower who is going to wilt.” It’s debatable. There was this one time at summer camp, Josie McClure tripped in our bunk and hit her mouth on the edge of a bed. Blood was everywhere. I raised her blood and added my own vomit. Our cabin counselor was traumatized and we spent most of the afternoon cleaning up gross body fluids. I like to think I wilted that day, so I’d never embarrass myself that horribly, again.

Hutch leans his head to the side, and averts his beautiful green gaze from the screen. “You say that, but you really have no idea. I get back on Friday. You ready for dinner out that night?”

“Subject change level: expert,” I exclaim, holding up one finger to make a check mark in the air by my face. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. We’re meeting with Greer Saturday. Are you ready for that? Baz can come if you tell him to act civilized.”

“I wasn’t changing the subject. Leaving you for long periods of time…makes me nervous. That’s what I feel when you ask me about my job.”

“But skydiving doesn’t make you nervous? Now I’m questioning your sanity. You understand how it doesn’t make sense at all? I’m fine by myself. Look,” I bring the camera up close to my face. “I don’t have to wear makeup.” Standing I walk back into the office and reverse the camera to show him the computer setup with multiple screens. “I have more than enough work to occupy me.” The yellow lens glasses are sitting there so I slide them on my face and show him the work Valen. “And who would want this anyways?” Crossing my eyes, I stick out my tongue and make a gagging noise. “Mind blowing geekiness, really.”

“You’d be surprised who wants that,” he replies. Simple words. Honest words. They make my heart flutter with suspense. He feels the same way about me. My fear is that everything happened so fast and furious that there’s no way love could take hold, let alone anything that sticks. Maybe Greer is right. “I want that. I want to keep that. Being away for long periods makes that difficult.”

“You can keep something without having it in front of you.”

“How,” he asks, swallowing hard. We’re encroaching on shaky territory. That weird place where emotions meet practicality and the discussion must be had. “I’ve never been able to figure that out.” I sit down in my high-backed computer chair and remove the dick blockers from my face.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Why can’t this be a normal fucking voice phone call? He can see my face. He’s watching it intently—gauging my every blink, twitch, and eyelash flutter. I can’t hide from my feelings, and now I can’t hide from him. I lick my lips and pull my knees up to my chest. “Trust.”

His eyes widen, and he nods. “You’re right.”

My eyes water and I damn myself for taking off the glasses. “It’s simple and it’s probably the most complicated lesson anyone learns. Can you trust me?” I ask. My voice warbles a little.

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“Do you want me to trust you?” he asks. “Once I trust you, that’s it. You have me.”

I blow out a breath. “I want you to have me.”

Hutch presses his lips into a firm, hard line. I know he does this when he’s trying to make a decision. The thing with his decisions is that they’re final and fast. Once he calls it, that’s it. With my personality, I can’t fathom the way his mind works. How can you possibly weigh all of the different possibilities and outcomes in a short amount of time? “You’re mine,” he says. “It’s settled.”

Smiling, I prop my chin on my knee. “Do you want me to trust you?”

“That would be fair,” he says, swallowing, switching the phone from one hand to another. “Trust for trust.”

“That wasn’t quite a yes or no. Do you want to tell me something? I know we haven’t talked about our pasts.” Divorce. Divorce. Divorce. The dirty d word that has the potential to tell me everything I never wanted to know.

He laughs. And it makes me uneasy. You know how some people laugh to cover a lie? This reeks of a cover up cackle. “You didn’t answer me,” I edge, trying to keep my voice casual.

He shakes his head, sobering from his chuckling. “There’s nothing I need to tell you.” After a long pregnant pause, he says, “Will you take your sweatshirt off now?”

The things I should say run through my mind, but my hands are quicker. I prop the phone up on the desk and lift the soft, thick hem and pull it over my head. I’m wearing a dark purple thong and nothing else. My head is cut off on the camera, so just my body is on display. Hutch whoops in delight. “I didn’t think you’d be game. This video call was officially the best idea I’ve had all day long.”

“I’m full of surprises,” I reply. “Although, saving your own life by way of parachute may have been the best idea you’ve had today. If we’re being honest.” I’m glad he can’t see my face now—the fierce unsettling feeling has probably taken over my features. I run my hands down the length of my body, grazing the sides of my waist and my thighs. Tucking my thumbs into the strings of my panties I tease them down a touch, but roll them back up quickly.

I watch his face while as I move—sway to some indiscernible beat inside my head. His gaze is intent—eyes narrowed, his lips slightly parted. Turning sideways I lift my arms over my head and continue the soft, sensuous moves. When I’ve turned toward the back wall and my ass is on full display for Hutch, I bend over, slide my panties down to my knees and spread my legs.

Peeking over my shoulder I watch his features change as he gets the full pink stink all up in his face. “I’m not sure what I’ve ever done to deserve this, but thank you, God.” He looks up to the ceiling and then back at me.

“You’re welcome,” I tease, keeping my face out of his view. Hutch groans, a sexually frustrated roar and props his own phone up on a pillow. I’m graced with a full shot of his body. He’s fucking naked. Bare assed on the creamy beige duvet. “You were expecting to have video chat sex, you dog!” I tease.

He clears his throat, but wraps a large hand around his dick. Everything below my waist clenches with desire. “I’m always naked in hotel rooms. Why dirty clothes? I’m in for the night. I’m by myself, and I’m going to bed early. After I jack off looking at you, of course.”

I widen my eyes. “You’re going to sleep naked without me?”

He laughs. I straighten, but keep my ass facing my cell phone. “That’s what you’re concerned about?” he barks.

“What? Should I comment on the fact you’re jacking off to the sight of me? Seems kind of common place, don’t you think?” I smirk, even though he can’t see me. “You prude,” I finish. Now, I’m taunting him—poking the bear with a long stick. I know exactly what needs to happen for Hutch to switch over into his sex-beast mode. The dominant provoked, the sexual aggressor popping in to say ‘hi.’ Unfortunately, I can’t benefit from that side of his personality in person today.

“Bend over and show me your pussy. Spread your ass cheeks. I want to see everything.” This is my chance to control the sexual situation. I haven’t held this much control yet, and I like it. I also sort of don’t want to be in this situation right now. “Now,” Hutch commands, reminding me that while I’m over here contemplating my plan of attack, he’s on the other side of the United States, waiting for me to give him a goddamn show.

“Like this,” I ask, shimmying to one side and then the other. I don’t stop until my panties are down by my ankles. I flick the lacy material off and the purple skank trappers land on top of one of my computer monitors. The idea hits me like a drunk husband, wearing a wife beater, in a rural town in Georgia. “I know what you need.”

Hutch starts working his cock good and fast. I hear the skin sliding against his palm. His breaths come quicker and I love that sound. It’s my personal brand of aphrodisiac I’d choose every single time. “What do I need? Touch yourself,” he grinds out in between clenched teeth.

I bend a little more to put my palms on my thighs and then I twerk. Not the kind of twerk you see in rap videos, either. I’m talking white girl twerking. The kind that happens behind closed doors when you ask your best friend if it’s good enough to show the boyfriend. They tell you ‘no’ and then you practice in the mirror trying to pop your ass.

I keep my gaze focused on the back window, because I know if I’ll see his face I’ll laugh and I want him to think I’m being serious. Jerking my ass to the best of my ability, I try to get it to defy gravity with quick thrusts, but it stays where it’s supposed to, or at least I think it does.

“Are you okay?” Hutch asks, his voice muffled by the speaker of my cell phone. “I mean, I’m not sure how to ask about your well-being right now without offending you.” The silence from his end is what alerts me to the fact he’s stopped jerking off.

Miley has nothing on me right now. “You like that?” I ask, while simultaneously shaking my ass to make it move in something that resembles a twerk.

“I’m not sure what I’m looking at,” he says. I stifle a laugh.

Turning, I look at him, hands on my hips, out of breath. Trying to twerk should be a cardio class at the gym. I bet I’d burn more calories than assaulting the stair climber. I kneel in front of my desk, so my face is on full display. “What? I’m not good at twerking?”

Hutch clears his throat, and adjusts the camera so his cock is out of view and it’s aimed on his face. “You have other things you’re more skilled at,” he states.

I blow a stray hair out of my face. “Twerking to me is what lying is to you,” I deadpan.

The awkward smile drops from his face. “I’m not lying to you. Surely you didn’t need to go that far to prove a point. Especially because I’ll end up with blue balls.”

I nod. “I did have to go that far. How horribly awkward was that for you? For me?”

Hutch chuckles, and closes his eyes. “What do you want, Valen? Cut to the chase.”

I swallow, and lift my chin. “I want an Honest War.”