I should move. I know I should, but I just can't. My BCBGs are pasted to the rug as my whole body heats to a boil.
Hunter is in there. I know that moan.
He moans again, and I hear a strangled "no" from low down in his throat. My body slumps against the door as my pulse dances. Sweat blooms on every inch of me. I can't swallow or breathe as the woman whispers something in an enticing alto voice, and Hunter's baritone voice purrs, "Such a bitch."
"You're the bitch," she laughs, and I hear the smack of a hand on skin. She moans like she's turned on, and I imagine Hunter's golden hair around his tiger face, the sexy curve of his lips as another slap rings through the room and the woman laughs again, high-pitched and off-key like the whinny of a horse.
Holy crap.
His release is rough, too. I can easily imagine his hips swinging, his ass tightening as he pumps into her from behind. His moan is guttural, almost a grunt. It sounds like pain but I know it must be pleasure.
“Jesus,” the woman pants. “You're worth the trouble. Really, Hunter...what a f**king stud.”
I listen with my heart in my throat, but Hunter is silent as the woman makes a little mewling sound. I can hear the shuffling sound of fabric over bodies, but there are no words—just the woman's panting.
A second later and there's heavy footfall, followed by the low squeal of a closing door.
"Jesus," the raspy, female voice whispers.
Looking down at my hand on the doorknob, I realize there's a key hole and I peek through it, getting a fleeting glimpse of Priscilla Heat in her red taffeta gown. Hunter has left her there with swollen lips and wild hair, examining her manicure as she leans on one of the ivy-covered columns framing a sunken tub.
Hunter—well-mannered, charming Hunter—slapped her ass, bruised her lips, and then he left her there. For some reason, that does crazy things to me: the image of Hunter, pulling down his expensive trousers and taking out his cock. Quick, rough sex, and then he's gone.
I imagine the bulge in his crotch as he struts out the door of the bathroom, and I'm so turned on I can't think straight.
I glance behind me and, seeing no one, stumble farther down the hallway. I'm weaving like a drunk, and I am drunk: drunk on pent-up lust and yes, a heady, girlish crush. I stumble past a row of dark wood doors, stopping for a breath when I reach a bend in the hall.
I lean against the burgundy wallpaper, shocked by the intensity of my arousal. Every breath only steepens my desire. I think about how long it's been since I took care of myself. I've been busy studying for finals, so I guess it's been about a week. As I stand there, aching, I look down the remainder of the hall and notice there are no doors beyond the one I just passed. The hall turns to the right and leads around to the massive foyer, if I'm correct about where I am.
I glance left and right again. No one is around. I can't even hear the string band playing in the great room, where the party is. I take a deep, shaky breath. Then I grab the handle of the door behind me. It's taller and wider than the others, and to my surprise, it gives when I turn the knob and push.
Blinded by a haze of lust, I sail into the room, flaps of emerald silk flying around me, my hand already reaching between my legs.
Through my mental fog, I notice the vastness of the bedroom. My eyes slide over the flames blooming in a marble fireplace and I spot a tasseled pillow tossed haphazardly, inches from the fire. My attention settles on the bed; it's huge, with four mahogany posts and a deep green bedspread that matches my gown almost perfectly. I dimly note a surprising lack of pillows, just before I trip on one. I glance down at my feet, surprised to find I am standing in a sea of pillows. I glance around, still panting, and notice a broken mirror hanging beside a small armoire.
I'm confused and, for a second, worried, but another glance around the room reveals nothing else out of the ordinary. I assume someone has used the room for a party quickie. That turns me on even more, and I rush back to the door, locking it behind me before striding back to the bed.
It's ridiculous. I'm still blazing hot. I feel full and restless. Desperate. I know what I need. I've never done this outside my bedroom, but Hunter West does something strange to me, so I'm not entirely surprised—nor am I inclined to stifle my desire. I'm a grown woman, and God knows I'm the only one with a say-so in my sex life. Why not do what I want? Ten minutes, and I'll be back out in the hall, feeling a lot more level-headed. It's win-win.
I grin as I scoot up onto the mattress, inhaling the sweet scent of leather and cologne as I lean back on the only remaining pillow. Sweaty and trembling, I part my legs and reach under my gown. My fingers have just found their mark when a shadow rises from the floor space on the other side of the bed.
Chapter Two
~ELIZABETH~
Hunter is shirtless and sweat-slicked, with dark eyes and a twisted mouth. He wipes his forehead, squinting, and speaks in a voice that sounds strangely far away. "Is that you, Libby?"
I can't speak. I can't even move for the longest moment. When I find my voice, I sound like I'm choking. "Libby? N-no."
Oh dear God, he's beautiful. I am in awe of his shoulders. His pecs. My heart is racing, and under my gown, I quiver in response to—well, it must be pheromones. I have the urge to grab his arms and pull him down beside me on the bed. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut.
Oh God. I'm done. I was an outcast before, but my old crowd will really slay me now.
Slowly I lift my eyelids, finding Hunter closer; he's leaning over the mattress, the weight of his gorgeous upper body propped on his thick arms. His face softens when his eyes meet mine, and he nods slightly. "Yes it is."
I have no idea what he's talking about anymore, because my brain has turned to soup. I'm all glowing, glittering sensation as his green gaze sweeps me from toes to crown. His brows are slightly gathered, his mouth still tight. Firelight illuminates his face, so I can see the exact moment he realizes what I've been doing. His torso stiffens as his hands, pressed against the mattress, curl into big fists. He makes a low, approving sound and speaks in a voice that sounds like molten lava.
"That’s so sexy."
I look down at my hand, still tangled in my gown. "It is?" I search his face.
"Oh, yeah. Hell yeah." He's on the bed with me that next second, his gym-ripped body licked by the glow of flames. I gasp when he grabs my hips and turns me toward him. His eyes are flaring, and I expect him to let go of my fleshy hips. I'm already recoiling, hating myself for humiliating myself in front of this man. Instead he pulls me closer, locking both hands around my big ass and squeezing.