Mixed Up Love Page 9
When we pull up to his house, I take in the houses that are side by side. The gray brick doesn’t really give it away except you see four windows, two on the top and two on the bottom. I get out of the car and wait for Hunter to meet me. “Welcome to my home.” He smiles.
Grabbing my hand, he walks me to his black front door. Using his thumb, he unlocks it. “Oh, that’s interesting,” I say, “for me to rob you, I have to cut off your finger.” I nod, smiling. “Good to know.” He pushes the door open, and I step in and stop in my tracks. I just stare because there are no lights on in the house, but you don’t need any lights because his whole back wall is windows, and all I can see is endless ocean.
“Come on,” he says with a smile, walking around me and pulling me in. The floor plan is completely open, so you see his dining room, living room, and kitchen.
The wall to the right is an all-white brick with the stairs leading to two doors upstairs. The railing is all glass. “This is breathtaking,” I say to him, putting my purse down on the table by the door.
“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,” he says, picking up a remote. He presses a button, and the whole wall of windows slowly opens, showing you the patio outside. The sound of waves is now filling the house. “Come with me.” He extends his hand to me. I grab it, our fingers linking together, and we walk outside to the deck or at least one of them.
There are three separate areas. The outside table is under what is an awning or looks like an awning, but when I walk more into the middle of the deck, I see it’s a balcony from upstairs. I look upstairs and see another deck, where I spot a hot tub and sitting area.
To my left is five steps up with a sun tanning section with two lounge chairs facing the beach, and then to my left three steps down is a sofa set. “This is almost like a vacation home,” I tell him, and he just puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs.
“I worked hard, so I thought why not splurge a little,” he tells me, and I just nod my head. “Do you want to eat out here?”
he asks me, and I just smile, nodding. “I’ll get you something to drink,” he says, going back inside. I watch him as he shrugs his jacket off and tosses it on a stool at the counter. He rolls up his sleeves and makes his way behind the counter. I turn back to look at the ocean and walk down the steps to the L-shaped outside sofa and sit down. The ottoman in the middle has two lanterns that are turned on. I watch the waves crash into the shore, waiting for him to come back, and when he does, it’s with two margaritas in his hands. He hands me the one with the lemon in it. “This one is yours.”
“Oh my gosh,” I say, grabbing the glass. “You have big shoes to fill. I haven’t gotten the taste of Guadalupe’s out of my head since last week.”
“Well, then I will say that she made these for me,” he tells me, and I look at him shocked. “Today is one week from our first date.” He sits next to me. “So, I went by her place, and she made me the same thing we had last week.”
“What?” I say, shocked, thinking no one has ever done anything this sweet.
“Happy one week,” he says, holding up his margarita glass, no doubt with no tequila in it, even if he isn’t driving. I raise my hand and smile at him. As I look into his eyes, he clicks his glass with mine but kisses me on the lips before I can even sip it. Once I bring the glass to my lips, the salt immediately hits my tongue and the tangy bite of lemon completes it.
I drink half of it and then look at the ocean. “I don’t think I would go anywhere if I lived here,” I tell him as I curl my feet under me, and he leans back on the couch, his arm slinging over my legs.
“It’s funny, but I rarely get out here,” he says, “I’m just so busy that I never really take the time to enjoy it, I guess.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing we met,” I tell him, leaning over to kiss him. His lips taste like lemon.
We hear a timer go off in the house; his hand comes up and cups my face, his thumb rubbing my wet lips now. “That’s the queso,” he says, getting up. “Do you need any help?” I ask him, leaning forward, ready to get up, but he just shakes his head.
“I need you to sit here and enjoy the view,” he says, leaning down to kiss me gently on the lips and then walking away. I watch the way his ass is a perfect fit in his black pants.
“Oh, I’m definitely enjoying the view right now,” I say, and he stops in his tracks to look over his shoulder at me. I bring my margarita to my mouth to hide my smile. Then place it down again looking at him.
“That mouth is going to get you in trouble tonight,” he says, and I know it’s not an empty threat.
“Promises, promises,” I say with a smile, bringing the margarita back to my lips to finish it off while he turns and walks into the house.
He comes back out with a tray and sets it down in the middle of the table. “We have queso and guac,” he says, “and I brought you another margarita and water.”
I laugh. “I’ll have some water,” I tell him. I don’t want to be blitzed the first time we have sex. Holy shit, we are actually going to have sex. But what if he doesn’t want to have sex with me?
I grab a chip and dip it in the queso. “I have to say, this might be even better than last week.”
“Really?” he says, tasting it. “It tastes the same as it does all the time,” he says, looking at me.
“Yeah,” I agree with him and then add, “except last week, I was out with a broody jerk. But now I’m sitting with a man who gives me butterflies,” I say, shrugging one shoulder outward and smiling shyly.
“Butterflies?” He smirks at me, leaning back again and draping his arm across my legs tucked under me.
“Well, you are dreamy,” I tell him, moving one finger in an S across his bare arm. “You’re still irritating.” I laugh when his eyebrows shoot together. “With your lists and all.”
He shakes his head. “I’m trying to keep you safe,” he says seriously. “There is so much danger that you don’t know about.”
I close my eyes, listening to him go on. “Do you have sex often?” I interrupt him, and I open my eyes.
“What?” he asks as if he’s not sure he heard me right.
“Do you have sex often?” I ask the question again. “Like have you had sex in the past week we’ve been together?”
“One, I don’t have sex that often, and two, I definitely haven’t had sex in the past week.” He turns to look at me. “Have you?”
“No!” I shriek. “Of course not. But someone told me that if I’m not sucking your dick, then someone else is. So …”
He sits up, handing me a water bottle. “Drink water,” he says, “lots of it.”
“I’m not drunk, you ass. I’m trying to have a conversation with you.” I put my margarita glass down, taking one leg out from under me.
“A conversation about someone sucking my dick?” he points out.
“NO!” I say loudly and then turn, looking at him. “I’ve had sex; you’ve had sex”—I point at him and then me—“but we haven’t had sex with each other.” I hold out my hands. “So, I thought we could talk about it before actually doing the deed.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Baby, when we have sex, there will be no talking about it.” He leans into my space now, his hands cupping my face. “I also don’t want to talk about anyone you’ve had sex with.” Gone is his smile, and in its place is a man who looks ready to snap.
“It’s just …” I start, and he just shakes his head.
“No, it’s just nothing, Laney,” he says, grabbing me and dragging me to him. I am now straddling him on the couch. He groans when my pussy lines up on his dick.
The clothes between us are suddenly too much. He pushes my hair away from my face. “I’ve never had a girlfriend,” he starts. “I’ve had sex.” Shaking his head, he says, “Which we aren’t going to discuss now or ever. This with you and me came out of the blue and knocked me on my ass.”
“Really?” I ask, my hands now going up his chest to the collar of hi
s shirt while I run a finger inside his shirt along his collarbone.
“Really,” he says. “I didn’t invite you here tonight expecting sex.” I start to say something, but he puts his finger to my mouth. “I’m not saying I don’t want to have sex with you. I’m saying that it wasn’t my intention.”
“Bu—” I say, and he shuts me up again.
“But if it happens, I’ll be one happy son of a bitch,” he says, and I laugh. “So how about we go inside, get our tacos, and eat?”
He takes his finger off my mouth. “How about,” I say, “you show me upstairs first, and then we can have tacos later?” I get off him and hold my hand out to him. “Like much, much later.” He raises his eyebrow at me while he looks at my hand and then my face. “Show me upstairs, Hunter.”
He grabs my hand, and we walk inside. Neither of us says anything as we walk up the stairs. He presses something on the keypad by the light switch, and I hear the windows downstairs start closing.
I look inside one of the two doors, and he leads me to the one on the left. I gasp when I see his bedroom because it isn’t two rooms; it’s one huge room.
To the left is a beige couch that faces the television on the wall above the fireplace. Throw pillows decorate each end and a plush beige blanket is thrown over the back of the couch. The middle ottoman is the same fabric. But then to the right is the bedroom part.
His huge king-size bed is in the middle of the room with a beige and dark brown headboard. As I walk into the bedroom, my feet sink into the plush white carpet. I look up and see that he has six windows on his ceiling, showing you the sky.
His white duvet looks like a cloud. I walk past it, dragging my hand on it while I walk to the wall of windows. The doors open, and I look back at him. “It’s a motion thing.”
I shake my head, laughing. “This is like a secret hideaway.”
“Almost,” he says, leaning against the doorframe, his feet crossed at the ankle. He touches the light switch, which dims the lights in the room, and I see that a light is coming from the living area and then lights come from behind his headboard. “You look like an angel standing in the middle of the room with the lighting like this.”
I cross my arms in front of me. My hands go to the elastic in the dress, and I peel it over my head, tossing it to the side. I watch him as he now stands straight. “Do I still look like an angel?” I ask him and turn in a circle so he can see all of me. I don’t have time to do a full circle before I feel him at my back.
“Last chance,” he says between clenched teeth, and I don’t say anything to him. Instead, I get on my tippy toes and wiggle my ass on him, leaning back and wrapping one hand around his neck.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” I tell him, and his mouth crashes against mine.
Chapter Ten
Hunter
She’s standing in the middle of my bedroom wearing fucking black lace, and the only thing I can think of is tasting her, worshiping her, claiming her, and making her mine. All. Fucking. Mine.
I approach her from behind, and my hands go to her hips when all I want is to cup her tits in my hands. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” she whispers seductively as her hand moves to my neck. I snap, crashing my mouth down on hers.
My tongue slides into her mouth, and I taste salt and citrus. I groan, and my hands roam from her hips to her tits as I cup them in my hands. Her ass moves against my cock, and I’m now rock fucking hard. The kiss goes from soft to needy as she turns around, and our mouths never leave each other. I grab her, and she wraps her legs around my waist as I carry her to the bed.
I put my knee on the bed and slowly drop her on her back. I let go of her lips as her chest rises and falls. Her hair spreads out on the bed. Her legs fall from my waist as I stand between them. I lean forward when I see one of her nipples pebbled and half out, and using my tongue, I go under the lace and around the nipple, sucking it deep into my mouth. Her back arches up as I do the same thing with the other nipple. I then lean back and take the shirt out of my pants while she watches me. Her legs open, and I see that she’s already wet through her lace.
I unbutton my shirt and take it off, showing her my chest. She sits up. “Holy shit,” she says, touching the muscle at the side of my hip. “I thought this V muscle was a myth.”
I laugh at her. “Lie back down,” I tell her, and she does. I unbuckle my pants and let them fall to the floor. I stand here in front of her in my black Hugo Boss boxer briefs, my cock pushing against the fabric to get out. I crawl onto the bed, pushing her legs apart. Her breath comes out in a soft gasp. I push her legs back and get down between her legs. She’s open to me. The only thing between my mouth and her pussy is lace. “Fuck,” I say and use my tongue to lick up her slit. One of her hands flies to my head. I do it again and again till the lace is soaked with her juices. I take my hand and move the lace aside, and her pussy is now open for me. “I’m going to make you come with my mouth and then with my cock,” I tell her, leaning down and teasing her clit. I suck it into my mouth at the same time as I slide a finger in her.
Her back arches up, and her legs squeeze my head. I finger her while teasing her clit, and I know when she comes because her pussy squeezes my finger as she spasms around my finger. I finger her till she is limp on my bed, then pull my finger out and get off the bed to go to the bedside table. “I need to thank Anthony for the housewarming gift,” I tell her, grabbing the box of condoms and climbing back on the bed. She props herself up on her elbow and looks at me, the pink tint in her cheeks.
“I didn’t even see you naked,” she says, and I peel my boxers down my legs. “Holy shit, you do have a big dick.”
I close my eyes. “What?”
“Sandy said you have to have a big D because of the way you walk.”
“I’m not even going to discuss this right now,” I say, opening the condom wrapper with my teeth. I watch her get up on her knees and peel the one-piece off. Lying down, she throws it right next to my feet. She’s finally naked in front of me, and she’s stunning. She’s perfect, lying in the middle of the bed, and I go to her, my eyes on her the whole time. I roll the condom down my cock, taking him in my hand, her legs open wider for me. I rub my cock up and down her slit—once, twice, three times—and then slowly slide into her. I lean forward once I’m balls deep and take her mouth.
I twirl my tongue with hers as I fuck her slowly; so slowly, I think I’m going to kill myself before her. She’s so fucking snug. She lets go of my mouth to toss her head back and moan. I watch myself disappear inside her, her body taking me, all of me. Her hand goes to the back of my neck, and I lean forward, sucking her neck. “Harder,” she says, and I know she’s at the edge. I go all out, and this time, I pound her hard—still slow but hard. She meets me with every single thrust, and finally, she goes over the edge and comes on my cock. I wait for her till I can’t breathe anymore and finally plant myself inside her and come, groaning into her neck. I try not to crush her, rolling to my side and bringing her with me, my cock still inside her. I try to catch my breath, and she gives my chest little kisses. “Hmm.” She moans as she continues kissing me, and my dick never gets a chance to go down. I pull out of her as she groans in protest and then I take off the condom. “Come back,” she says, closing her eyes, and I watch her on the bed with a hand between her legs.
“You playing with yourself, waiting for me?” I ask, getting another condom. She opens her eyes and watches me. I roll the condom on, then get on the bed. She pushes me on my back and then climbs on top.
We spend four hours having sex, doing it over and over and over again. “I can’t move,” she says, lying on her stomach, “but I’m starving.”
“I’ll go warm up the food and bring it to you,” I tell her, getting up and putting my boxers on.
“I get it,” she says, her voice muffled in the pillow. “I’m totally addict to the D.”
I look at her and laugh. “I really hope just my D and not someone else’s.”
“Good to know,” I say, walking out of the room. A second later, I hear her feet following me. “I thought you couldn’t move?” I ask her when she walks down the stairs, her hair piled on her head, wearing my white button-down shirt.
“I don’t want to eat in bed and get crumbs everywhere,” she says, coming to the kitchen and sitting on a stool as I warm up the taco stuff.
“My body feels like I just ran a marathon,” she says, stretching her arms over her head. “I mean, if marathons were that much fun, I’d be the fittest person ever.”
I laugh to myself. “Why do you make me laugh so much? I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this much,” I tell her, thinking how different and refreshing this feels.
I put the plate of tacos on the island and grab a stool to sit in front of her. “Holy shit,” she says, chewing, “these are so good.”
I nod while I chew. “No one does Mexican like Guadalupe,” I say.
“Do you still want to have a picnic this weekend?” she asks me as she takes another bite.
“Yeah, if you want,” I say, chewing my second bite.
“Or,” she says, grabbing a water bottle and drinking some, “we could just camp out here and picnic on your beach.” She winks at me. “Just a thought.”
“I like that thought a lot,” I say, finishing my taco.
We finish eating and clean up before I set the alarm, and then we walk up the stairs hand in hand. “We should take a shower,” she says, walking into the room, “together. You know, to preserve water.”
“Obviously,” I tell her, leading her to the bathroom and turning on all the lights. She stops at the doorway and takes in the bathroom. Okay, fine, I might have gone overboard. The white room is beige, lights set in the molding in the ceiling. The shower is all beige with five recessed lights and twelve showerheads, and the whole thing is surrounded by glass, showing you the L-shaped bench.