When I was done, Hunter raised a brow.
I held up the empty glass and shook it back and forth. A snippet of the conversation we’d had in the car replayed in my head. “I wasn’t going to try to have sex with you tonight. But if you try to have it with me, by all means, you’ll be getting fucked.”
I bit my lip, and Hunter seemed to read my mind. Taking the empty glass from my hand, he set it down on the floor next to us, along with his own half-full glass. When I unconsciously wet my lips, he muttered a string of curses before planting his mouth over mine.
The taste of wine on his tongue was enough to make me feel like I’d drunk the entire bottle myself. My head was woozy, my body tingled, and I wanted to climb the damn man like a tree. He pressed his body even tighter to mine, and my back arched from the railing toward his as my fingers clenched a fistful of his hair.
He groaned when I yanked. “I can’t wait to be inside you. You make me hard as a rock.”
With a thrust of his hips, he demonstrated that he wasn’t exaggerating. Oh God. I was so desperate I could probably come from just dry humping with this man. Resisting taking things further was a challenge I wasn’t sure I could endure for too long.
When the kiss broke, Hunter looked just as bamboozled by our chemistry as I was. We stared into each other’s eyes for a while.
“You’re really good at that,” I told him.
His smile was playful as his brows drew down. “What?”
“Kissing.”
He leaned in and brushed his lips with mine. “I’m good at kissing other places, too. Just say the word and I’ll show you.”
I laughed. “Seriously. Why don’t you have a girlfriend, Hunter? You’re handsome, smart, have a great job, own a beautiful house, you’re an amazing kisser, and you can fix a sink and build things. You’re prime boyfriend material.”
His playful look turned serious. He also pulled back a bit, though he didn’t release me from the confines of his arms and the balcony rail.
“I don’t want that type of relationship.” He studied me carefully. “I like you. You’re beautiful and smart. We enjoy each other. But I’m not looking for anything serious.”
Even though he’d been upfront since we met, and I was not looking for a relationship at all, somehow it stung to hear him say that.
“What does that mean, exactly? That I’ll be in your bed one night and someone else the next?”
“Absolutely not. We’d be exclusive. To be clear, that’s a two-way street. My expectation, once you’re in my bed, is that you won’t be fucking anyone else either.”
“Okay…and we’d spend time together outside of the bedroom, too?”
“Of course. I’ll always make sure you eat before I eat you.”
I squirmed a little at the thought. “So the difference between what we’d be doing and a relationship is…”
Our gazes locked. “Expectations.”
Since we were laying our cards on the table and having a little heart to heart, I figured I’d push a bit further. “You said you had one serious relationship that lasted years.”
Hunter nodded. “That’s right.”
“I married my only real serious relationship. That disaster is the primary reason I’ve been avoiding anyone with real relationship potential. I lie to myself and others by saying I don’t want a relationship because I need to focus on my work and Izzy. While that’s partially true, if I’m being honest, it’s also because Garrett burned me pretty bad, and I haven’t fully gotten over it yet.” I paused for a few seconds. “Does your not wanting a relationship have to do with the one serious one you had?”
He looked away, staring over my shoulder and out into the lit-up city before returning his eyes to mine. “Yes, but not in the way you probably think.”
“Did she break your heart?”
“We broke each other’s.” He cleared his throat and took a step back. “How about we go eat?”
“Okay.” I followed Hunter to the kitchen and offered to help. But he’d already done all the prep work for a dinner of chicken and broccoli pesto bowtie pasta. It was put together in a sauté pan, and all he needed to do was warm it up. He turned the gas cooktop on and filled my wine glass again while I sat on a stool at the island, watching him.
“Do you cook often?” I asked his back while sipping my wine and admiring the way his ass filled out his jeans.
He glanced back and caught me checking him out. Flashing a knowing, cocky half-smile he said, “Only when I want to eat.”
“You don’t order in a lot?”