“Did you like it?”

The question surprised me. I didn’t think Beau himself had ever asked me that. I planted my palms on the tiles as Hunter yanked down my pants from behind in one go.

“We can’t have sex. We can’t break the rules,” I finally managed to say.

He laughed a devilish laugh, cupping one of my ass cheeks and squeezing hard. Hunter increased his speed, rubbing my clit and guiding his penis between my cheeks from behind. I knew he was watching what he was doing—my bare, white butt being poked around.

My legs began to tremble. I threw my head back, glad it was about to be over. The orgasm began to tickle its way up from my toes to the rest of my body.

Finally, finally, finally.

“Oh, Hunter.” I hated how right his name felt rolling out of my mouth. How moan-able it was. He stopped rubbing me off, taking a step back. It took me ten seconds to realize my orgasm wasn’t going to materialize. I turned around, eyes wide and accusing.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, feeling my face hot with confusion and desire. That had never happened before.

He leaned against the Jack and Jill counter, grinning, his hand shoved in his pants, playing with his very hard, very impressive erection.

“I want to get you off,” he popped the words carelessly, so calm you’d think we were talking about the weather.

“Then do!” I frowned so deeply my eyebrows hurt.

He laughed, a hearty, joyous laughter that rang around the room like a song. “See, but I want to get off, too. At the same time, I respect your inclination not to shit all over the celibacy rule. How about a compromise?”

I said nothing. I knew it wasn’t fair to expect him to get me off if I wasn’t going to reciprocate. But something about kneeling to Hunter felt intensely wrong. Here was a man who may have been a joke in his own family, but to everyone else, he was a deity, and I didn’t want to join his religion. I didn’t want to worship him.

Because I knew he was a god I could believe in.

“I will die before going down on my knees for you.” I jerked my chin up.

He raised his eyebrows, looking both surprised and thoroughly entertained. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re a manwhore with a sex tape. I’m not going to be another notch on your bedpost.”

It sounded ridiculous out loud, but the sentiment was clear. I didn’t want to be one of many, especially knowing he chose me only because he couldn’t have his pick.

“Yet you’d be happy if I got you off?” he asked, so I could face the hypocrisy of what I was saying.

I shrugged. “You’re the one who started it.”

So mature, Sailor.

Laughing, he approached me again, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. Lowering himself, he got rid of my pants gathered at my ankles, dumping them on the floor and leaving me completely naked from the waist down. Next, he reached for the front of my shirt.

“Just for the record,” he said tonelessly, beginning to pull the fabric forward, deliciously slowly, a smirk on his face. “Looking up at me from your knees is a great fucking angle, so you may want to reconsider.”

“No, thank you.” I swallowed, feeling my shirt rip. The slash of the cloth against my skin rang between the walls. He threw the ball of fabric behind his shoulder, lowering me to the bathtub step and prying my legs open with strong fingers. I watched in awe as he reached into my entrance again, gathered my juices, and rubbed them against my bare nipples. I didn’t know why I wasn’t stopping him.

I didn’t know why I even remained in the same house.

Now Hunter was the one on his knees, his elbow propped on the edge of the Jacuzzi, grinning up at me, like he was up to something. He rose, plastering his clothed, muscular body atop of my naked one, erasing my scowl with a kiss. I let him kiss me, feeling his fingers working their way between my open legs again. My body began to hum on cue, grateful for the attention.

Hunter kissed his way down my chest, took one nipple into his mouth, and rolled his tongue around it playfully. I sighed, watching him. He moved to the other nipple, this time tugging a little with his teeth as he rubbed my clit harder. My whole body felt hot and tingly.

His tongue rolled down my stomach, dipping briefly into my bellybutton in a teasing, ticklish swirl, then farther down between my thighs.

“Jackpot,” he murmured as he sucked my clit into his mouth, spreading me open with both his thumbs and stretching me to the max. He blew cold air into me, and I trembled violently with an impending orgasm before he shoved his tongue inside me in one punishing thrust. The pleasure was so profound, my butt scooted up the stair, and I let out a yelp.

“Ahhhhh.”

His tongue flicked my clit, then thrust into me again. My back arched, my entire body jerking.

Flick. Thrust. Flick. Thrust.

This prolonged my climax, which made me both grateful and enraged. But when the pinnacle of pleasure finally hit me, it was so gradual, so intense, every muscle in my body cramped, jolted, and thrashed. I quivered all over, my hands reaching for him, but he drew both my wrists to my sides, pinning me, not letting me touch him.

“Please,” I begged. “Please.”

He raised his body, pushing down his sweatpants and briefs, his raging hard-on right in front of my face. I writhed under him as his knees framed me from both sides, his erection in front of my face.

“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.