I’d resigned myself to that lifestyle a long time ago. Like mother, like son. There was practically a revolving door on our house, and I saw so many men come and go, I stopped being surprised when I woke up to find yet another stranger drinking coffee in the kitchen when I’d get ready for school.
There were times I had the dumb sense to get attached to one or two of them. A few of them actually came back for an encore and I’d talk them into taking me out for burgers or letting me ride with them when they’d go pick up beer and smokes. Then, they’d disappear like the rest, and when I’d ask my mom when Hank or Steve or Brent were coming back, she’d laugh in my face. Give me some line about what a crappy lay they were.
So when Hunter met Isabel, I knew that he was waltzing right into the life he was meant to live and I was waltzing right into mine. He was the married life kind of guy. The one content with loving the same woman forever. Confident enough to know he’d always be enough for her. Bold enough to get attached to her without the fear of her walking out of his life.
And I can’t help but think about what Silla said before she gave me the room key. About being with them. That’s not really an option. We’re not like that. I could never insert myself into their relationship because before too long, the jealousy would drive Hunter crazy. I’m not sure it hasn’t already driven him crazy. I mean…he just watched me fuck his wife, but it was also so much more than that.
Isabel and I weren’t supposed to…connect so much. It wasn’t supposed to be that intimate. We should have just stuck to some basic carnal fucking, without all the sweet talk and touchy-feelies.
“Hey,” his familiar voice mutters as I feel him approaching to sit in the seat next to me at the bar. As he takes his seat, I glance at him for a quick moment, but he’s wearing that calm and collected expression he always has. Well, except for when he was sitting in that chair watching us. He was anything but calm. He looked downright feral.
“Hey,” I reply.
“You didn’t have to run,” he says, and I brush it off with a shrug.
“Didn’t want to intrude on your moment. I figured my part was done.”
“Your part? Drake…”
“You know what I mean, man. I’m fine. We’re cool, right?”
“We’re cool,” he replies as he waves down the bartender for a drink.
“Where’s Isabel?”
“Still in the room. She wanted me to come find you by myself.”
“Ah,” I reply, a crooked smirk on my face as I glance sideways at him. From this angle, I catch the glint of light in his dark brown irises, and I quickly look away, so I’m not caught staring.
“Yeah, I think she wants us to…talk.”
“I bet you were excited about that,” I joke.
He lets out a heavy sigh as the bartender places a bourbon on ice in front of him. “Ecstatic,” he mutters before taking a big sip.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. “About what happened.”
I turn to see his jaw click as he clenches his teeth. I almost feel bad for him because he really does hate talking about anything, but he literally brought this on himself. It’s a miracle in itself that he even had the nerve to ask for this in the first place.
“I’m feeling great, Drake. It was exactly what I wanted.”
Nodding my head, I face forward and stifle the strange mixture of disappointment and excitement I feel at hearing him say that. On one hand, I almost wanted him to say he didn’t like it. Then I would have no choice and things would go back to the way they were. And if he loved it, then I would likely have the opportunity to be with Isabel again, which would also make me happy.
I’ve never been more torn in my life.
“If you didn’t like it, then we don’t have to do it again—"
My head snaps in his direction. “Who said I didn’t like it?”
“You look awfully…conflicted about it. You bolted out of there like a marathon runner as soon as it was over. I just get the feeling that you’re not really into this.”
“I’m into it. I did like it. No…I fucking loved it. I only left because I didn’t want to feel like an intruder in your marriage.”
“Drake, I told you already…you’re not intruding. You’re never intruding.”
“I know, but I am—"
“No, you’re not.”
“Hunter—"
He turns, placing a firm hand on my shoulder, his fingers dangerously close to my neck, pressing in just enough to make my cock jump in my pants. Just once, I wish this fucker knew what he was doing to me when he did stuff like this. But he’s so fucking straight; he doesn’t see how touching my neck or breathing into my ear or gazing into my eyes while I fuck his wife can be dangerous for me. He’ll never see it.