Page 59 of By Your Side
“Don’t stop,” I whispered, my voice shaking.
He didn’t. He moved with me like we’d been doing this for years, finding a rhythm that was as much about closeness as it was about heat. His thumb made circles over my clit, while he brushed his lips over my cheek, my jaw, catching my lips between each kiss, and his hands gripped me like I was something precious.
Every sound, every shift of him inside me, pulled me closer to the edge. And when I came, it was with his forehead pressed to mine, his breath mingling with mine, and my name falling from his lips like it belonged there.
He followed soon after, holding me close, his hands gripping my hips like I might break if he let go too fast.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. My legs were still wrapped around him, my arms looped around his neck, and the world beyond the office door could have been a thousand miles away for all I cared.
When he finally eased back, his lips brushed over mine in something softer, almost reverent. “Are you all right? Was that too hard? Too much?”
I smiled—small, tired, and maybe a little shaky. “It was amazing. You are amazing. It was perfect.”
We were quiet together for a long moment. My legs were still hooked around his hips, my fingers resting at the back of his neck where his hair was just starting to curl.
His breathing evened out, the warmth of him still wrapped around me like I could keep it forever if I didn’t move. And I didn’t want to move.
He kissed me again—soft, unhurried—and I felt my body melt all over again. This was dangerous. The kind of dangerous where you want more before you’ve even let yourself process what you already had.
Reality seeped in, uninvited, like cold air under a door. The office wasn’t soundproof. My crew could start arriving at any minute. And the pool room wasn’t exactly a fortress against nosy eyes if anyone wandered back here.
“I think we should…” I trailed off, glancing at the pile of our clothes like they were evidence.
“Get dressed?” His mouth curved, but he didn’t make a move to let me go yet.
“Yes. Before someone comes back here and finds us like this, I’m not ready to have Eliza reporting backthislevel of material from the coffee shop gossip circuit.”
Hunter chuckled, low and warm, then kissed me once more before stepping back. The moment his heat left my body, I felt the air rush in, cool against my skin. I pulled my clothes back on, trying to do it in some kind of dignified order while he made zero effort to hide the fact that he was watching me.
“You’re staring,” I muttered, tugging my shirt down.
“I’ve waited years for you to let me,” he said simply, pulling his shirt over his head.
Well. That shut me up.
Once we were both decent again, he stepped close, catching my hand before I could open the office door. “Paige,” he said, and his voice was so steady, so sure, I felt it settle deep in my chest. “This doesn’t have to be complicated unless we make it complicated. We’ll figure it out.”
I swallowed hard, searching his eyes for a second too long. “Okay.”
He gave my fingers a squeeze, then released me.
When I pushed the door open, the bar looked exactly the same as when we’d left it—the soft glow of the neon beer signs, the low hum of the jukebox. No one behind the bar. No one at the nearest tables. I let out a breath and allowed myself to relax into this moment.
“See?” Hunter murmured behind me. “Flawless exit.”
“Mm-hmm,” I said, grabbing a rag off the counter to give my hands something to do. “Let’s hope we’re that lucky next time.”
He stilled at my words, and when I glanced up, the look in his eyes told me exactly how much he liked the idea of a next time.
Which, if I were being honest with myself, I did too.
Hunter lingered while I continued setting up, his big frame leaning against the end like he was perfectly at home here. He didn’t offer to help—probably because he knew I’d tell him to go sit down if he did—but he stayed. Just close enough that I could feel the weight of him in the room.
The first of my crew trickled in not long after, along with the first of the evening customers. Routine settled quickly, the familiar rhythm of orders called and glasses clinking, a dozen small stories weaving themselves across the gleaming surfaces of the bar. For a few hours, it felt almost easy—us together, moving in sync, the outside world held at bay as I ran through the evening by rote.
As the clock pushed closer to midnight, the crowd thinned. Last call faded into the scrape of chairs and happy goodbyes. One by one, the crew peeled off. Soon it was just me, Hunter, and the echoing quiet of a bar that always seemed a little larger when empty.
When the last glass was dried and the till locked, I tossed the rag into the laundry bin and turned to find him already holding my jacket.
