Page 88 of Bleacher Report
He cuts me off with a cocky shrug, already reaching for the bucket. “You just wounded me. An eye for an eye.”
I narrow my eyes, a spark of mischief catching fire. “You’re going to regret that.”
Before he can react, I snatch the other sponge from the ground and hurl it at him. It nails him right in the thigh, water exploding in all directions.
“Oh, it’son,Collins,” he growls, laughter rumbling in his chest.
I turn and run in the opposite direction, squealing as he chases me around his truck.
What follows is pure chaos.
We chase each other around the yard like two overgrown kids, slipping on patches of frozen grass, shouting ridiculous threats. Hunter ducks behind the truck just as I whip a half-full sponge at him, but it bounces off the side mirror and smacks him in the shoulder anyway.
“Nice aim,” he calls. “Maybe you should try out for the team.”
“Maybe I should replace you,” I shout back, scooping a handful of snow for the smallest snowball in history and flinging it in his direction.
He yelps when I make contact with his skin, though it was barely enough to cause any damage.
“Oh, that’s low, Collins!” He grabs a second bucket—where the hell did that come from?—andlaunchesa wave of sudsy water at me. It soaks my leggings down to my socks.
I squeal, slipping as I try to dodge, arms flailing like a drunk baby deer.
Hunter’s laughing so hard he can barely stand.
“Truce, truce!” I gasp, holding my arms up like I’m surrendering.
“No chance. If you think you can replace me, let’s see how well you block,” he says, kicking off his Crocs, and then charges at me.
He catches me around the waist and lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing. I squeal again, laughing so hard it hurts as he spins me in a circle. Then he pulls me into the cover of thegarage and drops us both onto my old queen mattress still living in here from where the movers put it.
We collapse together in a heap, breathless and soaked, our laughter fading into something heavier.
Hunter’s body presses against mine, pinning me gently to the cold mattress. But I don’t feel the cold. All I feel ishim.Hishard cock rubbing between my thighs, sending sparks to my clit. Thank God I wore leggings today.
The space between us shrinks until there’s barely a breath of air left.
His lips find mine, his hand trailing down along the curve of my jaw, his touch featherlight, sending shivers racing down my spine.
His voice is rough against my lips. "You’re so beautiful," he murmurs. "Sometimes it fucking hurts to look straight at you…like you’re the goddamn sun."
My heart thumps against my chest so hard it almost hurts.
"How do you do that?" I whisper, dizzy from the heat building between us.
“Do what?”
My hands glide up his chest, feeling the hard lines of him, his skin burning hot even after being bare to the freezing air. “Say all the right things.”
"Because I mean them," he mutters. "You’re shivering. I need to get you inside."
He leans in, pressing his forehead gently to mine. For a second, we just breathe each other in, the world narrowing down to his hands gripping my waist.
Before I can reply, he scoops me into his arms and strides toward the mudroom door. The house is dim and quiet around us, the cold left behind with the slam of the door.
Inside the laundry room, it all unravels.
A flurry of movement begins as Hunter helps me out of my damp, freezing clothes, hands caressing and exploring—until I’m down to my bra and panties, and he’s stripped bare—no thong left in sight. His hands move over me, rough and reverent all at once, and then he lifts me again, setting me down atop the rattling dryer.
