Page 89 of Reclaim Me

I’ve spent a lot of time feeling guilty about that, but it was never enough to move me. To pull me out of the fear and pain-induced paralysis that’s lived inside me since the care and well-being of my only parent fell on my shoulders. I didn’t know that it was there until Will got sick. I didn’t know that when faced with the choice to show up and fight or stay frozen in place, that I would freeze. That my muscles would seize up and my heart would go numb, and my mind would force out everything that was too serious and too painful, refusing to hold on to it for longer than a second.

My bottom lip trembles as the tears fall in hot streams that I can’t bother to wipe. Hunter doesn’t explain further. He just offers me his hand and lets me dig my nails into his skin because the pain is too much. And when we get home, he unloads my suitcase and takes it into the house while I leave a trail of tears on the way to our tree. I climb up on the lowest branch and sit out there for hours, shedding tears that are carried off by the chilly November air.

The sun has gone down by the time Hunter comes to get me, and I’m surprised that he’s let me stay out here for so long. He’s carrying a blanket that he slings around my shoulders before he wraps his arms around me and picks me up.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” he says, adjusting his grip to make sure he doesn’t drop me. He’s a little unsteady on his feet, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s tired or because the ground is uneven, but he doesn’t drop me, and I’m not worried for a single second that he will.

“I don’t care if I get sick,” I tell him, laying my head against his chest.

“I care.”

And it’s enough. His care. His concern. It’s enough to stop me from arguing, enough for me to snuggle into his warmth and allow myself to be comforted by the beating of his heart.

When we’re inside, Hunter sets me on the counter beside a bowl of soup. I’m not hungry, but I still open up when he stands between my legs with a spoon in his hand and orders me to.

“You cooked?” I ask, swallowing the warm broth, shredded chicken, and spiral noodles down without swallowing.

“Nate brought it by,” he grimaces at the mention of Will’s sponsor, and I wonder what the issue is with the two of them. “I just warmed it up.”

“That was nice of him.”

I make a mental note to call Nate and thank him. He’s been trying to get in touch with me all week, probably just to check in, but I haven’t answered. I haven’t done a lot of things I’m supposed to do.

“His wife made it,” Hunter says, feeding me another bite, this one full of perfectly tender carrots and onions. “All he did was drive it over so he could get in my ass about not returning his calls.”

“You’ve been ignoring him too.”

One corner of Hunter’s mouth kicks up. It’s not quite a smile, but he’s no longer grimacing. He tries to put the spoon to my mouth again, but I push his hand away, guiding the spoon back to the bowl.

“Sunshine, you have to finish eating.”

“I don’t want to eat.”

Hunter drops the spoon, and I shrug off the blanket before wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. He gives in easily; maybe he doesn’t want to feel either. Maybe he needs the connection as much as I do. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful because it’s exactly what I need. Everything else falls away as my hands start to explore his body and his do the same in return.

He cups my breasts, running his thumbs over my nipples before gripping the hem of my sweatshirt and pulling it up over my head. I shiver under the weight of his gaze and the heat of his lips when he lays kisses down my neck, across my chest, moving from one breast to the other while I cradle his head in my hands.

“I’ve missed you,” he lays the confession over my heart, and tears blur my vision, so I close my eyes.

“I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry I didn’t come back, Hunter. I’m sorry I?—”

“Shhh. We don’t have to talk about it.”

His lips close over my nipple, and his tongue rolls around the hardened pebble until I cry out, desperate for more of the mind numbing pleasure he’s just promised. It’s been months since we’ve been together like this, but Hunter knows me, he knows my body, and he knows what I want. His fingers go to the elastic band of my leggings, pulling them down impatiently while I lift my hips to help him get them past my ass.

They hang around my ankles while Hunter spreads my thighs; his fingers are rough and perfect as they part my lips, two of them slipping inside of me with ease because I’m already wet. He brings his mouth back to mine, and I moan into him, rolling my hips because I want it harder, because I need him deeper.

“I love you,” he says, biting my lip. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I know,” I whimper. “I love you too.”

And I do love him. I love his head and his heart and the way he makes me feel. I love his fingers moving deep inside me, massaging that perfect spot that causes my walls to clench and my thighs to quake around his sides.

“That’s right, Sunshine, give it to me,” he says. “Give it all to me.”

I don’t have a choice. I couldn’t hold back if I tried, if he asked me to, so it’s a relief that he wants it all. That he wants my pleasure and the pain hiding behind it. I come with a shout that echoes through the kitchen, and Hunter doesn’t stop fucking me with his fingers until everything I have to give has been wrenched from me, and the tears are flowing freely.

At the sight of them, the fire in Hunter’s eyes tries to die, tries to transform into something softer, something more comforting. But I don’t want comfort, at least not the kind that will come from words and not actions. I want this. I want his body and his hands. I want to forget.

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