Page 107 of Hunt Me! (I Crave The Chase)

He asked me about my scars.

“Chupacabra,” I explained, his warm calloused fingers dragging across my sternum. They skipped to a small nick on my neck. “Boggart,” I shivered. He flattened his palm, sliding it over my pec, his thumb scrubbing over yet another mark of my violent upbringing. “Imp.”

He didn’t ask me why I’d been near so many creatures, and for that I was grateful.

Because I wasn’t ready.

And talking about the scars was already more than I’d ever done.

Blair didn’t even know I had them. I meticulously wore long-sleeved shirts to cover them. And even when we’d lived together in our tiny condo in Oregon—after Lydia had “graciously” allowed us to move out—I’d been incredibly careful never to shower when he was awake, for fear that he’d stumble upon me changing clothes.

There’d been locks on my door then too, but I wasn’t the only one who had a key.

Lydia hadn’t allowed true privacy.

She’d watched us from the cameras, always hunting for reasons to be angry.

And we’d given her plenty.

Mutt wasn’t like that. He watched, not because he was looking for flaws to correct, but because he saw beauty in them. He was soft and sweet and caring. And he was fascinated by me—not because he wanted to corrupt or use me. Not because we’d been through hell together. But simply because…

Because he liked me.

“Why are you so nice to me?” I’d asked after our first movie marathon. I’d yet to go to the bathroom on my own, and Mutt had blocked the mirror every time. I knew why. I probably looked like shit, and all he’d had to do was smell my anxiety whenever I glanced toward it to know.

It was weird peeing with another dude nearby. Especially a dude that I wanted to ride, but hey.

It was kinda oddly romantic too.

Intimate.

“Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?” Mutt asked back, confused. “You are the most wonderful person in the world.”

I shook my dick off, wiped myself clean, and stared at my hands as I washed them so that Mutt would let me have access to the sink.

“I’m not going to die if I see my reflection,” I told him, the suds rinsing down the drain.

“Why do you care how you look right now?” he countered. “What about seeing your reflection will help you?”

“I have stitches in my head, I kinda wanna see.”

“Lie.” Mutt laid a hand on my chest, right above where my heart lay.

“Okay fine. So I wanna see if I look like shit or not—since we’re… you know…” I flushed, my cheeks hot. “We’re hanging out.”

“You look beautiful,” Mutt said softly, like it was a fact. I swallowed the lump in my head.

“I probably look like shit.”

“Impossible.”

“Can I just…please?” I begged softly, shoulders drawn up. “I wanna see.” I’d never admired this insecurity before, and it felt weirdly…good. “I like you. I wanna look good for you. So if you could pretty please move that big gorgeous ass over and let me see the mirror so I can clean myself up—I’d appreciate it.”

Mutt growled, not pleased.

Fuck.

Didn’t work.

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