Page 89 of Pinkie Promise

“Baby, fuck,” Hunter curses quickly, swooping his arm behind me so that I don’t hit the floor. He takes the bag from my white-knuckled fist and hefts it easily over his shoulder.

Hunter punches on the light switch, tosses the bag onto the bathroom counter, deposits the bottle from his other hand, and then releases me completely. He steps back with his arms folded cautiously over his broad chest and his expression is patient, albeit a little pained.

“Did you bring the whole rink back with you in that bag?” I tease, tipping my head towards the carry-on on the counter and trying to lighten the mood.

His mouth ticks up slightly at one side and he breathes out a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s just my gear, Fallon,” he murmurs quietly, although the small smile on his mouth makes me silently exhale with relief.

“Do you have salve and stuff in there?” I ask him. “So that I can try and heal up the wound–”

“Baby,” he says, his tone deep and intimate. “I don’t deserve you nursing me like that. It’s just a scrape.”

He moves his body up against mine and reaches one arm behind my back, pulling up the bottle that he brought from the kitchen. I glance at it as he uncaps it, his eyes still burning into mine, and my brow raises a little as I realise that it’s straight-up whiskey.

He flicks the cap onto the counter, presses his thumb over the opening, and then he lifts it to his face and pours it straight down his cheekbone.

My eyes go crazy wide. He curses as the spirit burns his cut.

“Hunter,” I say, reaching up to take away the bottle. My fingers are shaking slightly as I set the bottle onto the counter and as he rubs his palm over his forehead I realise that Hunter’s fingers are shaking too.

He tentatively lifts his large hand so that he can brush his knuckles over his name on my chest.Hunter Wilde. HockeyTeam Captain.

I shudder involuntarily and he lets out a low sound from deep in his chest.

“Lean back on the counter,” I instruct him, and his stroking instantly stills.

He meets my eyes and then glances at the counter behind me. I grip my hands around his biceps and steer him so that we turn one-eighty, swapping positions.

He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t protest, and I begin unzipping his gym bag in search for something to wipe the blood away with. Hunter leans back and spreads out his thighs, and I settle in closer as I inspect the small bottle of saline. I arch around him for the bag of cotton pads that I spotted on the counter and I hope that whoever owns this house doesn’t mind my using one of them.

“Who owns this place?” I ask him, disguising what I really want to say.

Why did you bring me here, Hunter? I can tell that this place is special to you.

I tip some of the solution onto the pad and then look up at Hunter’s face, so close to my own that my breathing pauses in my chest. Hunter’s pupils dial out and I feel my cheeks burn pink.

Throwing a nice big bucket of ice on the situation I press the cotton pad to the tip of Hunter’s cheekbone and his jaw suddenly tenses, his muscles flexing.

“Does that hurt?” I ask, my eyes flashing to his with concern.

He studies me for a moment before slowly placing his hands on my hips and pulling me right up against his groin. I choke on a little swallow and his large chest swells and expands.

“Not anymore,” he rasps quietly, his thick sex flexing against my belly. He keeps his eyes on my waist so that he doesn’t have to look at me while he winces.

I lift my free hand to his jaw and gently stroke over the dark bristles. He closes his eyes and leans into my touch.

It doesn’t take long for me to clean the injury. When I finish, I wrap my arms around Hunter’s shoulders and tuck his face into the warm curve of my neck.

“Mm,” he murmurs, as I stroke my fingers through his hair. His hands slide slowly under the hem of the jumper that I’m wearing, his restraint palpable as he forces himself not to roam any higher.

“Tell me about today,” I whisper to him and he groans into my throat. I tug harder at his hair and he nods against my shoulder.

He repositions himself slightly so that he’s leaning back against the counter, towering over me as I hug my arms around his middle.

“I’m embarrassed,” he murmurs, the creases in his brow making my heart ache. “It was a good game and I fucked up right at the end. You came all this way with me and I blew it to shit.”

I shake my head fervently, my fists tugging at the soft fabric of his hoodie. “You didn’t mess it up, Hunter. Something bad happened but it was still a good game. I watched you hit the puck right over the goalie’s shoulder,” I add with a playful nudge. “Your scores are always crazy good.”

---