Page 121 of Possession

Instead, I walk to the kitchen, reaching for the bottle of cabernet on the counter. The deep ruby liquid swirls in my glass as I pour myself a generous serving.

The scent of simmering tomato sauce and fresh basil fills the air—warm, rich, comforting. It should soothe me.

But it doesn’t.

Not when my thoughts are a storm I can’t escape.

When I turn, Hunter is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me carefully.

“You hungry?” he asks. “Lena made us something.”

“That was nice of her.” I take a slow sip of my wine, letting it burn its way down. “Where’s Deuce?”

“Asleep. He just had a bottle.”

I peek into our son’s room, my heart clenching as I take in the tiny, perfect boy lying peacefully in his crib.

It’s a cruel irony—how something so pure and whole came from someone as messed up as me.

Then, as if reading my thoughts, I remember.

Deuce is half Hunter.

That’s why he’s so perfect.

“Want to talk about it?” Hunter’s voice is gentle, but the weight behind it is heavy.

I close my eyes, grip the edge of the crib for grounding, then let out a slow breath before turning back to him.

“No.” My voice is quieter this time, softer. But when I see the flicker of hurt in his expression, I reach for him, needing him to understand. “Not now.”

He nods slowly, his gaze searching mine, always so damn patient with me— something no one else in my life has ever been.

Hunter doesn’t push. He never does. Instead, he steps forward and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his solid chest.

Even through the tangled mess in my head, his warmth seeps into my skin. I let out a shaky breath, letting him hold me together when I feel like I might fall apart.

“I just need you,” I whisper against his neck.

His hands flex around my waist, his breath catching slightly at the urgency in my voice.

In one swift motion, he lifts me onto the counter, the wine glass forgotten as it clatters beside us.

His mouth captures mine in a deep, searing kiss, and I kiss him back with a desperation that surprises even me—like I need to drown in him, like I need to erase everything else.

I don’t want tenderness.

I don’t want soft words or whispered reassurances.

I want Hunter.

I want this.

Raw. Consuming. Something that burns away everything else.

And he understands.

His hands grip my thighs, pulling me flush against him, matching my intensity, feeding my hunger.

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