Page 38 of Nocturne
But of course he’s here. He always is.
I turn around slowly — and the air catches in my chest.
Hunter’s leaning against the doorframe like he owns the fucking place. And maybe he does. Wearing nothing but a towel, water dripping down the tattoos on his arms, tracing every line until it disappears into the cut of his abs.
His black hair’s still wet, messy as hell, and that damn lazy smirk is stretched across his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
A shiver runs through me. It’s not cold. It’s not a desire. It’s anger. Or maybe it’s all of it, tangled up so tight I can’t tell the difference anymore.
My body moves before my brain can catch up. Fists clenched, heart pounding like a fucking alarm. Ashiver runs through me. It’s not cold. It’s not want.
It’s rage.
It’s my body reacting before my mind does.
It’s bitterness stuck in my chest, pressing down until it fucking hurts to breathe.
My fists clench.
Heart pounding like I’m stepping into a fight.
I want to punch him. Slam him against the wall until he shuts the fuck up.
I want him gone. To stop taking up so much space — outside and inside me. But more than anything, I want to understand why the hell he’s still here.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Put some goddamn clothes on!”My voice comes out louder than I meant, full of frustration, full of everything I can’t say out loud. “I’m trying to fix some shit here. And I don’t owe you a single fucking explanation.”
He laughs. Low. Hoarse. Like all this is just a fucking game.“Funny how you always react like this. All worked up. Like we didn’t just sleep in the same bed. Like I didn’t hold you while you bled out, ‘cause you went and fucked up somewhere you shouldn’t have.”
I swallow hard. It tastes bitter, like rust — memories of pain, the blood, the sheets, the heat from that night.
The way he touched me, cleaning the blood... like it meant something. Like I was more than just another mess to fix.
“You talk too much,” I growl, trying to hold onto a control I don’t have anymore. “And that’s gonna be afucking problem.” He steps forward, slowly. The floor creaks under his weight.
“Yeah? And what the fuck are you gonna do about it?” His voice is a whispered dare. “Nothing. You’re not gonna do a goddamn thing.” The smile he throws my way is slow.
Provocative.
The kind of smile that digs truths out from under your skin.
I throw myself at him, fist raised, blood boiling through my veins. I want to smash his face. Break that cocky smile with every punch I can land in his gut. Teach that motherfucker some fucking respect. Teach him not to fuck with me.
But he moves faster than me.
In the blink of an eye, he slams me down on the cold concrete floor, the impact stealing my breath for a second. Before I can react, he’s on top of me — knees pressing into my hips, fists pinned under the weight of his hands. And that damn smile is still there. Firm. Arrogant. Taunting. Like this whole thing is just a game to him.
“Let me the fuck go!” I scream, gasping, my chest rising and falling violently. I struggle, shove back with my knee, but he’s stronger. And he’s enjoying it. Shit. He really is enjoying it.
For a second, our eyes lock. There’s something there — a quick spark, a tension I can’t name. Something that pulls me closer and, at the same time, makes me sick. I shake my head, trying to wipe it away, and fight harder to break free — but he jumps back with a swift move, stillsmiling like he just won some invisible game.
“You like what you see, don’t you?” he spits, voice low, filthy. And before I can even react, he drops the towel to the floor.
He just stands there. Naked. In front of me. Like it’s some fucking challenge.
My brain tries to process it, but my body freezes. My eyes — those fucking traitors — refuse to look away. I see everything — his cock, hard, veins bulging, the red head shining under the weak light of the warehouse; the ripped abs, the V-line disappearing between firm thighs; the broad chest rising and falling slow, like he’s in control. Like I’m the only one losing it.
And I am. Fuck, I am. Paralyzed, shocked, pissed at myself for not being able to look somewhere else.
