Page 2 of Regret

Chapter 1

Present

Hunter stood in front of his bed, staring at the woman still sleeping like the fucking dead. Her light blonde hair was splayed over his gray pillows with her arms tucked beneath it. His gaze slowly moved from her face, over the curve of her back, and then to her firm, round ass that bore the evidence of what a twisted bastard he really was.

Tiffany…or was it Britney? Shit, he couldn’t remember.

The womanhad fair ivory skin and delicate features, which was probably part of why he chose her in the first place. He liked women with pale skin that would turn the most beautiful shades of pink and red, blushing for him as he owned every inch one beautiful, indelicate spanking at a time.

While Hunter was out scouting the night before, he immediately noticed the fair, blonde woman when she walked into the club. He could see on her face that she was there searching for something, for someone who would give her the thrill she wanted to experience. Women like her he could spot from a mile away. To him it was obvious when a woman had that craving to be dominated, and that was one thing he was fucking good at. Dominating. Well, not so much dominating as having the ability to fuck a woman stupid.

To soothe his conscience, he always went into his one-night endeavors honestly and with no bullshit. He made sure there were no expectations whatsoever. Expectations were the equivalent of little Satan babies. Give the fuckers half a chance to live and thrive and they’d suck the soul right out of you in record time.

So once he sets his sights on a particular woman, he made sure she understood that it was a one-time thing only. He never screwed the same woman twice. One time. That was it. Why? Because the first time was always the best. The sex that followed after that epic first fuck paled in comparison. Plus, the chances of it getting complicated after the second or third time were just too great. And that was what Hunter did, he avoided complications.

For a moment, as his gaze lingered on her naked behind, he felt like he needed to tend to the red marks that covered her ass cheeks and most of her upper thighs. But that wasn’t part of the deal. All that romantic crap about dominants rubbing all sorts of creams and oils all over their little submissive’s body was just that,crap. Besides, Hunter wouldn’t label himself a dominant. In fact, he wasn’t near being a dominant in the full sense of the word.

First of all, there was definitely no contract involved. Seriously? Who would sign a contract giving another person permission to have sex with you while you were either bound to a cross or hung from the fucking ceiling? And did anyone actually think that those contracts were binding and even worth the paper they had been printed on?I think not.

And then, he didn’t have a room of pain painted some or other dark, sensual color that made you think of sex, or a collection of every sex toy invented by man. There was no St. Andrew’s cross bolted against the wall next to his bed, or chains hanging from the ceiling. He used the good old-fashioned palms of his hands, and the occasional riding crop along with some standard cuffs. He didn’t need to dish out all sorts of levels of pain, he just wanted control. That was all he wanted—needed—when it came to sex…control.

If he had to rate himself, he would guess that at the age of twenty-nine he was only about thirty-three and a half shades of fucked up—on a good day.

Relationships required commitment, something Hunter was unable to give. He didn’t want the responsibility of taking care of a woman only because she sated his needs. He just wanted to fuck the way he wanted to, get the woman off, and then move on. Get in, get out, and move the fuck along. That was his motto.

He took a sip of his coffee while he continued to stare at her. Britney, Tiffany,or whoever, looked real damn comfortable. Sleeping. In his bed. The morning after.

She had to leave.

Hunter cleared his throat. She didn’t move. Crap, he needed her to pack up her shit and go.

He cleared his throat again, and then…nothing.

Damn, this woman really slept like the fucking dead. Maybe he should check her pulse, make sure she was still breathing. Maybe he fucked her to death. Judging by the way she screamed last night, it sure sounded like he was screwing her within an inch of her life.

“Oh yes, Hunter. Deeper, Hunter. Faster, Hunter. Oh my God, you’re so big, you feel so good. Slap my ass, Hunter. Fuck me while you hurt me, Hunter.”Blah, blah, fucking blah. Those words were starting to sound like a damn sing-song in his head. Was there a school somewhere that taught women all those little sex rhymes, telling them that all men loved to hear it whenever they were buried balls deep in pussy?

With narrowed eyes he continued to stare at her. He couldn’t blame her for being wiped since he had given her one hell of a good workout. To think that she actually thought it was over after the first time she climaxed. Man, was she wrong. That was when the party really started.

He stomped over to the front door then glanced over his shoulder. Hunter lived in a huge loft apartment where everything was open. No walls except for the bathroom, which was close to the bedroom part of the apartment. The colors mainly consisted of white, gray, and black, with just the bare necessities of furniture, which included a boxing bag right next to the living room.Sweet.

It was one hell of a bachelor pad. No feminine touches of abstract art or little bonsai trees with overpriced bowls filled with sand that were supposed to have this calming effect on you when you pull a tiny fork through it, but in actual fact it was just crap that stood around gathering dust. There weren’t any of those annoyingly bright pink cushion thingies that took up three quarters of the couch, leaving you with just a few inches of ass space. And no goddamn fluffy rugs either. What was it with women and useless knickknacks?

He reached for the door, opened it, and then shut it again…hard. With the loud thud, she jerked her head up. Long blonde hair covered her face before she shoved it back with her hand.

“Hunter?”

“Yeah. I’m here.” He walked back over to the bed and stared down at her, urging her with his mind to get up and leave.

Green eyes zeroed in on his jeans, which were only buttoned up halfway, showcasing the V zone all the women seemed to go nuts over. She reached out and touched his stomach just above his pants line, tracing her finger along the words inked from hip to hip.

“Why this word?”

“It’s personal.”

Her hand paused. “Of course it is.” She looked up at him before lowering her gaze back to his body. Her fingers moved again, this time from his tattoo to a big purple bruise just below his ribs. “What happened here? You get into a fight?”

He grabbed her hand and gently pushed it away from him. “Again, it’s personal.”

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