Page 38 of Don't Puck Him

Cash looks over and smirks. “Oh, you mean you’re on your own.”

Cash clenches his fists as he steps further into my space, and I jump back.He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“Cash, go pass out somewhere. You’re beyond it.” I push his hot chest aside.

He grabs my arm and shoves me into the back hall. I look left and right. No one is around to see it.

Cash blocks me in, one hand on each shoulder. He comes in close, an ugly sneer on his face, and for a second I can’t help but think he really might bash my head into the hall wall.

“Cash, stop! Stop this! What are you doing? Let me go!”

I knee him in the stomach. He yells. It’s enough that I can run free. I bash my way through the crowd, hide behind a bush out front and call Hunter on my cell I had tucked into my bikini bra.

It rings for a time that feels like forever, but it’s probably only two rings.

“Hunter! Please come! Quick!”

“Wren? Where are you?”

“Boyd Purcell’s place on Divine Ave. The big Tudor place. It’s Cash. Oh, my God, please come get me.”

I hear a dial tone. I know he’s on his way.

The moment I hang up, I feel like a fool for panicking, for being so weak.

Minutes later, I hear a roaring engine and squealing tires. Headlights blind me. The black Mustang skids to a stop, and Hunter jumps out and runs to me.

The minute I see him, my shame falls away and all I feel is relieved to be in his arms. I know I can’t function without his protection and support, no matter how I fight it.

“Are you alright?” Hunter quickly examines my body.

I’m shaking. Maybe from the cool night air but also from the shock. I manage nodding yes.

“Wren, what on Earth are you doing here? I thought you were having a quiet night in? Or I assumed so.”

Tears well in my eyes. I whisper the story, all of it. How I was happy one moment and frightened the next.

Hunter wraps me tightly in his arms. He looks around and swiftly takes me to the side of the house where the shadows of the night swallow us whole.

In the inky blackness, I feel his hands all over me, checking me, despite my saying I’m okay.

This touching, it’s different. It’s like Hunter is reclaiming his property — me. He senses another has been sniffing around. His warm hands and fingers slowly glide up, down and around every curve. I hear him inhale my scent as he takes back what is his.

My inner me whispers.This isn’t right, Wren. You’re completely reliant on Hunter now. Let go. Run, Wren, run!

I ignore the inner me. I don’t move a muscle. I willingly let Hunter reclaim every inch of my body. I know in my heart of hearts it’s his.

I stand there, my bare feet in the soft grass. I close my eyes, breathe him in, relax, and let the process flow.

I will not say a word. I will not flinch. I will not cry out or voice displeasure in any way.

I will arch my back, leave my arms to my side, and slightly part my legs.

I am lost in Hunter.

I could try, but I know I’ll never break free.

His mark is all over me, physically and emotionally. There’s no turning back.

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