Page 83 of Piece Us Together
“You really want me here?” I whisper.
“Yes, Maison.” He smiles. It’s soft. Warm. “I really want you here. Whatever you choose for our night, sex or no sex, alcoholor no alcohol, I still want you here. If you decide you don’t want to stay, I will respect that, but the wanting won’t change.”
I swallow hard as my eyes settle on the house behind him. “He’s going to be upset.”
“Upset about what? That you asked a few questions about the rules and we came out here to talk?” He tilts his head, eyes searching mine. “Upset you wanted to drink?”
I duck my head before immediately lifting it again, silently cursing myself for showing a reaction. This man can read me like a fucking book. I should be better at this. Iambetter at this.
Hunter nods slowly. He’s working it out, trying to navigate all the pieces of me and how they fit together. I wish him luck because even I don’t know where some of the pieces are, let alone how any of them would fit together. I think I left a lot of them in that fucking compound. One or two more at the party that ended it all. Maybe a few scattered at the auction house where Carter was first sold and raped.Can your broken pieces land somewhere you never physically set foot? Can the heartbreak be so intense in a location that it magnetizes, pulling all the pieces in?
“Are you going to drink?” he asks. When I don’t answer—don’t fuckingknowthe answer—he asks, “Would it help if I told you some details of the other option for this evening?”
Warmth pools in my gut. I already know whatever he has in store is going to be good. So fucking good. “Maybe…”
“We’d go back inside and eat. Then we’d bring Nolan to the couch and have him practice warming two cocks at once.” He steps closer to me, his breath puffing fog into the air. “And then, when we’re ready, we’ll take him to your room and reward him for his hard work. We’ll take him apart until he flies.”
I feel suddenly wobbly inside. Off-kilter. I want to drink or fight or run. That’s what I always do when things get to be too much. When it feels like my thoughts and emotions are steaminside of me, building and building, just waiting to blow. And what’s happening here, this thing with Hunter—it’s getting to be way too fucking much.
Hunter can’t fix that. He can’t release the internal pressure for me. The hot sex might take the edge off, but it won’t be enough in the long run. Nothing but self-destruction is ever enough.
But…what if he could? What if I let him take over? What if he’s what I’ve needed all along?
I’d have to let him dominate me.
Talk about risking everything…
I look at him. I look at the snow. My buried car. My hands on the shovel. The house. Him, again. I look and look at him. His cheeks are flushed pink. So is the tip of his nose. He’s brought his hands out of hiding in order to cross his arms over his chest. He’s freezing. This man is freezing and I have no doubt he’d stand there for hours if he thought I needed him to.
I don’t deserve him.
I don’t deserve either of them.
But I’m a selfish fucking bastard, aren’t I?
“I’ll have lemonade,” I tell him.
His smile settles the chaos inside of me. A Band-Aid fix, but one I’m glad to take. “Lemonade it is.”
It feels strange when we leave Hunter’s house the next day. We were only there an extra day and night—well, and another morning and early afternoon because none of us were really in much of a hurry today—but no amount of denial can cover the way things changed over that time.
Something has shifted with the three of us. I don’t know what or how, or what it means. I don’t know if it’s going to end in the best thing of our lives or if it’s going to end up ruining everything. I don’t know a goddamn thing, really. It scares the hell out of me. Funnily enough, that fear makes me want to dig my heels in and stay at Hunter’s for as long as he’ll let us. Almost like it’s the real world that’ll turn things bad. As long as we stay in the house, stay with Hunter, I’m not supposed to worry. If things were in threat of being ruined, he’d handle it.
That’s not reality, though.
So I give him a forced smile and a quiet goodbye, letting him rest a hand on my shoulder for a few seconds longer than necessary, and then I take Nolan’s hand and bring him out to where my car is no longer buried and already warm. Hunter’s doing, of course. Taking care of us even after we’re out from under his roof.
Nolan isn’t feeling off like me, chattering away about the movie marathon and the food we ate and “Did you see Hunter’s face when—” and, “Can you believe he said—” and, “Wasn’t it great?”
I nod and smile and hum and murmur a few words when necessary. By the time we’ve reached the winding road that leads to the house, he’s caught on to my mood and quieted down.
“Did you not enjoy yourself?” he asks in a tiny voice when I park the car.
I look over at him, releasing a long sigh through my nose. “I enjoyed every fucking second, baby.”
“Then why…this?” he asks, gesturing toward me as his eyebrows pull together in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
“I—” I pause, a laugh bubbling out of me. It’s the only thing left to do at this point. “I didn’t want to leave.”