He hadn’t reacted at all. And that had been even more frustrating.
She’d tried being sexy. In fact, she’d offered to help him in the greenhouse one day and had unbuttoned her shirt, declaring herself overheated and exposing a lot of skin. All she’d gotten was an abrupt suggestion that she take a shower and him turning away.
Not exactly the reaction she’d wanted. She was utterly mystified. How could she break through to him? She supposed she could state it baldly. I’d really like it if you and I did a little mutual exploring. I’ll even go first.
But she was enjoying the challenge. And screaming out that she desired him seemed almost like a cop out. Plus, he’d probably run for the hills.
Virgins were so much trouble.
The letters weren’t helping things, either. Now that things had escalated between Lula and Benedict, they weren’t holding back at all. Letter after letter went into great detail of what Lula would do to Benedict with her mouth, and how she’d please him. He’d write pages back to her, describing how he’d like to lay her down under the trees, spread her petals wide, and lick her nectar clean. By the time she finished a day of the letters, Gretchen was squirming and overheated, her imagination on fire. She kept picturing Hunter as Benedict, and herself as Lula. Each graphic description left her breathing hard and her panties wet.
There had to be a way to get through to Hunter.
***
It was during one of their frequent dinners that Gretchen found a chink in Hunter’s icy armor.
Her phone rang while they were in the midst of a quiet conversation. Surprised, Gretchen picked up her phone and gave an apologetic look to Hunter. “I should take this.”
She rarely got calls out of the blue, so any sort of call concerned her. Especially if it was coming from Cooper’s Cuppa.
“Hello?”
“Gretch? It’s me.”
She glanced down the table at Hunter, who seemed to be staring at a painting on the wall and trying very hard not to listen in on her phone conversation. “Hey Coop. What’s up?”
“I was calling to, well, check on you. See how you’re doing.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she said brightly. “The project’s coming along really well. I might even finish early.”
Hunter accidentally sent his knife skidding, the silverware clanking.
“That’s great news,” Cooper said enthusiastically. “I’ve really missed seeing you.”
“I’ve missed seeing you, too.” She watched as Hunter picked up his knife and gripped it, his knuckles white. “It’s weird being away from everyone,” she added to defuse the statement and make it friendly instead of romantic.
“When you come back, I . . . I think I’d like for us to have a nice talk.”
Her mouth went dry and Gretchen panicked. “Oh, Coop. I just . . . I don’t know. Can’t we just let things go as they do?” Her gaze slid back to Hunter, who was still staring at the painting. “Can I call you back some other time? Now’s really not great.”
“Oh, of course. I just . . . you know. Wanted to tell you that I missed you. That’s all.” His sad puppy voice grated on her nerves.
“I’ll see you when I get back,” she said, and hung up. Picking up her napkin, she folded it in her lap again. “Sorry about that.”
“Boyfriend?” he asked, and the word was almost a growl.
Gretchen’s eyes widened. That was . . . interesting. It was almost a reaction. Should she push harder or lay off? She decided to push a little harder. “A male friend. He misses me.”
“Then perhaps it’s a good thing that you’re finishing early,” he said abruptly. He stood, tossing his napkin to the table. “I won’t keep you from your work any longer.”
“Oh, but—”
Hunter turned and stalked out.
Gretchen sighed heavily. Good Lord, but the man was prickly. She sat at the table a moment longer, toying with the casserole on her plate. She didn’t want to leave things like that. Didn’t want Hunter spending the evening all annoyed and frustrated. She’d had her share of frustrated evenings herself lately.
Tossing her napkin down on the table next to his, she stood up and pocketed her phone, determined to find Hunter and talk to him.
She headed to his wing of the house first, but all the doors were shut, and no one responded to her knocking. He was either not there, or simply not answering. Before she’d give up, she’d try one more place.
Hugging her sweater close, Gretchen headed down the long walk to the greenhouse. There was a light inside, and one of the doors was eased open just a crack. Curious and a bit nosy despite herself, she moved forward and peered through the crack.
He was across the room, standing near one of the beams that kept the arched roof of the greenhouse aloft. Hunter’s back was to her, one hand clenched above his head and resting on the beam, the other against his side. His entire form seemed curiously tense, his head bent forward as if he were struggling with something.
She bit her lip. Damn. Surely he wasn’t that upset over a phone call? Hell, that would be uncomfortable in the extreme. What did she do now? Gretchen stepped inside, just as he tilted his head back, and she caught sight of his face, which was full of tension. The hand at his side jerked a bit more.
And she realized he was masturbating.
Gretchen froze for a moment, shocked. He’d retreated out of anger—or jealousy—and she’d expected to see him seething as he pruned his roses. She’d expected to argue with him, cajole him to see her side, and maybe they’d walk away on better terms.
She’d never imagined that she’d catch him pleasuring himself.
It shocked her senses as much as it aroused her. She felt herself grow slick with excitement, and she barely resisted the urge to stroke herself between her own legs in response to his movements. She moved forward, her steps quiet as she carefully shut the greenhouse door behind her and approached him. He hadn’t noticed her yet. His shoulders seemed to be aching with tension and need, his entire form tense.
She moved forward and lightly touched his shoulder, heat coursing through her.
He jerked around, startled. Hunter’s eyes were wide, his pupils dilated with need, the scars on his face flaring white against the red of his cheeks. His hand was still curled around his cock, and he stood there for a moment, as if too shocked to move.
And then he began to pull away from her.
“No,” she whispered. “Don’t.”
Her fingers curled in his jacket and she held him there. He seemed frozen in place, like a wild animal caught by the barest of tethers. One wrong move and he’d snap, retreating. She didn’t want that. She wanted to touch him.
Her hand slid down to cover his, where he grasped his cock. “Is this for me?”
His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out.
“I think it is,” she said softly. “May I touch you?” She knelt before him, not caring that she was kneeling in the slightly damp, slightly muddy path in the center of the greenhouse. All she knew was that she wanted to touch him—to pleasure him. To give him something that would blow his mind.
She really, really wanted to blow his mind.
Once she was kneeling, she slid her other hand up his thigh, her gaze moving up to his face. He seemed paralyzed in a rictus of yearning and . . . fear? Of what? The scars were livid against the high color in his face, the slashes marring the beauty of his features.
Very slowly, she uncurled his fingers from around his cock, releasing his grip. “I want to get a look at you,” she told him in a low voice. “It makes me wet just thinking about this. I remember seeing you, nak*d and gleaming from the shower, though you weren’t as big then as you are today.” She ran a finger down the length of him, from root to tip, idly exploring.
Pre-cum slid down the head of his c*ck in response to her touch, and Gretchen sighed with pleasure.
“You’re very big. I like that. I imagine when I take you in my throat, it’s going to be hard to take you deep, isn’t it? I’m going to have to work to fit all of you.” Her fingers brushed against his sac, then she clasped the base of his cock, measuring its girth. “You’ll have to be patient with me.”
And she leaned in and swiped the slick head of his c*ck with her tongue.
A full body tremble moved through him, and she noticed the hand at his side clenched into a fist. Gretchen looked up at Hunter. “Do you want me to stop? Or can I keep exploring you?”
“I . . . no. Keep . . . going.” His words sounded almost strangled, the tension on his face incredible.
“Good,” she purred, giving his c*ck a stroke of her hand, squeezing in a mimic of his jerky earlier motions. She heard his sharp intake of breath and was pleased.
And because she wanted to torment him a little more, she leaned in even more and put her mouth on the head of his c*ck again, sucking the large tip of it into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the crown, enjoying the salty, pleasing taste of him and the way his hand spasmed at his side in response.
Gretchen flicked her tongue over the slit and worked her hand against the base again, gazing up at Hunter. “I love touching you. Tastes so good. Do you want to touch me?”
“I . . .” His hand clenched again.
“It’s okay,” she told him in a soft voice. “Maybe this time I’ll just touch you.” She took him into her mouth again, rubbing her tongue against the vein along the bottom of his c*ck and taking him deeper into her mouth, then pulling back.
Suddenly, his hand was in her hair and he groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair. Oh, yes. Gretchen felt wetness flood her panties in a fresh wave, and she moaned at his touch.
He flinched and pulled away.
She released him from her mouth and shook her head. “I like it when you touch me. Show me what you want. Please, Hunter.”
And she let her lips rest against the head of his cock, looking up at him and waiting.
The look in his eyes was a mixture of frenzied longing and . . . something else. Anxiety? She wanted to make that look go away, but it would take time. For some reason, sex made the man skittish. She’d have to be patient.
And she waited.
Ever so slowly, his hand moved back to her hair, all the while his c*ck pulsed in her hand. His pulse was beating so strong she could feel it through his hot skin. Then he gave her head a subtle nudge forward.
He wanted her to take him deep.
She parted her lips, letting the head of his c*ck push into her mouth. He groaned again and pushed her head forward with more force.
She took him deep into her mouth, but she hadn’t been stroking his ego; he was big and thick, and she couldn’t take him to the root, not at first. Slowly, she worked him deeper, relaxing her jaw and letting each stroke push a little more, until he was hitting the back of her throat and her lips were meeting her hand, which was still curled at the base of his cock.
Hunter’s entire body began to tremble again and he bit out a curse. He tugged on her hair, trying to pull her backward. “I . . . no. Gretchen . . .”
He was going to come; she knew as much based on the tension in his body and the way he struggled for control. And she wanted to let him know it was okay. So she moaned again and sank deeper onto him, relaxing her jaw to take him deeper.