Except . . . he’d felt too much too soon. He knew his control wasn’t what it should be, and he’d tensed, suddenly afraid of showing his inexperience. She’d pouted a little, but had ended up surprising him all over again, touching herself and inviting him to touch himself in response.
When he’d set this project in motion, he’d hoped to merely spend time with her. Be around her and let his glimpses of her fuel his longings. He’d never hoped for as much as he’d gotten this afternoon.
She wasn’t repulsed by his scars. She hadn’t flinched away from his scarred hand and missing finger. He touched his cheek. She hadn’t backed away when he reached for her. If anything, she’d seemed . . . eager for his touch. As if it had been what she’d been waiting for all along.
And he’d been unable to give her what she wanted. She’d wanted to be f**ked but he’d pulled off her like a green schoolboy and jerked his c**k instead. Shame mixed with hunger and he sat up in bed, frustrated.
His dick was already hard again. Just the merest thought of Gretchen and he went wild with need.
He wanted to see her again. That afternoon, he’d left her on the couch, sated. Was she hurt by his abandonment? Angry? As frustrated as he was? It was suddenly important to him that he talk to her and explain himself. The thought of telling her about his inexperience made his throat go dry, but she deserved to know. It wasn’t her who was the problem; it was him. And he didn’t want her to go another moment thinking that there was something wrong with her.
Hunter jumped out of bed and tossed on a robe, loosely tying it as he headed down the dark hallways of Buchanan Manor. She’d think he was crazy. Completely crazy. But he needed to talk to her.
A short time later, he stood in front of her room, hesitating. Her door was shut, no light shining underneath. She was asleep. Should he stay? Go? Gathering his courage, he knocked softly, and when there was no response, knocked louder.
Gretchen arrived at the door a moment later, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She was dressed in an oversized T-shirt and panties. Her long, curvy legs were bare. “Mmm, Hunter? What’s going on?”
She was mouthwatering. Soft, sleepy, and gorgeous. The T-shirt slipped off one shoulder, baring her skin, and he couldn’t wait any longer.
Hunter moved forward, grasped her by the shoulders, and kissed her.
Gretchen stiffened against him and that horrible, horrible fear crashed through him—fear that she wasn’t attracted to him, fear that she’d be repulsed by his touch, fear that she’d turn him away. But then she pushed into his arms with enthusiasm, sliding her hands around the back of his neck and kissing him.
It was his first kiss. He realized after she softened in his arms that he had no idea what to do. He’d never kissed anyone before. What if he f**ked this up? What if—
Gretchen’s tongue slicked out and licked the tight seam of his mouth.
Ah, f**k. Fuck, f**k, f**k. That was the most amazing thing he’d ever felt. The tip of her tongue might as well have been licking his cock, for it shot a jolt straight there. Hunter groaned, unable to help himself.
She touched the seam of his mouth again with her tongue, and he parted his lips, fascinated by the aggressive lead she’d taken. Immediately, Gretchen’s tongue swept into his mouth, stroking against his in a coaxing move that made him harden with need.
“Gretchen,” he breathed against her lips. His c**k ached so badly for her that he couldn’t think straight, was losing track of what he’d arrived here to do. “I—we need to talk.”
Her warm, delicious figure suddenly pulled away. “Talk? That sounds bad.” She tilted her head up at him and gave him a teasing look. “Are you coming here to break up with me?”
“No.” He wanted to crawl between her legs and settle there again. He wanted to touch her all over. Caress her. Kiss her more. Kiss her for hours. “I just . . . there are things that need to be said between us.”
“That sounds very serious. Why don’t you come to bed and tell me? It’s cold out here.” She gave a small shiver, and he noticed her ni**les were hard, poking against the thin fabric of her sleep shirt.
The sight made him nearly spend right there. Hunter scrubbed a hand down his face as Gretchen took his hand and led him to the bed. She crawled under the covers and then held them open for him, inviting him in.
The most beautiful, desirable woman he’d ever seen was inviting him to her bed. Damn, he was a lucky son of a bitch.
Hunter hesitated but then slid into bed next to her, feeling stiff and uncomfortable and awkward. He didn’t belong here. Any moment she’d tug his robe open, see that the scars covering one half of his face also went down his side, and be repulsed. She’d pull away and then he’d be left wallowing in his own humiliated fury.
To his surprise, Gretchen reached over and turned off the lamp, setting the room in darkness. “Better?” she asked softly. “You seem uneasy.”
He was. He was tense as hell and kept waiting for her to come to her senses and realize he wasn’t handsome. “The lights off is better for you,” he bit out. “Less to see.”
Her warm chuckle in the dark made his c**k jump, and he nearly groaned aloud when her hair brushed against his shoulder. Gretchen’s fingers touched his chest, lightly trailing along his chest hair. “I like the way you look.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he said harshly, a stab of anger flaring through him. He kept his fists clenched at his side, though he wanted nothing more than to touch her. “I know what I look like.”
“I do, too,” she said easily, and those teasing fingers trailed down his stomach, lightly swirling at his belly button. “You have dark hair and a strong nose, and scars on one side of your face. You’re taller than me, have big arms, and you turn your cheek aside when possible, like you’re trying to shield the world from your face.”
The breath left him. Stunned, he said nothing for a long moment, waiting. Waiting for her to say something. When she remained quiet, he struggled for something to say, to make her feel the depth of his struggle. “People flinch when they look at me. They turn away when they see my face.”
“People are ass**les,” she said, and he felt her shoulders lift as if she were giving a tiny shrug. “You’re a gorgeous, intelligent man . . . with a few scars.”
Her finger dipped into his belly button, distracting him from the angry protest about to spill forth. She wasn’t listening to him. She didn’t understand what it was like to be the one who everyone looked away from. To turn people’s stomach with a look of your face.