Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Seriously? He came over here to put me down? “No,” I begin.
“Mr. Granger, Hunter’s not here as my plus one,” Nate cuts in firmly. “Webflix wanted him here.” My father’s brown eyes widen in genuine surprise. The prick. “Oh! Well, how lovely that this little job is working out for now. I didn’t think junior producers came to these things,” he says.
He comes into my event and insults me? No, that’s not how this works, Dad. “I didn’t think so either, Ian, until my boss invited me,” I bite out. “She’s been asking me to do more projects. She values my input and what I bring to documentaries and sports.”
“Fascinating. If this little job doesn’t work out, there’s always a home for you on Sweet Nothings,” he says, then slugs my shoulder. “Shall we get a cuppa tomorrow? Chat about life as married chaps?”
Is he for real? But then, I have never understood my father, not in my entire life.
I part my lips to answer, but I’m too shocked to speak.
Nate reaches for my hand. “The answer is no, Mr. Granger. Hunter is going to be working all day. And then he’ll be producing on Sunday,” Nate says. “He doesn’t have the time. Now if you’ll excuse us.”
Nate sets a hand on my back and escorts me far, far away.
This is not how I expected to end up in the men’s room at this venue with Nate Chandler.
The door is locked, and we stand by the row of marble sinks, his hands on my shoulders. “You okay? You want to leave?”
I take one breath then another.
“I don’t know,” I admit. I don’t know where to go next, what to do, what to say.
“We can hang here until you figure it out,” he says.
He would stay here with me while I sorted out my feelings. He’s that kind of person—the kind who stays.
“He’s not going to change,” I say, resigned. “He’s always going to put me down. But his insults don’t hurt the way they used to.”
“You stood up to him. I’m really fucking proud of you,” he says, gripping the collar of my shirt fiercely.
“You stood up to him too,” I point out.
“No one talks to my husband that way,” Nate says.
And just like that, I know what’s next. “I want to go. I want to leave with you. I want to spend this last night with you,” I say with all the certainty of that answer.
Nate flashes me a cocky grin like he did the day we met. “Let’s escape, you and me.”
Him and me.
Thoughts of the last week swirl past me in a storm. But it blows over quickly, and my emotions clear away.
The anger, the annoyance, the frustration have vanished.
In their place is confidence. Resolution.
I’m not my father’s son. I’m my own man. And tonight, I want my man. “Let’s go home,” I say.
“Let’s go home,” he echoes.
Neither one of us calls it the hotel anymore. Home seems to be where we are when we’re together.
Twenty minutes later, I push open the door to our place, leaving everything else behind.
I want this night, this man.
And I deserve all the good things, like him.
The instant the door shuts, I grab Nate’s face and crush my lips to his. We kiss ferociously, unbuttoning shirts as we devour each other’s lips.
We’re a tangle of hard planes and edges, of muscles and limbs, of fabric falling to the floor.
We tumble onto the bed and push off the last layers between us. We make out for a good long time, panting and groaning, using fingers and lube until Nate moves up the bed, flops onto his back, and pulls me on top of him.
His possessive gaze locks onto mine. “You ready to fuck your husband?”
I heat up everywhere. “So ready.”
I’ve never done this before, but I feel like I know exactly what I’m doing.
I know because of him.
36
THE LAST NIGHT
Nate
Hunter, braced on his palms, gazes at me in dirty wonder. He lowers his chest closer to mine while he pushes inside me.
I tense for a second, then breathe out. “You got it,” I say, urging him on. I wrap my hands around his neck. There’s hardly any space between us, and I want it like this.
Want him just like this.
Close to me.
My hands rake his hair as he sinks slowly, inch by lubed inch, into me.
Then, he’s there, all the way in, and I take a few seconds to adjust to the feel.
“You good?” he asks.
“So good,” I say. He takes it nice and slow and deep, the way I told him I like it. It’s excruciatingly good. Then it’s even better when his hands slide around my shoulders, and he brings me closer.
This is why I like to switch. I want the intimacy. I want the give and take. With Hunter, we are givers and takers together.