r weight was slight in his arms. “I won’t let you go.”
Gretchen’s hips rolled against him, and he thrust at the same time, enjoying her gasp of reaction. “Harder, Hunter.”
He began to rock his hips a little harder. It was a tricky position, though. He needed more leverage. Glancing around, he spotted a bare section of wall a few feet away and moved toward it.
“What . . .” she murmured in protest as he began to move.
Hunter thrust her up against the wall, anchoring her there. She wanted to be fucked hard? He’d give her hard. The leverage of the wall allowed him better support, and when he thrust the next time, her eyes widened, her pussy clenching around him.
“Oh! Just like that!”
She was bossy in bed, his Gretchen. He loved that. Harder and harder, he pounded into her, enjoying her little cries with every thrust. Her eyes were closed tight and she clung to him so hard that her nails dug into his shoulders. And she was making deep, quivering motions with every rough thrust he made.
And he loved it.
A painting fell off the nearby wall. He didn’t give a shit. He thrust harder, each movement rocking her up the delicate floral wallpaper and bouncing her back down on his cock.
“Hunter,” she cried.
“I’m here,” he told her, his mouth swooping in to capture hers in a rough kiss. “I’ve got you.” Her cries were loud and wild, and it drove him fucking mad with pleasure. He ground his hips into her, his cock buried inside that perfect warmth.
She screamed against his mouth, and he felt her go over the edge, felt that flutter of muscle deep inside her, and then she clenched all around him, milking him with her body.
He bit out a curse, so close to the edge himself, his thrusts becoming rougher. She continued to whimper his name, the body shivers continuing on and on. And then he was coming, too, his own orgasm unleashing with a wild groan. He thrust into her again and then stiffened, remaining there as he went over the edge with her.
Gradually, awareness returned and he realized he still had her pinned against the wall, her legs around his hips, her heavy panting in his ear. Hunter shifted, pulling out of her and letting her slide to the ground.
She clung to him, her knees wobbly. He thought she would say something clever, something bold. Something uniquely Gretchen.
But she only wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his skin, as if she needed to be held.
And he was all too happy to comply.
***
They spent the rest of the day in bed, leisurely exploring each other’s bodies. They chatted for hours about the house, her projects, and about his work. She’d been under the impression that he didn’t leave the house to work but it turned out that he did, just not often. He had several real estate companies where he owned and leased enormous amounts of land and buildings. He might not oversee every sale, but he was involved in multiple projects at once.
Her own confessions about her job had surprised him. He’d had no idea that she’d had such an intense dislike for writing. He thought she did it because she loved it. But whenever Gretchen mentioned writing, there was a cagey, unhappy look in her eyes, as if she felt . . . trapped.
And here he’d thought he’d make her happy by making her a bestseller. But she hadn’t even brought it up. Perhaps it meant nothing to her. He’d have to think of another way to make her melt.
It seemed he existed solely for Gretchen’s teasing smiles.
***
A few days later
“We could have had this catered,” Hunter said, reaching to steal a piece of bruschetta from the hors d’oeuvres table.
She smacked his hand and arranged the remaining appetizers to hide the fact that he’d stolen one. “How many times do I have to tell you? I like cooking. Besides, this is only ten additional people. I can handle that.”
Tonight was the night of the small dinner party that she’d wheedled out of Hunter. It was a mixer of close friends and her editor and agent. At first, she’d wanted to do it to show the house off a little and get her editor excited about the project.
Now she was hoping that with a few bottles of wine in her editor, she’d be able to get an extension.
She’d made a feast for their guests—delicate pastries, savory appetizers, and a light salad. For the main course, she’d gone with an easy favorite—pasta—and had made a few different things for dessert to show off her skills. The entire day had been spent in kitchen-bliss, as she’d worked on one dish after another.
Why she couldn’t transfer some of that happy peace to her writing, she didn’t know. She hadn’t worked on her manuscript notes ever since she’d lost her file. Part of her kept hoping that she’d hear that they were able to recover the data.