The Hunter

He was a lonely prince. Untouchable yet in need of a hug. Brilliant, yet deeply misunderstood. Sitting on a throne of broken expectations and disappointment.

He was a lonely prince. Untouchable yet in need of a hug. Brilliant, yet deeply misunderstood. Sitting on a throne of broken expectations and disappointment.

Find me on:

Although Baron was a lawyer by trade, he didn’t practice criminal law. But it was my understanding that sometimes he helped relatives and close friends with legal shit. It was also my understanding that he charged $5,000 an hour to justify his reputation as a world-class cunt.

“The sexual harassment will be a hard sell, seeing as the girls seemed lucid, active, and present. The obstruction of justice charge is due to the fact that Mr. Cole had confiscated Bianca’s phone. According to Miss Evans, the order came from you. Fortunately for you, at the time she entered the media room and party with the rest of students who’d had their phones confiscated, your dick was already softer than marshmallow and you were passed out on the floor, long after the orgy. There are several witnesses to attest to that time discrepancy. In other words, your incompetence saved you.”

“I need a stronger drink.” I shook my head.
“What you need is a good spanking.”

Baron had the same ink black hair as his son, identical glacial eyes, and the hunger to be successful, powerful, and capable. I wondered what it felt like to be a Spencer—adept, driven, motivated. Talented.

“There was a leak.” Vaughn’s icicle eyes tapered with displeasure. I waved him off with the cigarette. “That’s just a natural discharge designed to tell you the female body is ready for mating. You’d know that if you fucked women who were alive.

I watched as three fellow recent high school graduates—Alice, Stacee, and Sophia—giggled into the camera and strutted their way to me, asses dangling, high heels on full display. I was on the couch, getting sucked by a chick named Kylie while another one, Bianca, was circling my nipple with her pierced tongue. I was wearing an open varsity jacket with no shirt, my jeans rolled down to my shins. The camera zoomed out, and the person shooting the video and I pounded it. He lowered the camera to show that he was fucking Kylie from behind while she was sucking me off. He came on her lower back, stepping back and tucking in his semi. After five minutes of acrobatics, I somehow managed to get my hands, mouth, and dick on all five of the girls combined.

As for Harvard, I didn’t think an idiot like me would survive it, anyway. I’d probably fail at finding the classes, let alone deciphering the lectures. It was just as well.

“You’ve never finished anything in your life, Hunter.” False. I finished analogies, beers, and orgasms on a daily basis. But even my dumb ass knew better than to point it out.

Don’t ask me how I got into Harvard. Da probably donated enough money to feed the entire state of Massachusetts for a decade to make that happen. I wouldn’t trust me to write a grocery list, let alone an essay.

“Specifically speaking, I don’t have any. Just think of me, like, as Bambi: cute AF but super stupid and in total need of supervision.”

The important thing to remember was, my balls weren’t going to fall off. I’d Googled it a few times (twenty-three times, if we’re being specific here) to be on the safe side. It was confirmed: I could live for six months without having sexual intercourse and still survive.

I shoved her into the limo and spent the time scrolling through pictures of hot girls I’d fucked. I needed to clear my head. Also, to empty my dick.

Hunter: Send n00dz

I followed it up with a GIF of a dog humping a pillow. Courting in the twenty-first century was the shit. Instead of smarting off, or breaking down, or generally being a mess—cough, Sailor, cough—Alice replied with a picture of her from the neck down spread eagle on the bed, wearing nothing but a neon pink thong.

Hunter: Now a video of you touching yourself.

I jerked off twice that night to unholy videos of Alice.

Like, yeah, she wasn’t fuck-hot in an obvious kind of way. She didn’t have big tits, curves for miles, lips that looked like a neatly shaved vagina, and glossy hair. But she was the kind of girl who, the more you looked at her, the more her beauty crept up on you.

“CT, this is Emily.” I motioned to my guest, pretending this chick hadn’t been in the process of hoisting herself onto me a hot second ago. Swear to God, the idea of fucking her hadn’t even occurred to me. I mean, in the future—one-hundred-and-ten-percent yes. Right now, though? Too risky. My bloodline, my inheritance, my future depended on my ability to keep my pants on. Plus, I was putting a dent in the Sailor project.

Obviously, I would be sad to see her go, but keeping her had never been an option. If I had to guess, the loss of Sailor would feel like the loss of a really good pizza some asshole sneezed on. It’d suck balls, but at least I’d have had a taste, and there were more restaurants to choose from.

“Let me buy you a burger,” I offered, internally sweating my balls. A rejection would crush me. “I don’t eat garbage,” he drawled. “But I’ll treat you to the best meat you’ll ever have.” I very much doubted he could offer me any meat better than what I was pounding into these days, but agreed anyway.

Hunter turned and walked away, not even bothering to answer his best friend or pick me up from the floor, with his cum still dripping from my chin.

“Anyway, we were supposed to keep this shit happening until she moves out, but she wants to break it off now.” “And?” “And I don’t want to be celibate again!” I snapped.

“What do I do now?” “Grovel.” “Screw that.”

The worst part was, I was going to apologize. I’d bought flowers from Trader Joe’s. I even Googled best flowers to get a chick. I put work into this thing.

“Jesus Christ!” My throat burned with the scream. Hunter was sitting in Junsu’s chair, naked. Lana was on top of him, straddling his narrow waist. She was wearing his dress shirt and seemingly nothing underneath. She had her back to me, but there was no mistaking the lush, brunette hair extensions. Her arms were wrapped around his neck possessively, her face buried in his chest.

“I want to be your husband,” he finished, my body clenching tightly around his fingers as the orgasm washed over me. He used his available hand to produce something from under his pillow—a little box—throwing it into my hands.