The Hunter (Boston Belles, #1)

by L.J. Shen

“To being with someone who loves you just the way you are, and vice versa.”

“I’m so glad you ladies aren’t interested in Sam, because knowing my brother, he’d never look at you twice. As for Hunter, he’s too good for you, too. But I’ll be sure to bring him up to speed regarding everything you discussed today. And his brother, Cillian, too.”

Not many people wanted to hang out with the shy, awkward daughter of the guy who allegedly did the dirty work of Boston’s elite. At the rare times I was invited to parties after the Saggy Sailor ordeal, I always passed. It was guys like Hunter who scared me the most—the beautiful, popular, athletically accomplished creatures who looked down on me. I knew they were waiting for the slightest sign of weakness to leap and tear me to shreds.

He held me like I was a porcelain doll. Fragile and beautiful and rare.

“Take a deep breath, open your eyes, and look at me,” he purred, his tone steady, almost lulling.

“This part is crucial, so listen carefully: nobody knows how to dance unless it’s professionally. Nobody. But especially white people from Boston. We are notoriously bad at dancing. If there were Razzie Awards for dancing, my bathroom would be full of statues.” I bit my lip, stifling a giggle. “Nonsense. You go to lots of parties.” “Dancing is not my preferred cardio when I attend them, trust me.”

“Now, I’m going to put my hands on your waist, and you are going to not freak out. Then you’re going to wrap your arms around my shoulders, and you are still not going to freak out. Then we are going to sway like drunk babies who just learned how to walk, and even then—you will not freak out. That’s all there is to dancing. Up to the challenge, CT?”

I held him like he was made of glass. He held me like I was made of clouds.

You are virtually perfect, from the outside. But your inside makes you an endangered species. Totally murder-able.”

I wanted to march over to Gerald Fitzpatrick and flip his full plate all down his suit for making his son believe he was anything short of wonderful.

Was I close to coming, though? …ain’t gonna lie, my balls did tingle.

HHH: Go to hell, CT.

“The Hunter Games: Royal Pipelines Playboy Caught Canoodling Archery Mistress Sailor Brennan!”

“Out of my way, Prince Syphilis.” “Have dinner with me, Princess Psychotic.”

“We’re not our parents. Case in point, your father runs one of the largest corporations in America, and you, in contrast, are an amateur porn star.”

Hunter’s hotness made me stupid.

“I’m going to butcher you,”

In that moment, I wished I’d never laid eyes upon Hunter Fitzpatrick, because I knew with certainty that for all his spoiled ways, corrupted behavior, and obsession with pleasure, he was innately good, loyal, and courageous.

Those things made him very dangerous to me. Dangerously attractive.

Let the record show that I, personally, would pork the hell out of her.

But she was the kind of girl who, the more you looked at her, the more her beauty crept up on you.

There was something whimsical about Sailor’s red hair and pale skin and sage eyes. She looked like a fairy from an Irish folklore, one where a lot of strange, magical shit happened.

Call me a hopeless romantic, but if I were, say, to plow into Sailor Brennan one day, you could bet your ass I’d be looking at her face and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. (Profanity about what I wanted to do to her uterus was considered sweet, right?)

Sailor confirmed that finding good food spots was her talent. Which, side note, made her marriage material, if I was into monogamy.

You can’t be that much of a dick. Besides, it’s Sailor. He was right. It was Sailor, and in my world, Sailor deserved better.

I looked up from my offended nuts, noticing that she was full-blown smiling, and that I was full-blown fucked. How did I not realize Sailor Brennan had the most amazing goddamn smile in the entire goddamn world? She radiated. Her face glowed like candlelight, her eyes gleamed, and that mouth…her lips weren’t thin or boring at all. They were full and pink and had a dusting of orange freckles that I wanted to devour. Violently.

I’ve watched enough horror flicks to know you’d turn at the stroke of midnight, and I don’t want to be here in the morning when you make me your breakfast. Although, let it be known, I’d be happy to eat you out whenever you please.”

Seeing her like that made me violent.

She called me Hunt and told my da I was awesome and always knew what I felt like eating when she ordered DoorDash, even if we hadn’t spoken all day.

Sailor Brennan confused me. I fell asleep on her carpeted bedroom floor, like a goddamn tweaker.

Rather than answering me with actual words, Sailor took a step back, grabbed her bow, and plucked out an arrow, her face void of emotion.

“Sailor.” “Three seconds to move from the door, Hunter. Three.”

“Sorry, aingeal dian, but I think you just met the one motherfucker who is dumb enough not to be scared of you or your family.” “Two.”

“Meh. You don’t have it in you.” But was I convincing her or myself? “One.” ...

I repeat: Bitch. Released. ...

I was on the brink of goddamn madness, caused by the most unassuming, innocent, dorky girl on the planet. Fuck. My. Life.

“Just so we’re clear, you may be my babysitter, but you don’t call the shots. You do not boss me around, you do not make stupid-ass decisions with your body. Finally, you do not fucking hunt me. I’m the hunter here, sweetheart. And you? The goddamn prey.”

“Your name may be Hunter, but make no mistakes—you’ll never catch me.”

“Already did, aingeal dian. Want to know something else? I will domesticate you, too.”

The need to tame her made my blood boil. I wanted to fight her to the ground and devour her, ending her and ending me.

“I’d like to cash in on that kiss now.”

She was so drunk on our kiss, I knew she was a second away from falling flat on her ass. I grabbed the backs of her thighs roughly, hoisting her legs up and wrapping them around my waist, pressing her against the door.

She moaned a soft protest at the same time her warm pussy met my raging cock through our clothes, grinding against me.

Our hearts slammed against each other, and maybe it was because I hadn’t had any action in over a month, but the kiss made me black out a little. It was a euphoric kind of dizziness, like I’d just taken a benzo and was unsure whether it had kicked in or not. I wanted to kiss her again, but I didn’t want to overwhelm her. I usually got a good feel of what chicks wanted from me, but Sailor was impossible to read.

Her words melted into my hoodie, muffled by it. Was it just me, or were our heartbeats freakishly loud?

No one had ever touched me the way Hunter Fitzpatrick did—like the world was ending and we had to cram all our passion into one defined moment. It terrified me how seductive the man I shared a roof with was. Because that kiss had seemed genuine, ardent, and earnest, but I knew Hunter wasn’t any of those things. In fact, that’s what had landed him under my supervision in the first place.

Celibacy is going well, too. I’m really getting in touch with myself. Especially my right hand.”

I realized with a sinking feeling that I was CT when Hunter was in a sour mood, and aingeal dian when he wanted to cop a feel. God, I hated him.

“Money is power, baby girl, and the universe has a twisted sense of humor, which is why I have a lot of influence. But if I do this, you make out with me—full-blown, second-base, tit-sucking, dick-rubbing make-out sesh. Oh, and I get to tour that orange forest between your legs. My time of choice, of course.”

“I’m going to have you, prey. One way or the other. Our little deals are just a way for you to give yourself excuses for letting me into your panties. Do the smart thing, and get something out of it, too. Yes or no?”