The Criminal

Ch. 19: I'm impossible to love.

Hunter is freshly showered and fully clothed by the time I enter the men's changing rooms to give him the good news. He smells like soap and peppermint which—in collaboration with my good mood—makes him seem irresistible.

"Wait, you actually did it? he asks, a little stunned. "You made a deal with Shane fucking Murphy?"

"I know right? Who even am I?"

He laughs and picks me up, spinning me around twice before settling me back on my feet.

"I can't believe this is actually happening. I'm getting out!" he delights, smile unstoppable.

I stand on my tiptoes and touch my forehead to his. "You're practically a free man."

We remain in this position for a moment, both too afraid to move, yet unprepared to break away. Every inch of him radiates heat. I'm attracted to his warmth, pulled to him like a magnet. I tell myself it's okay to want him. That wanting someone and having strong feelings for someone are two completely different things.

"Let's go home," he suggests, voice unusually low.

"Your home?" I ask, hoping my implication is noticed.

He nods, taking me by the hand. The car ride is unbearably tense, neither of us speaking a single word. The tension builds the closer we get, heart in my mouth the entire time. I'm not entirely sure if what I'm feeling is a result of negotiating with Murphy or seeing Hunter fight tonight. I feel confident and fierce. I feel determined. All my life, all I've ever wanted was to help people. For the first time ever, I truly feel as though I'm doing that.

Hunter parks the car in his drive and jumps out, opening my door for me. I follow him into his home and wait for him to close the door before I make my move. Slowly, I unzip his hoodie with trembling hands, paying close attention to the way his body responds to me. He lets me lead the way, staying uncharacteristically quiet as I dispose of his hoodie and begin removing his T-shirt. I can feel his heat through the thin fabric, my fingertips desperate to touch him. He lifts his arms for me and the second his T-shirt is off, I can't help but gasp at the canvas of images on his skin. Each drawing is so much clearer now that I'm up close and personal. No longer am I second guessing each one or trying to sneak a peek without getting caught. Right now, his body is an art gallery and I have exclusive access.

"Can I?" I ask, needing his permission before I touch him.

He nods.

At first, I trace the outline of a cross just below his left pec using my fingers, amazed at how soft his skin feels. I soon move onto another drawing, only this one I can't quite make out. I assumed it was a silhouette of a small child, but upon closer inspection I'm not so sure.

"They're beautiful," I tell him, voice barely a whisper.

I reach up and trace the rose tattoo on his neck, using my lips to score the outline. He tenses as I do this, moaning his delight thereafter. I soon find myself at his jawline, stubble biting into my tender flesh. I love the slight sting it causes, inflicting more onto myself by repeatedly kissing him.

"Nicole."

My name is a breathless worship. A plea to never stop.

I eventually force myself to pull back, keen to explore the rest of his beautiful body. I especially want to discover what wonderful things await on his back, having already seen his angel wings. Carefully, I make my way around him, keeping my hands lightly brushing along his skin. Each contact evokes goosebumps and I love that I have this effect on him. That he's enjoying my touch as much as I'm enjoying touching him. One by one, I trace each of his tattoos, committing my favourites to memory. His wings are large, almost covering the entirety of his back. I press the palm of my hands into his shoulder blades and run them all the way down until I reach the bottom of his waist. I then litter his skin's entire surface with kisses, so unbelievably obsessed with this man and his body.