The Criminal

Ch. 28: I'm here. I won't let anything bad happen to you.

I take Hunter back to my place, in need of some familiarity. He's barely through my front door when I remove his jacket, grappling at his shirt moments later. My movements are frantic, spurred on by his desperation to rip my clothes off. His belt hits my floor with a dull thud, jeans around his ankles moments later.

"Nicole—baby—you can't look at me like that."

"Like what?" I ask, gaining on him.

I flatten my hands against the hardness of his chest and run them down his torso, enjoying the feel of his heat.

"Like you're going to eat me alive."

"I am going to eat you alive," I retort, smirking.

His hands catch me around the waist, nails digging into my flesh.

"Not if I eat you first."

He shoves me onto the sofa, climbing on top seconds later. His smell invades my senses, all consuming. Slowly, I run my fingers through his hair, enjoying his grunts and growls as I pull, perhaps harder than originally intended.

"Hmm."

His head dips lower, trailing wet kisses along my stomach. My bra is still on and in a bid to remove it, I arch my back. The movement causes my stomach to rumble, the sound comically loud.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, resurfacing.

"Hungry for you," I tell him, pushing his head back into position.

He refuses my efforts. "Nicole, are you hungry?"

His concerned gaze meets mine.

"A little. I haven't eaten anything today."

He lightly kisses the tip of my nose and stands, pulling me along with him.

"Are you seriously stopping?" I ask, truly mortified.

"Yes. We'll eat now, fuck later."

"Hunter—"

"I won't back down, Nicole."

As frustrated as I am, he's right. I'm starving and I'm in no position to be abandoning my eating the way I have been lately.

"Fine!"

I grab his T-Shirt and shove it over my head, demanding he at least cook naked.

"What we having?" he asks, scouring the contents of my fridge.

I deliberately hang back, immediately triggered by the mention of food.

"You have chicken," he continues, oblivious to my turmoil. "I could rustle us up some chicken and tomato pasta."

"Okay."

He looks back at me, upper body practically inside my fridge. He's only in boxers and although the sight of him bent over is wonderful, I'm too anxious to enjoy it.

"Babe?"

"That sounds really nice," I say, busying myself with gathering the pans.

I'm half way through reaching for the frying pan when his huge arms wrap around my waist, encouraging my back to his front.

"Talk to me, babygirl."

His breath is in my ear, so soft and comforting.

"I'm scared to eat," I admit.

He slowly spins me around so that I have no choice but to look at him.

"That's okay."

I shake my head.