Pure Illusion (15 page)

My
fingers rake through his soft hair.

He
groans and turns over.

I
drop my hand and tiptoe back out the room, not having the heart to wake him.

Hunter’s
walk-in closet is the perfect to hide from the raging storm, no windows.
There’s a forestry draft inside here, puffs of white swirl from my mouth when
my breath hits the air. It’s like an ice box. Unhooking one of his jackets, I
slip it on and zip it all the way up to my neck and then lie down on the soft
carpeted floor, balling into the fetal position, hoping to gain some kind of
warmth.

I
don’t know whether I really fall asleep, but curiosity strikes me when I hear
strange animal-like moaning.

I Want You to Want Me

Frozen
and stunned and breathless and transfixed on the last step, I have no choice
but to watch Hunter and Candy go at it. Their bodies mingling together are a
graceful dance that I am immensely jealous of. Her pale limbs are locked around
his hips. Hunter is wedged between her legs, sliding in and out of her in the
gentlest rhythm I’ve ever seen anyone use. The motion he uses is one that
another would use to illustrate appreciation and even love. The beautiful skin
of his back is completely exposed, the muscles and line of his spine tensed. He
keeps his jeans on while Candy is nude in the flesh. She shuts her eyes,
tossing her head back and moans ever so softly. The quality of her hushed voice
is almost songlike.

“Hunter,”
she pants, gripping his flexing biceps, her red painted nails cutting into his
arms.

He
doesn’t respond to her, only drives deeper and faster until her arms flop to
her sides and her body, liquefying into gelatin. 

“Hunter,
sweetie, I’m there—”

Her
soft, curvy body is carelessly thrown over the arm of the sofa and Hunter is
suddenly behind her, thrusting like a madman, holding back nothing.

A
range of emotions surges through me. The most prominent is envy. I envy Candy
White. She’s giving Hunter something I always wanted to give him. Her body is
much more feminine than mine. She has breasts, hips, and thighs, a soft
voluptuous body while I am barely a C-cup and wouldn’t tip the scale at 118
pounds soaking wet. Within the dim light from the fireplace, her skin appears
flawless, not marked and scarred like mine.

I
am nothing.

Candy
is a man’s dream come true.  

The
pinned up air that I’ve been holding in my lungs, wheezes out through my mouth.
I want to cry, maybe scream and shout, or at least run, but I can do neither of
those options. This scene before me, which is both beautiful and horrifying, is
too captivating to leave. It’s beautiful because the vision of Hunter enjoying
himself in such a primal way is kind of worth the agonizing pain I feel in my
entire body, not just my chest. Horrifying because Hunter is
enjoying
himself and I have no part in it.

“Hunter,
sweetie, please,” Candy begs. Her low voice is now husky and strained with a
pleasure I will never know.

His
sounds aren’t as erotic as hers. Hunter’s grunts are angry almost frustrated,
like he is losing patience with her, with everything. It seems like he just
wants to reach his goal.

But
how can that be?

How
can he be irritated with an act such as fucking? There are no other words to
describe what’s happening. They are not making love. Hunter and Candy are
fucking, in the rawest form.

One
hand grasps her hip, holding her in place while the other one is knotted in her
shining ruby red hair. He tugs harshly as he uses more force to plunge into
her.

Her
legs start to shake and the soft purrs turns into guttural pleas.

He
cups the back of her head, leaning down and twisting her head towards his him
to give her a sloppy and possessive kiss, his tongue thrusting into her open
and receiving mouth. He kisses her hard, long and deep, never wavering from
fucking her brutally.

A
rush of warmth floods my body. My nipples are hard and scrape the fabric of
Hunter’s shirt. Wetness gathers between my thighs and threatens to seep down my
legs. My heart rate and breathing quickens.

If
only he would touch me like that.

A
harsh flash of white lightning strikes across the sky. It pulls me from my
reverie. Not trusting my trembling legs to carry me, I gracefully sink to my
knees and begin to clamber up the stairs, careful not to make any noise that
will give me away. On my hands and knees, I crawl down the hallway and down to
Hero’s cracked room door, using my hand to push the door open and lock it
behind me.

He’s
still peacefully sleeping with his earbuds in contact when I approach him. I
carefully climb into his bed and nudge his shoulder. I have to shake him a few
times to get him to fully wake.

He
jolts upright, slinging the earbuds from his ears, twisting his head from side
to side, his eyes wide and alert. “What? What’s wrong? You okay?”

“I’m
scared,” I whisper.

He
glances out the window. The trees are violently swaying; it’s as if they are
going to snap from the pressure of the wind at any moment. He sighs and wipes
the sleep from his eyes.
“Of the storm?”

I
bite my lip, nodding. “Can I lie down with you?”

He
looks at me and blinks.

“Only until the storm passes.
Please, Hero,”
I beg almost frantically.

“Okay,
okay,” his voice gravely from sleep. Hero unthinkingly pats the space bedside
him.

Stifling
my smile, I form my body into the curves of his, snuggling my face into his
neck. He stiffens and then relaxes after a heartbeat, throwing an arm around my
back, cradling me close to his chest.

His
pulse accelerates. I feel it pound against my cheek. Wanting to finally be
selfish, I place my tongue there.

He
tenses, inhaling sharply. “Isabel, we can’t.” The tone of his voice is almost
whiny, desperate to seek some kind of understanding.

My
good hand glides down and I grip him between the legs. His groin instantly twitches
and hardens beneath me. “We can.”

He
squeezes his eyes shut and gives his head a shake.

“We
can,” I whisper, kissing up his neck, rolling on top of him. I graze his
earlobe with my teeth and suck the ache away.

“Fuck,”
he grunts, eyes still closed.

Straddling
him, my hands run underneath his shirt to explore his taut, smooth chest as I
rock my hips on the huge budge in his jeans. This feels too good to be so
wrong.

“Fuck,
Isabel,” he says huskily, flipping me on my back, pinning both of my arms with
one of his large hands. “This is wrong on so many levels.”

“I
don’t care, Hero. It’s just you and me in this moment, no one else. Give in.
It’s okay.”

He
stares at me with the strangest expression and then shocks me when he smiles,
knowing and almost smug. “I can’t fuck you, but I can…” he trails off, and his
hand slips between my legs and roughly cups my sex.

My
back arches off the mattress as pleasure blooms there.

“You’re
soaked,” he whispers in wonder. His fingers press deeper into my wet flesh
until they’re wiggling inside of me.

My
body strains against the restraint of his other arm that weighs me down.

His
mouth crushes down on mine, his tongue tracing the outline of my lips. I taste
alcohol on his breath. He has been drinking. I think he’s drunk, but that isn’t
stopping him and it’s definitely not stopping me. We are both unfit to be in a
sound state of mind to determine what’s right and what’s completely over the
line. Crappy excuse or not, I’m just glad and grateful to have Hero distract me
from whatever poison that lurks inside my head at the moment.

He
buries his face into my throat, pushing his fingers further into me, his thumb
circling my clit. A rush of heat ripples down the line of my spine. My entire
body bucks and bows and trembles around his hand. I moan incoherently as my
orgasm wrecks me. Before I can calculate anything, Hero settles between my legs
and rubs the thick length of
himself
against me.
  

His
erection warms me through the thin material of his pants as he moves against
me, as if he can somehow enter me. I freeze as he pushes into me without really
penetrating me. His hot breath fans across my moist face as he increases his
speed. I wrap my arms around his back and pull him close to me. His breath
hitches and his thrusts me becomes jerker, his breathing more labored. Hero
stuffs his face inside my neck and grunts, coming down from his climax.

He
collapses on top of me. Hero’s body begins to shake. At first, I think he’s laughing
until I feel wetness on the side of my neck from his soft lashes. I lovingly
stroke his back and then his hair. He coils his arms around me in a viselike
grip, nuzzling his face deeper into my neck. We stay silent like that for the
longest moment.

Eventually,
Hero gathers his composure when my body starts to tremble with a constricted
wail of my own.

He
holds me tighter and kisses my cheek.

“I
miss him,” I whisper barely audible.

“I
do, too.”

“I’m
sorry.”

“I
am, too.”

Our
eyes meet in the dark. He stares down at me, expression guilty but thankful,
mirroring mine. Hunter rolls on the side of me with a heavy sigh, pulling me
close into his side. His fingers play with the ends of my hair. I try to ignore
the big wet spot between his legs and the fact that this entire situation is
nauseating. Instead of focusing on the negative, I swim in the relief of my
post orgasmic glow and the heavenly weightlessness it brings. I take in a deep
breath and close my eyes, falling into a peaceful slumber.

The Factor That Changes Everything

“Isabel, baby, wake up.”

I
groan, rolling away from the voice that threatens to end my heavenly sleep.

That
same voice
tsks
, grasping my wrists and dragging me back over the mattress.
“You can never run from me, my sweet.”

Hunter!

My
eyes snap open. I fell asleep in Hero’s bed and woke in Hunter’s, dressed in
his large gray jacket and shirt with no panties. Hunter sits on the side of the
bed, a green glass bowl in his hand. I glance up into narrowed eyes that pins
me where I lie.

“Good
morning,” he greets, not quite warmly…just controlled.

“Hey.”
My voice is raspy, not pleasant like his.

He
places the bowl with a silver spoon on the bed, in front of my face. “I made
you blueberry oatmeal.”

My
eyes drop to the bowl and then back at him. I do this a few times. “I’m not
hungry.”

His
brows furrow, his forehead creasing. “It’s blueberry and cream.
Your
favorite. You still like that, right?” 

I
nod.

He
remembered what I like for breakfast? I haven’t had oatmeal since I was a kid.

“Then,
eat.”

“I’m
not hungry.”

His
lips twitch, eyes growing darker. “Eat the damn oatmeal, Isabel.”

Avoiding
a pointless argument, I pick up the spoon and stuff my mouth with warm, sweet
deliciousness. I feel his eyes burning into me. Because of this, I let my gaze
roam. His hard jaw is covered with a thin layer of stubble. His hair looks damp
and untamed. He doesn’t have a shirt on but he wears jeans, the top button
unfastened. He looks like he just took a shower and can probably land the next
role for a Gillette commercial.

“What
happened to your hand?”

“It
was an accident,” I mumble through mouthfuls.

“You
had a rough night last night.” It isn’t a question. Hunter is just stating the
obvious.

“You
two really put on a performance.
Oscar worthy.”

His
jaw ticks, lips thinning. “I didn’t know you were here. I never wanted you to
see that.”

“No,
it’s okay. I’m not innocent, Hunter. I know what fucking is, and it wasn’t my
first time witnessing it. I promise. You shouldn’t look so beat-up about it.”

He
continues to regard me with solemn intensity.

Deciding
I have had enough, I sit the bowl down.

“Eat
the rest.”

“But
I don’t want anymore,” I mumble.

“It’s
a little left,” he pushes. “Eat it all.”

“But—”

He
shoves the bowl towards me, hostility emitting from his pores. “Eat. All of
it.”

Sighing,
I stuff the two last tablespoons in my mouth without bothering to chew. He
thumb presses on the corner of my mouth, wiping away the oats there. He sucks
it off his thumb and for some stupid reason I blush.

“Thanks,”
I say, handing him the empty bowl.

He
sits the bowl down on stand and hands me a tall glass of orange juice.
“Drink.
All of it.”

I
cock my head to the side and openly stare at him. “You know, Hunter, you don’t
have to tell me. I have a brain and I know when I’ve had enough of something.”

His
lips twitch as he raises a sardonic brow. “Obviously you don’t.” Hunter doesn’t
need to elaborate; I know exactly what he is referring to: when he had to
rescue me from myself and what happened between me and Hero last night and
maybe my entire life.

“You
arrogant bastard, I didn’t ask for your help, Hunter. I didn’t ask for you to
save me. I didn’t ask for
your
help. You just invaded my life. You know
what—” I place the juice back on the stand and swing my legs of the edge of the
bed, lifting myself up with my hands“—let me do you the biggest favor in the
fucking world and leave.”

He
laughs humorlessly.

I
turn my back to him and sling off his jacket and shirt, frantically glancing
around his room for my dress.

Where
the hell did I put it last night?

Somewhere
between me standing and searching for my dress, Hunter moves in front of me,
caging me in with his huge body, a severe scowl on his pissed face.

I
take a step back and the backs of my thighs collide with the bed.

Hunter
advances forward and stops just in front of me. His frosty eyes drop to my
chest and run down the length of my body.

Spellbound,
I watch his eyes alter from frigid to hot, peaking to a scorching degree. Red
tings his cheeks. I find this odd and even cute; I haven’t seen Hunter blush in
a very long time.

Why
is he blushing when I’m seriously pissed off?

His
tongue darts out and wets his lips.

I
notice my chest swelling and heaving, my heart drumming in my ears. Awareness
creeps in and I realize that I don’t have any panties on. My breasts might not
be exposed to him, but
everything
else is.

I
cover my sex with my hands, narrowing my eyes at him, pushing my embarrassment
down and standing my ground. “Where did you put my dress?”

“You’re
not wearing that piece of scrap anymore. That shit is too short.”

“You
can’t tell me what to wear,” I yell, frustrated.

“Just
did. You’re not wearing it again.”

“Are
you insane? Because I’m pretty sure I’m a free woman and I can do
whatever
I want.”

His
jaw clenches, then he shifts his hands to my cheeks.

I
flinch instinctively as they gingerly settle on either side of my face.

Sadness
or maybe disappointment contorts his features. “I’m not going to hit you,
Isabel. It pisses me off that
you
think I would. I would never
intentionally harm you like that. You have to know and understand that.”

My
eyes drift to some space to the side of him. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Good.”
His thumbs swipe my lower eyelashes. “What have you done to your face?”

My
gaze flickers back up to him as he wipes at my face, removing something.
“What?”

He
shows me the back of his thumbs that are smeared with black eyeliner.

“Makeup?”

“I
don’t want you to wear it. It takes away from your natural beauty. Sit down.
I’m gonna get a rag and wipe your face clean.” He releases me and strolls into
the bathroom.

Scoffing,
I throw his shirt back over my head and search his drawers for boxers. I find a
dark blue pair and shimmy them up my legs, flopping down on the bed.

He
comes back with a washcloth in hand, grave eyes zeroed in on me.

I
swallow hard, forcing the lump down my throat as he starts to wipe my face. His
movements are slow, gentle, and tender. His face is so serious right now and
he’s very focused, as if wiping my face could turn catastrophic if not done
correctly. I have no choice but to laugh.

“What’s
funny?”

“Is
that serious, Hunter?”  

He’s
mute for heartbeat, removing every trace of makeup from my face with pinpoint
accuracy. He stills the washcloth on my cheek, staring down into my eyes. “Yes,
it is that serious.”

My
stomach flutters.

I
let my gaze drop to the floor.

His
free hand cups the back of my neck.

I
tip my face up to look at him.

His
eyes roam over me for a while, an inquisitive expression on his granite
features, then his lips press in a thin line. “Are you staying out of trouble?”

“Doesn’t
look like it,” I grumble, annoyed, turning my face away from him.

His
hand spasms on the back of my neck and then he moves it to grip my chin,
forcing me to look at him, his fingers pinching my skin, not enough to inflict
pain though. “That mouth is going to get you in a lot of trouble. Do try to
control it, at least when I’m around. Understand?”

Choosing
the wise option to ignore him and his ridiculous demand, I roll my eyes.

His
fingers dig deeper into my flesh and an impish smile slowly spreads across his face,
blinding me.

I
wish Hunter wasn’t so freaking attractive, handsome, good-looking, striking,
and gorgeous. He’s all that multiplied by a billion. I’m dazzled by a stupid
smile that comes so easily to him.

“Don’t
roll your eyes, either,” he commands with that stupid smile still plastered on
his face.

“What
can I do?” I reply with sarcasm dripping from my voice.

His
smile vanishes, expression turning grim. “Love me like you do.”

My
breath hitches and my heart stutters in my chest. I search his eyes to see if
he’s teasing, but the sternness of his features never wavers. “Whatever.” I
glance at my name sketched across the left side of his ribcage. My hand lifts
to touch it. He stills and stiffens as my fingers sweep across the letters.
It’s surprisingly smooth, not rugged like I imaged.

“Did
it hurt?”

Hunter
drops his hands from my face, letting them dangle at his sides.
“Nope.”

“It’s
big.”

I
earn another smile. “It’s mine.”

“Was
there a lot of blood?”

“Nope.”

I
explore the patch of skin there. My name looks like a scar but doesn’t feel
like one. “How did you get it so smooth and flawless?”

His
muscles tense beneath my probing fingers. He releases a long exhale. “You think
I cut myself,” he states in an accusing tone.

My
throat constricts and I look anywhere but in his eyes. I feel guilty just
thinking about it. I hope he didn’t harm himself because he feels guilty about
the scars that tarnish my arms.

His
hand roughly cups the back of my head, tipping it back so Hunter fills my
vision. “Jesus, Isabel, it’s a tattoo.”

My
brows knit together.
“A tattoo?”

“Yeah, a tattoo.
I got it in
white ink, that’s why it looks like a scar. I didn’t cut myself, alright?”

I
nod, understanding.
“But why?”

His
eyes fall to my lips and back up, holding my eyes hostage in an ardent gaze.
“Cause I marked you a longtime ago. It’s only fair that I’m scored as well.
It’s not even; I don’t think it’ll ever be even.”

“You’re
keeping tally of how many times we screw each other over?”

“Not
exactly,” he answers immediately, “I just need things to be right between us.
Starting with what happened between you and Hero last night.” His stormy gaze
narrows and, for a moment, I think he can see right through me. “Did you fuck
my baby brother, Isabel?”

My
eyes screws shut. God, the betrayal in his expression and accusation in his
voice is enough to stop my heart.

His
fingers grip my hair by the roots, waiting for a response. “What do you want me
to say?” I whisper almost too low to hear.

“The truth.”

“I…he,”
I stutter nervously, “I wanted to. He said he couldn’t but…we did fool around.”
Each word feels like an agonizing stab in the heart. I never imaged myself
having this conversation with Hunter, not last night when it happened, not
ever.

“Do
you wish you had?”

“What?”

“Do
you wish you went all the way with Hero?”

“No.”
My reply spews out before I can really consider his question, but it’s the
truth though.

“Are
you going to apologize then?”

Can
he truly forgive me that easily?

I’m
so reckless, only thinking about myself, not Hunter, Hero, or Taylor, or even
Tyler. Oh my God! Tyler. He loved Hero with every facet of his being and it’s
like I’m pissing all over something so extremely sacred.

How
could I go there with Hero, Hero of all people? It shouldn’t have happened at
all, no matter what I was feeling or saw. I’m such a freaking idiot, so stupid
,
a pathetic
excuse of a human being.

I’m
a terrible sister.

I’m
a terrible sister.

I’m
a terrible sister.  

My
nostrils sting as the compressed wail rattles inside my chest. I squeeze my
eyes tighter, hoping to block out everything, including Hunter.

“Apologize,
Isabel,” he commands softly, brushing his lips across my forehead repeatedly in
a gentle assault.

“I’m
so-o-ory,” I mumble through sobs. “I didn’t m-me-mean to hurt you or Hero. I’m
not a good sis-sister. Tyler would hate me if-if he was still here, still
alive
.”
Salt fills my mouth as the powerful wails shake my shoulders.