Chapter 35: Chapter Thirty-four

As he kissed her, Mirabella gave in easily, her lips parting under his forceful mouth. The kiss was not soft, neither was it tender. It was wild, demanding, heated—an overwhelming rush of dominance poured into her mouth. His lips pressed hard against hers, as though he wanted to devour her whole, and his tongue invaded her like it had every right to claim every inch of her.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her heart pounding violently as his mouth worked hers. He swallowed her gasp, sucking it straight from her lungs. When he finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her breath ragged, and her eyes hazy with need.

Hunter stared at her, his eyes darkened with lust, filled with something that sent shivers down her spine. Need. Raw, unfiltered need.

He looked directly into her eyes, and before she could even steady herself, he leaned in again—this time slower, deliberate. His lips brushed gently over her closed eyelids, planting a tender kiss on each. Then he kissed her forehead softly, a touch so different from his usual urgency. Then her nose. Then the corner of her lips. His warm mouth moved to her cheek, the side of her lips again, then down the delicate column of her throat. His lips trailed her neck, burning soft imprints into her skin, before he reached her collarbone and lingered there.

Mirabella felt herself melt under his gentle touch. She wondered—why was he being so tender with her all of a sudden? This wasn’t like him. Hunter was always rough, desperate to take her, to control her, to dominate her. This was different. This was almost… fragile.

He turned her slowly so that her back pressed firmly against his front again. His arm locked around her waist as though he never wanted to let her go, and his chin rested at the top of her head. She could feel his chest rising and falling against her back, his warmth seeping into her, wrapping her in a cocoon she didn’t realize she wanted so much.

Then, his deep voice rumbled in her ear, low and husky.

“Let me hold you,” he whispered.

Her throat tightened. Something about the way he said it made her heart race—not from fear, but from something deeper, heavier, harder. She wanted him.

For a long while, silence hung between them, broken only by the rhythm of their breathing.

Finally, Mirabella spoke softly, almost hesitantly.

“Can I ask you some personal questions? And… will you answer them?”

Hunter caressed her belly with his hand, slow strokes, his touch heavy but strangely comforting. His lips brushed her ear as he replied, his voice steady and low.

“You’re the only one fit to ask me anything.”

Her chest flipped at his words.

So she asked.

“What was growing up like? For you.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. She thought he might dismiss her, laugh it off, or shut her down like she didn't matter. But instead, he let out a long sigh, and his hand stilled on her stomach.

“Growing up in a home that held so much power…” he said slowly, “it was just so so. To the outside world, it looked golden. But power—it’s contagious. And to get it, you need to roll and create connections. And like I said, power is contagious. That’s why I left. I needed that as well. I needed something I built myself. Not an inheritance or whatever…”

Mirabella turned her face slightly, catching his profile in the dim light. He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was distant, lost in memories.

“My mom,” he continued after a pause, “she… she was everything. But after a while, something started eating at her. She fell into depression. She wouldn’t tell us what the problem was, no matter how many times we asked. No matter how many times Ashley begged her. She kept everything to herself.”

His voice dropped lower, heavier.

“I’m sure my father knew. There was no way he didn't. Sometimes I caught them arguing. My father’s face, her tears—but he never said anything to us. Never explained even when asked.”

He swallowed hard before speaking again.

“When I was fifteen, I saw my father. Kissing a woman in his car.” Hunter’s jaw clenched. “I told my mom. I thought she would be shocked. Furious. But she just… she didn’t look surprised. She only worried about me. Told me not to hate my father because of what I saw. That’s when I realized she had always known. She knew he was a cheating bastard and it had been eating her up. And still, she never left. She endured it. All of it.”

Mirabella’s chest ached as she listened. His voice, usually sharp and commanding, now carried pain.

“Then she fell sick,” Hunter said quietly. “The hospital diagnosed her with a blood disease. It was… too late by then. So she… she died after a while.”

His voice broke slightly at the end, and Mirabella’s eyes stung. She felt the raw wound in his words, even though he tried to cover it.

“Was that mainly why you left home?” she asked softly, afraid to break the fragile moment.

“It was part of it.” He exhaled. “But more than that—I wanted nothing from my father. Nothing. So I left. I built my own empire. Damian inherited my father’s world instead.”

Mirabella’s mind replayed what Ashley had told her earlier. She swallowed and asked carefully, “Is that why… Is there tension between you and Damian? I noticed at the club.”

Hunter closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. Then he shook his head.

“That’s a story for another day.”

Silence stretched between them again. This time heavier, thicker. She didn't want to push him hard to tell her personal things.

Then, after a long pause, his voice dropped lower, his lips brushing against her hair

“Are you wet?”

Mirabella’s eyes widened, her breath raising. The question jolted her, pulling her from the fragile cocoon of his past into the raw heat of his present.

Her face turned red, and she turned her head quickly, glancing at him over her shoulder in disbelief. How could he switch so quickly from sadness to being turned on.

Hunter’s lips twitched into a faint smirk as he seized the moment. He shifted her, turning her fully until she was on her back, facing the ceiling, while he leaned on one hand beside her. His other hand began a slow, dangerous exploration of her body.

His fingers trailed down her neck, brushing lightly, tracing circles across her collarbone, down her side, over her stomach. She shivered under his touch, every nerve in her body awakening.

Then his hand moved lower—past her navel, to the band of her shorts. His fingers slid inside with deliberate slowness, slipping past the waistband of her panties.

When his fingers brushed her heat, he groaned low in his throat. She was soaking wet. Drenched.

“So fucking wet for me, huh?” His voice was a mixture of satisfaction and hunger.

Her cheeks burned, her breath uneven. She tried to close her thighs, but his hand was already there, teasing her folds, gathering her wetness with slow strokes.

Hunter leaned down, his lips brushing her lips.

“Stand up,” he ordered softly.

Her heart skipped. She blinked up at him, unsure.

“Stand up,” he repeated, firmer this time.

Slowly, Mirabella pushed herself up from the bed. Her legs trembled slightly as she moved to the foot of the bed, her eyes locked on him.

Hunter sat up as well, his gaze fixed on her like a predator watching its prey. He rose and walked toward her with measured steps, his presence overwhelming, his eyes never leaving hers.

When he stopped in front of her, he tilted his head slightly and smirked.

“Undress me. Gently.”

Her heart pounded wildly. The command was sharp, but his tone was low, husky, dripping with seduction. Her hands trembled as she lifted them, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

And just like that, the air between them thickened, charged with so much unspoken tension, every move pulling them deeper into the dangerous, forbidden space that only the two of them could occupy.