Page 84 of Hunt Me

I fight off a frustrated scream as I slip behind the wheel of the car, but instead of starting it, I turn toward him. ‘What’s wrong? You tired?’

Denver folds his arms across his chest and stares forward, watching as the sky opens up and rain starts to hit the windshield. ‘Yes. That.’

For the first time in a while, I can’t tell if he’s lying, but I want to believe that if there were something truly upsetting him, he would tell me. He is still recovering from his concussion though, so I give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Okay.’ I turn the windshield wipers on and pull out of the parking spot. The silence follows us down the road, but although I’m not always the best at reading a room, I can feel the tension growing.

Clearly, I’ve done something wrong, and I feel a growl building in my chest made of frustration and hurt. If I did something bad, why can’t he just tell me what it is?

It’s raining too hard for me to take my hands off the wheel, so I’m not able to push the issue as we head down the lonely, quiet road that leads to all the farms. Denver’s still got his arms crossed, eyes fixed ahead into the stormy evening, but when I turn down our dirt road toward our house, he flicks the overhead light on.

My foot lets off the accelerator as my brain puts together that he wants to talk, so I ease the car to the side, put on the hazards, then turn to face him.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and just when I think I’m going to have to push him to talk, he lifts his hands. ‘Why did you want Fayid’s number?’

Those were not the words I was expecting. My brow dips into a heavy frown as I try to figure out why this is upsetting him. ‘He’s interesting. He likes what I like.’

Denver’s jaw clicks. ‘And he’s hot.’

My eyes narrow at that. ‘What do you mean? I don’t understand.’

I know what hot means. I know that Denver’s implying that Fayid is a good-looking man, and he is. But it’s obvious in this moment that Denver doesn’t understand what he is to me. Or how impossible it is for me to want anyone else but him.

He is my whole fucking world right now, and if he doesn’t turn and walk away from me once he realizes that being with me could be complicated, he will be my whole world for the rest of our lives.

‘You want Fayid?’ Denver clarifies. ‘You want him and not me?’ His signs are dramatic and loud and possessive. He looks like he wants to crawl into my lap and kiss me and put his hands around my throat to remind me who I belong to.

It makes my cock twitch in my pants, and I feel it start to harden. ‘No. Never.’

‘You gave him your number,’ he signs.

The shock of that hits me, and while I don’t personally get it, I understand how exchanging numbers can be an intimate thing. How it could make him think that my attention had strayed elsewhere. The thought is absolutely fucking ridiculous, but how could he possibly know how I feel when I haven’t used words or signs to tell him?

I reach for his hand and press a kiss to the center of his palm before scraping my teeth over his fingertips. His breath leaves his chest in a trembling rush. ‘I’m sorry.’

He huffs and draws his hand back. ‘No more flirting with other men.’

My brows shoot up. ‘I wasn’t flirting. I was talking.’

‘No. No talking. No talking to anyone else but me.’ He stops, his hands trembling. ‘I know it’s irrational, but?—’

I stop him and shake my head. ‘It’s okay.’

My chest is expanding in excitement. His jealousy is like a fucking aphrodisiac. He’s possessive, territorial, and it’s exactly the way I feel. If the situation had been reversed and Denver had given something personal to Fayid and not me, someone would be walking away with fresh scars.

I reach over and unbuckle his seat belt, watching as it falls away from his body. He makes a face at me as my hands reach for him, grabbing onto his chin and turning him toward me. Our eyes meet for a second, and I see the flare of desire flash through his.

‘Tell me it’s just me.’

‘Only you.’ My finger hits his chest as I convey that. ‘You are mine.’

He huffs, and I smell the mint on his breath. ‘Fine. Good.’

I hold on to him tighter, my fingers splayed across his cheek as I tilt his head and kiss his pouty mouth. He opens easily for me, our tongues tangling in a frantic kiss. It tastes of jealousy and greed, and I consume it, swallowing all of his emotions down.

My free hand drags down his chest and hits the bulge in his pants, the heel of my palm dragging down his cock. He groans into me, his hands sliding through my hair and tugging as he arches up against me. With a soft moan, I bite down on his bottom lip, sucking on it roughly before finally letting go.

Denver blinks at me, his cheeks red, his chest heaving. ‘Archie,’ he signs.