Now, if you know me, you know the things on my bucket list consist of getting kidnapped, fucking someone on a Venice gondola, faking my death—you get the idea.

The slight issue is that if my twelve-year-old self had known Hunter, I would've added friends with benefits to that list.

Well, now I'm eighteen, and I'm correcting my mistakes.

I wake up with a hand trailing between my legs, warmth between my thighs.

Slowly, I lift my head up from where it is tucked against Hunter's smooth chest. Her lips are inches from mine, and the temptation to kiss them is unbearable. Especially with that growing heat in my core.

Her fingers trail lazily closer, deepening into that apex. A soft whimper escapes me. Craving her.

Today is Saturday morning, and I can't think any other place I'd rather be.

Dangerous, my mother's voice chastises. And I know it's dangerous—I know I can't want her. Shouldn't want her.

But I have six days now until I escape and look for the murderer.

I'm going to make every single one of them count.

"Hunter," I whisper, and she makes a soft hum in her throat in reply.

I stop resisting the urge to kiss her, and my mouth against hers is gentle. As featherlight as the first brush of snow. As quiet as the morning sunlight, grazing against a spring meadow.

"I have a proposition," I say against her mouth, and her muddy-brown eyes widen. The colour seems flickering, almost, as though there is something else beneath the colour.

"A proposition?" Amusement laces her voice. Dancing in the air between us.

I bite her lower lip gently, and she lets out a growl. Her fingers trace the outline of me as I talk, growing more bold, teasing that outer layer.

"An idea," I say, swallowing, as she brushes dangerously close to that smoldering heat. Teasing me—the same way I teased her.

"Go on," she breathes arrogantly.

A single finger dips inside of me.

"I don't want a relationship," I say. I try not to restrain the moans that claw up my throat. The sensation of her one long finger, leisurely moving inside of me, is divine.

Her face betrays nothing. Her eyes are hard and dark, unreadable.

"But," I continue. "I do want to be fucked."

"Is that it?" she says, her eyes glittering wickedly. A second finger slips inside of me, and my hips writhe with the fullness of her. A choked sound escapes me.

"I want," I continue breathlessly, "a friend. With benefits."

"Someone to fuck," she whispers, and her fingers reach deeper. My eyes close, my breathing hitched up.

"Yes. That's right."

"Someone who will fuck you whenever you want," she persists, and I nod desperately, her fingers plunging rough within me. My legs begin to tremble.

"Yes. Oh, my God, yes, Hunter."

"How will you take it, Jude?" Dark. Mirthless, gleaming eyes, her stare so dark and deep I tense against her, my inner walls clenching against her fingers.

"Everywhere," I say, twisting against her, trying to reach the pleasure she is withholding from me. Her fingers circle my core, teasing that molten heat. Keeping me from orgasm. The pressure is so unbearable I shake, digging my nails into her shoulder. "Anywhere."

"Will you let me fuck you in the elevator?" she asks darkly.

I nod feverishly. A series of animal-like jolts lurch through me, rippling along my spine. Arching my back.

"How about in the bathroom? Pinned against the wall?" she whispers.

I can only moan in response. "Fuck, Hunter, yes—"

Her fingers circle and hesitate, circle and hesitate. Keeping me on the edge. Tethering me in the moment just before a climax. Each stroke brings the pleasure closer, so intensely it's painful. Tears prick my eyes—desperation. I need her. This.

"Can I fuck you in the hallway?" Her tone has become soft and cruel. Cocky. "Right outside the door. For anyone to watch."

"Yes, Hunter," I say, my hips moving wildly against her.

"Against the table?" A breath of arrogance. "Spread out beneath me, so I can eat you right? So I can taste you—every inch of you?"

When I whimper, "Yes, please, yes . . ." her fingers deepen inside of me. Giving me my release.

I shatter around her hand, my entire body convulsing in a way that is primal, pure. The orgasm crashes against me, so powerful from her teasing—it is agony and pleasure, tangled together in an explosion that leaves me screaming her name. My teeth sink into her shoulder, my nails scratching against her skin, and all I can think is, I hope this leaves a mark.

And when the waves of the climax recede, when I can at last sigh against her chest, burying myself in her arms, all I can wonder is what, exactly, I just agreed to.

Friends with benefits. With Hunter.

A shiver of excitement ripples through me. At her promises.

The next six days will be something to look forward to.

Hunter's mouth presses against the top of my head. A gentle kiss. I'm not looking for a relationship, I had told her and this—this is intimate. But I don't stop her.

After the way she just fucked me—the best orgasm I've ever had—I'm still craving her. But not her, rough, black eyes glittering, arrogant and in control. I want her like this. A soft kiss on my temple. Her arms around me.

Damn it. I shouldn't let myself get attached.

But if this is only for six days, then I'll go all in. Maybe it'll make leaving more painful, but I think it'll be worth it.

What's more important? a dark voice inside of me whispers. My mother's voice. Hunter . . . or revenge?

I ignore it. Because, the truth is, I don't know.

Tommy looks at me doubtfully.

I give him a long, steady glare.

"You're sure you and my sister aren't dating?" he asks.

"I think I would know if I had a girlfriend!"

"Okay, but . . ." Tommy watches his sister from across the restaurant. Hunter is ordering coffee from the bar, and a hot chocolate for me. Wherever she walks, the people either give her a wide berth or they step a little closer than comfortable. As though they are both afraid and drawn to her. "Are you sure?"

My eyes narrow at Tommy—a deathly stare.

It is lunchtime, and only hours ago, I made the deal with Hunter to be friends with benefits. So far, she hasn't made good on any of her promises—although it is only lunchtime. But as she returns to our table and sets down the steaming mugs, her eyes meet mine. Tension rises between us like smoke.

Tommy's eyes flicker back and forth. Back and forth.

"Thanks," I say, raising the mug to my lips.

"Be careful," she says quietly, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "It's hot."

That shouldn't sound as sexy as that does, but my legs tighten together. Challenging her, I sip the coffee anyway, welcoming the sting on my tongue.

Her eyes darken. Raw promise.

Tommy's gaze is still snapping between us, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion and suspicion.

"It's already warm," I say, a dangerous grin curving the edges of my mouth. "Maybe you were a little . . . late."

Hunter lets herself grin now. Slow. Drawn-out, she asks, "Would you like me to get you another?"

"Maybe I should come with you," I suggest.

Tommy glances back and forth. "Oh, hell no," he groans. "Tell me this isn't some kind of coded sex talk—"

Hunter continues as though she didn't hear him. "How about we go now?"

She stands up, and I leave my hot chocolate at the table, abandoned.

"Good idea," I breathe, and she holds out her hand.

I hesitate for a moment. Don't get too close, the voice warns, but I stop paying attention. Hunter's fingers are cool, entwining against mine with a firm, protective grip. She begins pulling me towards the bathroom door, and a thrill shivers through me.

"That's not the direction of the bar!" Tommy calls out behind us, but Hunter doesn't even look back. I smile to myself, knowing what's about to come next.

The hairs around my face stand on end, my mouth swollen and ripe. My clothes are disheveled and my bra is definitely undone.

There are bruises, scratches and not one, not two, but three hickeys on my neck. Each more visible than the last. I look like Hunter's property—her territory.

Even as I know I shouldn't be pleased, satisfaction runs through me.

And in the bright light of the bathroom, as Hunter pulls on her shirt, she looks like my territory. And I want to tell Emilie to fuck herself, because Hunter's place is taken.

This shouldn't feel as good as it does.

"Jesus," I say, examining the hickey on my jaw. "That's going to need a lot of make-up."

Hunter is lucky—the mark I left on her is mostly on her back and shoulders. But she put the bruises and hickeys on visible parts of me. Like my neck, my face, my collarbone. And I can't help wondering if she knew what she was doing—if she did it on purpose.

Two can play at that game, I think.

I never thought I'd get fucked in a bathroom. Filthy, unhygienic—I couldn't imagine tolerating a public stall. But the bathrooms down here . . . well, the Underground is certainly sanitary. The white marble was cool against my back as Hunter's fingers pounded inside of me relentlessly.

At one point, as we were exiting the stalls, clearly having just finished unholy things, a lady walked in. Her mouth opened in shock as she saw me—and then Hunter.

Her eyes shot between us. Disgust was already forming on her lips. And then she recognized Hunter.

She couldn't get away fast enough.

Now, we have the privacy of the bathroom to ourselves. As I adjust my hair and pat down my flushed cheeks, my eyes flick to Hunter.

I decide to just ask. "Why is everyone so scared of you?"

She seems amused. "What? Who?"

"You know who. Everyone."

"I certainly can't help being fearsome."

I roll my eyes, and she gives me a dangerous look. "Be serious. Why are all of these gang members and Mafia lords scared of you?"

Not that she isn't scary. Not that I haven't witnessed her in action with my own eyes.

I know the power she holds. But still, I'm curious. A reputation has to be cultivated from real experiences, and the things she must have done for that . . .

Her eyes meet mine in the bathroom mirror.

Murky brown against green. She just gives me a casual smile, and I can't read what she's really thinking. "Maybe it's my sister," she suggests. "No one wants to anger the Alpha."

"Why aren't you the Alpha?" I ask.

Her eyes flash. "I don't want to be," she says coldly. "Don't ask me that."

I try not to stiffen, to reveal what her icy tone, her stone mask does to me.

Hurt. I'm hurt.

Disbelief courses through me. I shouldn't be hurt. I shouldn't even care.

"Hunter?" I ask, and she softens fractionally. But I can't erase the memory of her cold voice. How quickly she can change—become something frightening. "Tell me one thing. You don't even seem to like being the Second. Why are you here? Why don't you just leave?"

For a moment, I don't think she'll answer.

Then, quietly, she says, "My dad left us to be some corporate businessman. My mom went to Italy ten years ago and never returned. All we get from her is a stupid letter every month. And Anise and I . . . well, we went from growing up in a suburban home in Louisiana to living down here. Tommy never even really knew what it was like—that stupid, ordinary, middle-class life."

Bitterly, I say, "That suburban home lifestyle isn't as great as you think, really. Tommy must have appreciated you."

"Really? Because it was pretty fucking close to heaven. Even if we grew up in the middle of Wolves, as the kids of the Alpha, I still had a normal life at school. I had friends—a best friend. Neighbours."

A best friend. I try to imagine Hunter as a little girl, playing hopscotch with her best friend. This cold, fierce woman . . . as a young kid, giggling and having a sleepover and running around.

For some reason, the image sends a prickle of warmth through me. Happiness. It's a sweet thought.

"We better go," I say quickly. "Before someone else comes in."

She nods in agreement, although her eyes betray a flicker of something—and I can't tell what it is. But the strangest sense of knowing falls over me. Disappointment.

And then the door opens, and Tommy is there, breathless.

Before I can ask him what he's doing in the ladies bathroom, he sputters, "An attack. Two dead. Ten minutes ago. The Saints—it was the Saints."

>>>

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS. GOD, I AM SO EXCITED.

From the moon and back,
Sarai