Page 55 of Reaper's Pack

His large hands slid across the wall, silencing what would have been breathless stammering on my part, and a chill raced down my spine when those hands found my hair. Goose bumps rippled across the sensitive skin of my neck, every sense heightened as one of his hands closed roughly around the bun I had taken great pains to perfect earlier, following a popular blogger’s video tutorial so I could be modern yet classic for the night.

From the look in his eyes, the way his mouth lifted in a snarl, I still couldn’t tell if he liked the updo, if my efforts mattered—not until he snaked his arm around my waist and dragged me into another kiss. His hand clawed at my hair when I gasped, sucking down his scent, my parted lips an open invitation for his tongue. Hot and curious, it explored my mouth, tangled with mine, claimed parts of me no one but Declan ever had before. The butterflies in my belly turned into a swarm of bees, buzzing and violent, dangerous in their numbers, and the rapid thrum of their wings skittered through my veins when Gunnar hoisted me completely off the ground. He slammed me into the wall, his hand tearing from my hair and skimming roughly down my body to my thighs, where he ripped at my gown, at the snug sequined fabric I’d thought was just too much for tonight.

Perhaps he thought the same—from the way he tried to tear it off, clawing through the sequins like a beast, not a man.

And that ferocity thrilled me.

Gunnar growled harshly into my mouth, his other hand also darting down to my leg, both ripping at the fitted material as our lips clashed, almost fighting one another for control. The kiss was so different from Declan—both steeped in passion, yes, but there was a fiery resistance here too, like he didn’t want to kiss me but also couldn’t stop.

Like he’d die if he stopped.

A familiar feeling, one that blazed furiously in my chest, between my thighs.

Something tore, rigid fabric finally giving way to raw hellhound fury when he finally wrenched my dress up my bare legs.

I hadn’t worn panties since I’d returned to Earth to reap; back then, I’d thought no one would see, so why bother with the annoyance? A bra had become a necessity when I realized men—reapers, demons, souls—liked to watch my breasts bounce with every step. This dress had one built-in, cupping my chest brilliantly, crafting the perfect cleavage. But down below…

There was nothing there to stop him from—

Gunnar groaned when his fingers glided up my thighs and found nothing but me waiting for him. His knee shoved roughly between mine, forcing me open, and I snapped at his lip in response, earning another guttural sound that rumbled exquisitely in his chest.

He certainly wasn’t shy in his explorations, not bothering to slow the kiss, to ask permission before his fingers smoothed between my slit. His whole body jerked when he found me wet, desire for him hot and heavy, and my back arched as those curious yet firm fingers stroked my sex, smearing the arousal onto my thighs—like he needed me to know.

Maybe with good reason.

Because I hadn’t realized I… wanted him so badly.

All of them.

Sure, my pack was exquisite in every sense of the word. Not only were they intelligent and strong, witty and thoughtful in their own ways, but each one was positively mouthwatering. Gorgeous. Worthy of the attentions of Greek sculptors.

But I’d kept my distance, shoved aside my interest, forced myself to remain professional as I showed them the ropes of reaping.

Only this felt so… so…

Right. Gunnar brutalizing my mouth, caressing my most sensitive skin with those long, luxurious fingers…

It felt right.

As right as it had felt with Declan.

Which should make it—wrong?

While it might have been the norm for hellhounds to share a mate within their pack, it certainly wasn’t how humans operated.

Only I wasn’t human.

I was—

“Gunnar!” I gasped into his mouth when he thrust two fingers into me, rough and unhindered, my body taking him like it was welcoming him home. Still, it was a tight fit, and I parted my trembling thighs farther, twisting my hands into his hair with a moan as he harshly pumped in and out of me. He broke the kiss at long last, but only to drag his mouth along my jaw, to tease my neck with teeth and tongue as he pressed ever closer, threatening to smother me—if I were a lesser being.

But I could take it.

I could withstand him—them.

A domed alabaster ceiling greeted me when my eyes fluttered open, the sight reminding me, briefly, where we were, even on the celestial plane. As Gunnar ravished me with his mouth, his fingers, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end—like someone was watching me. Again. But Knox and I had dispensed with that rogue spirit, so maybe it was just my own conscience suddenly aware of what I had willingly gotten myself into.

Again.

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