Page 56 of Reaper's Pack

My hands left his soft dark curls, easing down to cup his face. “Gunnar—”

“Need you, Hazel,” he snarled back, that ferocious tone shooing away my reluctance, quieting my conscience. Because I needed him too. Now. It pounded through me like a hurricane, fire snapping in my belly, my mind hazy with desire and my hands wandering with a mind of their own. Touching. Exploring. Claiming—roughly, my nails in play as they ripped over the suit I’d stolen for him, marked up the back of his neck so that he hissed and finger-fucked me harder.

After all the emotion swirling between us, the pent-up feeling that dogged me after discovering that he had followed me, exposed me—we needed a release, a chance to start fresh.

But was this the way to do it?

“Oh!” My core tightened, every muscle trembling as he dragged me that much closer to a climax with nothing but his fingers. Declan had been so reverent with his tongue, but Gunnar was frenzied, as if driven mad by lust, his bite beautiful, the pleasure fluttering through my insides sharp and painful and magnificent.

Vaguely, over an emotional solo from the orchestra’s string section, I heard a belt opening, a zipper hissing. Gunnar hitched my torn dress up my hips with a growl, then scooped me up, both hands biting into my thighs, and pushed into me—hard and furious. I threw my head back with a cry as he stretched me, cock driving all the way to the hilt. Caging me to the wall with his lean, muscular frame, Gunnar slammed his mouth to mine, all fire, and his hand soon found my hair, my neck.

There was no tenderness in this hellhound—and I didn’t want it. Caged in his arms, I craved his savagery, every violent thrust of his hips pushing me closer and closer to oblivion. With a snarl of my own, I bit back, yanking at his hair, his suit, my tongue and teeth far from passive in our kiss—a kiss that threatened to consume me, and in that moment, as he slammed me against the wall, fucked me with wild abandon, I was all too happy to be consumed.

I had no sexual preferences before this. Royce and I had fumbled about in a dark bedroom once, the man I thought I’d marry taking my virginity before we both left for the war. It had been hurried, like this, but awkward and painful too, full of nervous questions and uncomfortable chuckles. I’d thought all sex was like that—maybe it would get better with time, but barely.

And then this. Declan. Gunnar. Two hellhounds who had opened my eyes to a world of pleasure I’d thought lost to me forever. Taking me. Begging to be taken in return, to match their passions, each separate but wonderful. Declan deep and raw. Gunnar violent and desperate.

More.

“Please,” I whined, the word coming out in three long beats as he pounded into me, my entire body engaged, present. My heels dug harshly into his lower back as I tried to rock up to meet him, to play the tit-for-tat game as I did with our kiss, but he had me so pinned in place that it was impossible to do anything but hold tight and ride it out.

And what a glorious ride it was.

His mouth clamped possessively over the crook of my neck and shoulder, and I tore clean through his jacket collar when he bit down hard. Would he make me bleed? Spill my golden blood across his teeth? I moaned long and loud at the thought, raking my nails up his neck and into his hair. The sting of his bite was more pain than I’d felt in a long time, but it only served to heighten the pleasure rising inside me, making it sharper, more beautiful.

Without warning, Gunnar dragged me from the wall and carried me back to our balcony like I weighed nothing. He stalked with powerful, purposeful strides, taking me to the balcony’s edge and depositing me brusquely on the gold bannister. Not that it would matter if I fell, but I clung to his shoulders all the same, hissing his name when he withdrew from me. Mouth set in a thin line, the hellhound grabbed me harshly by the hips, then flipped me around and bent me over the railing. I squealed at the sudden turn of events, scrambling for a hold along the balcony’s edge, feet lifting clean off the ground when he pounded into me from behind.

The first act ramped up below, the stage awash with fire, both fake and real, with all the players coming together in a symphony of high sopranos and gorgeous tenors, deep baritones punctuating the calamity as it unfolded. I straightened up as Gunnar thrust hard and fast, pumping me into the balcony, and reached back to seize some control. My back collided with his chest, and his mouth found my neck, his vicious thrusts turned into focused grinding, hitting something inside me that made me want to sing.

“I needed you,” he rasped harshly in my ear, nipping at my earlobe, one hand in my hair as the other arm cut across my body, bolstering me to him. “Needed you for so long…”

In that moment, I knew I needed him too, more than I had ever realized before. I needed all of them, and not just to maintain my position here in Lunadell. I needed them far beyond that, but the thought of voicing it made my eyes sting with unshed tears. So, I turned my head toward him, even as he ravaged my bun, fingers shredding it to thick white ribbons, and dragged his mouth to mine.

Hoping that the kiss said more than I could—hoping that it showed him that this moment of vulnerability did not go unmatched.

I came at the opera’s sweeping crescendo, singers and instruments at a zenith, pleasure exploding through my every cell. The curtain fell seconds later, the hall silent for a beat until applause erupted from the humans below us, all around us. My climax maintained that sharp quality, scratching into my bones, tearing sounds from me that only seemed to spur Gunnar on until he too fell to pieces. His taut body stiffened, his mouth on mine, swallowing me whole as he spilled himself inside me with a groan.

The house lights brightened for intermission, and I clutched at the golden wood railing, heart racing but my mind blissfully still. Gunnar’s harsh pants dusted over my exposed shoulders, soon followed by his lips as they trekked a lazy path across my skin. It prickled in response, and another wave of subdued pleasure washed over me when he gently pulled out and collapsed into the chair behind him. Tentatively, I went for my hair—a disaster beyond repair. No way would I cross into the human realm now, not when I probably looked so thoroughly used.

So thoroughly fucked.

The thought made my cheeks burn, and I shuffled back to my chair, perching on it and avoiding Gunnar’s eye as best I could. Below, the auditorium swelled with voices, chattering humans coming and going, off to fetch drinks and snacks from the in-house bar, to discuss the new show in all the detail it deserved.

Gunnar and I stayed put, separate, and I scanned our surroundings as though the excessively lush décor was suddenly so fascinating.

Until he laughed.

Not cruelly, but rather in a weary, satisfied way that I couldn’t ignore. Slumped down in his chair, he sat there, jacket ripped, hair askew, face flushed, and eyes twinkling. He hadn’t bothered to tuck his spent cock back into his trousers, and relaxation seeped from his every pore, from his limp fingers hanging over the armrests to his easy smile.

Relaxation that became infectious in a heartbeat.

I flopped back in my chair, the aftershocks of a stunning orgasm leaving me weak and shaky, then pressed both hands to my cheeks when he laughed again.

The absurdity of what had just happened…

It was laughable.

A manic giggle fled my lips before I could catch it, and this time Gunnar snorted.

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