Page 8 of The Hunted

“Remove my shirt.”

I exhale a shaky breath, and with trembling hands, I reach up and begin to unbutton his black shirt. His eyes, full of desire, trail all over me, branding me, claiming me. I can’t deny the sense of power I feel surging through me as I observe the desire coiled tightly in every muscle of his tensed body. He couldn’t hide his reaction to my nearness if he tried. He lets out a small hiss when my knuckle brushes across his muscled chest, and I like knowing I’m the reason for that sound. Once all the buttons have been undone, I slide my hands over his chest and push the material from his shoulders. He inhales audibly as my hands make contact with his skin, his warmth seeping into my chilled palms. His shirt falls to the floor, and his torso mesmerizes me.

Taut, tanned skin over thick bands of muscle. He really is handsome, and I wish this were happening anywhere but Hale Manor.

How can he be here?

He doesn’t strike me as the same as the others. The way he looks at me is different. It’s almost caring in some way, like I affect him, like I matter. I’m conflicted by my desire but watching him unbutton his jeans and toe off his shoes, I can’t deny I’m attracted to him. The ridges of his abs taper down to deep lines that disappear into the waistband of his black briefs. He removes his pants and briefs, never taking his intense gaze from mine.

He stands before me, naked, so I can inspect him, and I do. He is fucking powerful in his beauty. Head to toe, there’s no place I don’t want to see. His body is chiseled perfection, strong, capable. Man. A shudder passes through me as I take in the overall enormity of him. He’s immense. He could crush me in an instant.

Once my eyes find their way back to his face, he moves toward me. No, he stalks toward me as he brushes his hair back from his eyes.

Ever the Hunter.

He crushes me into his embrace before dragging his nose along my neck, his breath tickling my skin as he moves. Without thought, my head falls back, and he breathes me in, his touch burning me up. He moves one arm around my back while the other hand winds into my hair, twining the long strands through his fingers. He holds me to him, trapped in his embrace, while he stares intensely into my eyes. My nipples tighten into taut peaks and my core throbs.

His warm lips meet mine, and he drinks me in as he walks me backwards, never breaking our kiss, and gently lowers us onto the bed. His hand releases my hair to travel toward my breast, and I realize, to my surprise, I want his touch there more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.

How can I want this with him?

I shouldn’t want this with him.

I repeat it in my mind. But something in the way he touches me, assesses me, as if he knows me, knows my body, peaks my interest and spurs my lust.

I’m no stranger to sex, but this man makes my body hum with sensation and need in a way I’ve never experienced. This need so powerful, it’s almost painful in its strength and promises to devour my very existence. I try to think for a moment, wading through the conflicting sensations and feelings between my mind and body. I have to do this. I need answers. I need to go through with this so I don’t get removed from the manor.

Leaving me no time to analyze my quarrelling feelings, his fingers pinch my nipple aggressively through my bra, and I moan my approval. This man knows how to use my body against me, touching me in all the right ways, to turn me into his willing captive.

“Mmm, you like that, Prey.” He softly growls the statement deep in his throat. Seeking my acknowledgement, he pinches the sensitive peak tighter.

“Yes, please, please.”

I’m not sure what I am begging for but he must know because he pulls the cup of my bra down and sucks my nipple. I ache with need as the attention from his warm tongue draws wanton moans from my mouth. My head falls to the side, and I reach out and fill my hands with his soft brown hair.

He whispers, “Fuck,” around my nipple, only serving to make the strained peak tighter. His warm fingers move between my breasts, and he unhooks my bra with expert precision. I slide my arms free as he pulls it from me, tossing it to the floor. His hand travels down the expanse of my stomach toward my panties, and I freeze. I’m excited and terrified at the same time. I can’t deny I want him, but what does that say about me?

Leaning his head down, he lays a kiss to my belly button.

“Beautiful,” he whispers across my flesh, and I instantly relax into the mattress at his words. I don’t understand his effect on me. I struggle internally with myself while he continues to kiss down my stomach. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything besides heart break, worry, and despair. Maybe feeling wanted, valued even, if only for a few fleeting moments, isn’t the worst thing I can do.

His mouth lingers at the top of my panties before his tongue licks under the very top of the lace. I thrust my hips up to encourage him to explore further. He grabs them, pinning me to the bed, a prisoner for his ministrations. My hands fist into his hair again as he kisses me through my panties, anchoring us to one another.

His warm breath finally skirts across my center, and the sensation nearly drives me to insanity. “Yes,” I pant, encouraging him to put his mouth where I need it the most. He stops, and I raise my head to see why. I watch him hook his fingers into the sides of my panties. I almost come just from the reverent way he looks me over, waiting to see what he’s about to reveal.

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