Page 25 of His to Hunt

"I plan to."

He pushes his fingers inside me without warning—rough, deep, punishing—and my body surges forward with a gasp. But his hand on my jaw keeps me firmly in place. Pinned. Open. Completely at his mercy.

Still, I refuse to give him everything. The tears sting at thecorners of my eyes, but I don't let them fall. I let him take my body, but I don't give him my voice.

I feel a shift in him—his breath hitching, control slipping for the first time since he caught me. The tension in his body tightens like a wire about to snap. He wants to break me completely, but I'm determined to keep something for myself.

A growl rumbles through him—low, possessive, half-feral—like my silence is a personal challenge and he's starving for the sound of me shattering. His hand moves from my jaw to the back of my neck, holding me still as he presses deeper inside me—three fingers now, relentless and curling just right to make my vision blur.

My hips jerk involuntarily as I gasp, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't even slow down.

"You're going to come on my fingers," he says, voice thick with heat, his teeth bared behind that bone-white mask. "You're going to scream when you do it. And then I'm going to flip you over and fuck the fight right out of you."

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. My body's already giving in, my pussy squeezing his fingers as he ruins me from the inside out.

"I know what you want," he whispers against my skin. "You want to be ruined by someone who won't apologize for it."

His free hand moves to my hip, dragging me back against him as he fucks me harder with his fingers—the rhythm punishing, thumb circling my clit with brutal precision, forcing me to take it even as I resist the wave building inside me.

"You want it rough. You want it messy. You want it mine."

The moan that escapes me is loud, sharp, helpless.

"There she is," he breathes, satisfaction dripping from each word. "There's my filthy little thief."

"Stop—" I gasp, but I'm not pushing him away. I'm clawing at the ground, back arching, thighs trembling.

"Beg for it," he growls against my ear. "I want to hear you say please while I use your pussy like it was made to be filled by me."

His words hit harder than his fingers—filthy and focused, dragging me toward something I can't come back from.

"I hate you," I whisper.

Without warning, he withdraws completely. The emptiness is agonizing, and I scream—frustrated and raw.

"No. No, don't?—"

He flips me over, fast and rough. My back hits the ground hard, my dress in ruins, skin flushed and filthy and exposed to the cold. He pins my wrists above my head with one hand while kneeling between my legs.

"You want my cock, little thief?" he asks, voice deadly soft. "You're going to ask for it."

The air rushes from my lungs as I stare up at him—not from pain, but from the intensity in his gaze.

I squirm beneath him, desperate and frantic—but not to escape. To get closer.

"Beg," he says again, rougher now. "Tell me what you want."

"I don't—" My voice breaks as he rolls his hips against mine, grinding his hard cock over my soaked pussy, slow and heavy.

He's so fucking hard. I can feel every inch of him pressing against me like a promise I'm not ready for—but already addicted to.

"You've been dripping on my hand for ten minutes," he growls. "Don't you dare pretend you don't want to be fucked."

He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. "I'm going to splityou open, little thief. Stretch your cunt so wide around my cock you won't remember how to say no. You'll only know how to take it."

A sob breaks out of me—frustrated, wrecked, needy. I'm so far gone, I'll do anything he wants me to.

I buck my hips upward. "Please."

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