Page 26 of His to Hunt

He goes completely still, and God, it makes me ache.

"Say it louder," he demands, his voice dropping an octave.

"Please," I gasp again, louder this time, desperation cracking through my voice. "Please—please fuck me."

That's when I hear it—the sharp, definitive sound of fabric tearing. The sheer fabric splits at the shoulder, shredding beneath his grip like it was never meant to survive this night. His other hand joins in pulling at the bodysuit—ripping, yanking, exposing me inch by inch until I'm panting beneath him, skin flushed, breasts exposed to the cold air and his hungry stare.

He tosses the ruined fabric aside with dismissive ease.

"Better," he mutters, dragging his thumb over my nipple, rough and slow. "Now beg again."

"Please—"

"Beg me to own you."

My thighs spread wider as the words spill out like a prayer and a curse all in one.

"Please, I want you to ruin me. I want you inside me—I want it hard. I want it rough. I want it now."

He breathes in sharply, like he's finally losing the control he's clung to all night.

"Good girl."

There's no hesitation. No reverence. Just pure, destructive need.

"You want to be fucked like prey?" he growls.

I nod, beyond words.

"You want me to treat you like you belong to me?"

I moan—wrecked, trembling.

And finally, I surrender the truth. "I do."

I feel the air against my skin like a slap—cold and stark. But he is warm, so fucking warm as he positions himself between my legs, spreading me open with both hands like he's done holding back.

The weight of his stare—hungry, feral, possessive—settles in my chest. Those blue eyes pulling me in deeper. Like he's not just going to take me. He's going to leave something behind that no one else will ever erase.

He unzips his black jeans and pulls his hard cock out before stroking once, deliberate and slow, thick and heavy in his grip, before lining up against my entrance.

And then he waits.

One breath. Two.

I don't understand what he's waiting for until I look up—and realize he's watching me. He wants me to know exactly what's happening. He wants me to feel everything.

I arch toward him, desperate and trembling.

That's all it takes.

He thrusts inside me in one brutal, overwhelming motion. The sound that tears from my throat isn't a moan—it's a sob.

He's huge. Hard. Stretching me wider than I thought possible, deeper than I can take—and he doesn't stop. Doesn't let me adjust to the intrusion. He fucks me through the shock of it, through the pain, through the heat, through the way my body clings to him like it was built for this.

I scratch at his arms, his chest, anything I can reach, but he doesn't slow. He grips my hips, slamming into me again and again, his rhythm unrelenting and perfect.

"You wanted this," he growls.

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