Page 37 of His to Hunt

She moans—the sound wrecked and breathless—her body surrendering even as her mind struggles to maintain some semblance of control.

The water beats against my back, steam continuing to fill the surrounding space, but all I can focus on is her—the way she feels around me, the way her body responds to every word, every touch, every demand.

"You know why you're trembling?" I growl, adjusting my angle to hit that spot inside her that makes her see the stars in ultra HD. "Because your body figured it out before you did. You belong to me now. This cunt? This mouth? This fucking soul? Mine."

She's breaking beneath me—and not once does she try to escape. The fight is still there, twitching beneath the surface of her submission, but it's fading with each thrust. I can feel it in the way her breath stutters against my throat, in the way her cunt clenches around me like it's trying to hold me there, keep me inside her longer, deeper—like it knows this is where I belong.

"Is it—always like this—with you?" she manages between ragged breaths.

I smile against her skin. "No, little thief. This is just for you."

She's not resisting anymore. She's surviving it, surrendering to it, perhaps even starting to crave it as I do. Her lashes flutter as her head tips back against the tile, a ragged sound catching in her throat that's neither protest nor pain.

Her gaze drifts toward the ceiling—unfocused, lost in sensation—just for a second.

"Eyes on me," I command, my voice cutting through the water's noise and whatever remains of her pride.

She startles at the order, then obeys, her gaze locking with mine like I've thrown her a lifeline in a storm she's drowning in.

"Good girl," I praise, the words a reward and reminder in equal measure.

I don't slow my pace. I don't ease up. I keep driving into her like her body was made to take me—because it was. And I want her to feel that truth in her bones, to carry it with her long after we've left this room.

"You come with your eyes on me," I murmur, lips brushing hers in what could almost be called tenderness if not for the relentless power behind each thrust. "You fall apart for the man who owns you. No one else gets to see you like this."

She makes a sound—small, broken, desperate—but her cunt clenches around me like it believes my words more than she ever could. She's close. So close I can feel her trembling on the edge.

"Say it," I demand.

Her eyes flash defiance even as her body surrenders. She shakes her head, denial her last remaining weapon.

So I fuck her harder—deep, deliberate strokes that pullanother gasp from her chest, that make her fingers claw at my wrists where I still hold her captive.

"Say it, Luna," I insist, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "While I'm still being gentle."

The threat implicit in those words makes her eyes widen. She chokes on my name, resistance finally crumbling.

"I'm—fuck—I'm yours—" Her voice breaks on the admission.

I pause—just a beat—and growl, "Louder. I want to hear you claim it."

Her head drops back against the wall, defeat and desire warring in her expression as her voice rises, barely holding together.

"I'm yours, Beckett," she confesses, each word dragged from somewhere deep inside her. "I'm yours."

And then she breaks around me, coming hard with a cry that bounces off the shower walls. Her body locks tight, her cunt squeezing my cock like it's trying to brand itself with my shape, her moans long and raw and beautiful in the way only true surrender can be.

She doesn't hold back. Doesn't fight it. She simply lets the pleasure consume her, wash through her like the water still cascading over our bodies.

And fuck, she's perfect like this—shaking, trembling, falling apart for me like it's the only thing she's ever been good at, the only thing that's ever made sense.

"Good fucking girl," I breathe, the praise slipping out unbidden, my voice low and rough as I hold her through her climax, thrusting once more—slow and deep—to prolong the waves coursing through her.

"That's how you come for me," I tell her, watching her faceas aftershocks ripple through her. "Wrecked. Owned. Silenced without needing a single command."

I stay inside her, feeling the last tremors of her orgasm flutter around my cock. Only when she stills, boneless and spent in my arms, do I chase my own release.

I bury myself to the hilt and come hard, a groan tearing from my throat as I empty inside her—slow, hot, relentless—making sure she knows that whatever parts of her still believe they're free, they're not. Not anymore.

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