Page 33 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
"This might hurt," he murmurs.
And then he bites.
Pain sears through me, sharp and brutal, but the pleasure crashes down just as fast—so immediate, so shocking, so deep that my whole body tenses beneath him.
I cry out, my hips rolling against his knot, swollen and hot between my thighs.
I don’t even mean to.
I don’t even think.
I react, my body chasing it, seeking it, needing more, needing him.
I’m wet, aching, burning from the inside out, and Javi hisses when I grind against him, his fingers tightening on my hips, his grip so strong it’s bruising.
His tongue darts out, lapping at the fresh wound, soothing and claiming all at once, long strokes over my broken, tender skin, his mouth hot and wet, his weight impossible to escape.
I’m gasping, dizzy, barely aware of the way my fingers dig into his arms, how I’m clinging to him now instead of fighting.
I’ve never even been kissed.
Never been touched.
And now—no matter where I go, no matter if Javi was my fated mate or not?—
He’ll always be able to find me.
Because now, I’m marked.
Because now, I belong to him.
And from the way his body is shaking above mine, from the way his breath drags out like he’s fighting some war inside himself?—
I think he knows it too.
He draws back, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide, green eyes locked onto mine like he can see straight into me, straight through me, straight to the part of me that already belongs to him.
I’m panting, trembling, my body still pinned beneath his, my wrists trapped beneath his hands, his thighs bracketing mine, his hips flush against me, solid and unrelenting.
A droplet of water falls from his dark, messy hair, landing right on my lips.
I suck in a breath, and his eyes drop—right to my mouth.
Like he’ll devour me.
Like he’s thinking about it.
Like he wants to taste me just as badly as I want to taste him.
He’s still so heavy on top of me, his heat radiating through the wet fabric of my shift, but it’s not enough—not nearly enough.
I don’t even realize I’ve moved until I feel it: my thighs clench around his waist, locking him in place. I don’t let him pull away, I don’t let him go. I keep him right where I want him, right between my legs, my body shamelessly, instinctively begging for more.
His breath catches.
I feel the sharp, unmistakable flex of his muscles, like he’s fighting something too big to contain.
Like he’s trying to keep himself from grinding right back into me.
