Page 70 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
And then…up again.
To my mouth.
I suck my bottom lip between my teeth without thinking, nerves dancing like lightning across my skin.
Javi goes still.
“Can I touch you?” he asks, his voice rough, careful.
I nod, barely managing a breath.
He reaches out—and his fingers barely skim the edge of the bite, feather-light, like he’s afraid I’ll break. But I don’t. My whole bodyarchesinto the contact. A flood of warmth rushes through me so fast and sharp it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.
It feels like I’ve been waiting for this touch forever.
Like I was made for it.
Like I was made forhim.
I try to stay still, to act normal, but I know he can smell me—my need, my nerves, the helpless thrum ofyes, please, more.
I don’t know what he’s thinking. If he believes I want him or if he thinks I’m just a scared little girl clinging to the only man who hasn’t hurt her. Maybe both.
Maybe… it’s more than either of those things.
“Does it still hurt?” he murmurs.
I should lie.
Itryto lie.
But the truth comes tumbling out.
“It feels good, actually,” I whisper.
My eyes go wide. I swallow hard, my cheeks blazing.
“I mean—when you…” I trail off, breath catching. “I think that’s normal, right?”
He doesn’t say anything. Just moves his hand lower—hesitant, gentle.
His palm grazes my knee and my breath catches like he’s touched something far more intimate. Maybe he has. Maybe he touched the part of me that’s been waiting. Hoping. Starving.
His hand is warm and rough. He doesn’t rush. He just lets his fingers rest there on my thigh like he’s anchoring me to the moment—like he wants me tofeelthis.
He slides his hand higher, and my body reacts like it’s been waiting for this all my life. My thighs tighten, my breath stutters. The edge of the t-shirt rides up as his touch nears it.
He stops just shy of the hem.
“I’m gonna bite here,” he says, his voice low and heavy. His fingers brush the skin of my inner thigh and I shiver.
“Why there?” I ask, breathless.
“It’ll confuse anyone who thinks we haven’t bred yet,” he says, eyes still fixed on the place he plans to mark. “Make them think I’ve already been inside you.”
His voice is steady. Calm. But I hear it—that flicker of something under the surface.
Longing.
