Page 25 of Code Name: Hunter
The safehouse hums with silence. No street noise, no distant sirens. Just the faint whir of climate control and the soft tick of an old analog clock mounted on the wall. The shift from chaos to stillness is jarring. My adrenaline hasn't bled off yet, and every creak of settling wood sounds like a footstep.
Vivian breathes in slowly, like she finally thinks we’re clear. Like she can let herself relax.
She’s wrong.
She tosses her messenger bag onto a chair and leans against the wall like she owns the place. "So, what now? You lecture me? Strip me down? Maybe shout some more about how I’m an ungrateful wretch?"
I stalk toward her. "Take off your shirt."
Her eyes flare—defiant, wary. She blinks. "Excuse me?"
I crowd her. "Do it. Now."
Her gaze narrows, but she peels the fabric off slowly. Controlled. Deliberate. Not because I ordered it—but because she chooses to. A game of wills.
I shove her against the wall. Not hard. Not cruel. Just enough to remind her I’m not some passing shadow she can dance around. Her lips part slightly, defiant. Waiting.
"You don’t get to vanish on me again, Vivian. Not now. Not when we’re this close."
“Close to what?” she fires back.
I don’t answer. I can’t. Because saying it aloud would make it real. Would mean she still has that power over me. "I'm not sure," I admit.
I kiss her fervently, my lips colliding against hers as if staking my claim. My tongue ventures into her warm, inviting mouth as our breaths intertwine, a fusion of shared desire and shared history. Her slight gasp signals her surprise as I draw her lower lip between my teeth, but she doesn't resist.
Her fingers claw into my shirt, bunching up the fabric as her fists tighten with a desperate need for support or perhaps something to vent her passion on. As the rest of our clothing disappears into the ether, I hold her jaw firmly, angling her face up so that our kisses deepen and evolve into an impassioned dance of tongues and teeth, while unspoken vows lingerweightily between us. She molds herself against me as if drawn in by a gravitational force, waves of heat pulsating from within her.
She tugs me nearer, her thighs opening just wide enough to entice me into the inviting crevice. She thirsts for the intensity of our bond and yearns to feel every ounce of possessiveness surging through my veins. And I give it to her—unrestrained, insatiable passion.
My hands journey down her spine before gripping the flesh of her thighs and hoisting her off the ground. As though driven by instinct, she curls herself around me, clinging tightly as our desires escalate. The growing heat between us intensifies as she nips at my lip with playful aggression; I welcome the minor pain and the challenge it presents.
We stumble towards the table, its edge digging into my hips as she trembles against me. She exhales shakily against my throat before releasing a soft moan while I continue to taste the sweetness of her mouth. Holding her hands behind her back with one hand, I guide her hips closer to mine with the other.
Her breathing comes in ragged gasps—sharp and fractured—her body arching into mine as I release her hands and push myself into her in one deep, unyielding stroke. Her nails drag across my back, pleasure melding with pain as she tosses her head back and moans.
"Logan…"
Her voice cracks as I thrust once more, this time with even greater force. The velvety warmth of her inner walls tightens around me, luring me deeper with each insistent undulation of her hips. She's far from passive; she matches my rhythm, our bodies synchronizing stroke for stroke, her warm breath caressing my skin as we make love like never before.
The table creaks beneath us, the wood shuddering with every impact. I pull her thighs up to wrap her legs more securelyaround my waist and slam into her again, our rhythm turning fierce and possessive—utterly perfect. My name escapes her lips in a breathless gasp; her body trembles and her hands clench in my hair as I lean down to bite her shoulder tenderly.
Sweat coats our entwined bodies, heat searing at every point of contact between us—a battleground of lust and passion. Her legs wind tightly around me, hips rising to greet each thrust as I bury myself inside her again and again, each movement deeper and more forceful—staking claim to what has been denied for far too long. Her cries aren’t polite or restrained—they’re raw, desperate, the sounds you only make when someone’s stripping you bare in ways you can’t undo.
I restrain her wrists above her head once more, exposing the length of her body beneath me. With a sharp intake of breath, she feels me press deeper inside her. Her body quivers violently, and another climax surges through her. Unyielding, I continue to move within her—I want her forever marked by my touch, my taste, my very essence.
One final thrust sends shudders down both of our spines—not just hers—and this time, our names echo off the walls. Her eyes meet mine as I bite down on her throat, the pressure leaving a faint love mark. She convulses beneath me, a beautiful mess of raw emotion and passion that sends me over the edge.
"Mine," I growl into her ear. As she shudders, I feel her unravel—tightening, spasming, and ultimately crumbling in my embrace.
My climax follows suit, a groan of pleasure and release tearing from my throat as we collide against one another, united in a storm of lust and longing.
We collapse together, limbs entangled and breathless, the heady scent of sex and sweat enveloping us.
Later, when her breath has evened out and my body still throbs with the aftershocks of her surrender, I press a kiss to the hollow of her throat and whisper, "We’re not done."
She doesn’t flinch. She says nothing but chuckles softly.
I smile. Not soft. Not warm. A predator’s promise.
