Page 73 of Betray Me
“Very much.” I melt against his chest, reaching up to intertwine my fingers with his. “Now… let’s figure out how we’re going to hunt these bastards down and make them bleed.”
“First,” he says, his voice regaining some of its familiar mischievousness, “how about a shower and a glass of wine? I’m pretty sure we’re gonna need more alcohol before the night is through.”
“Only if it’s red.”
He chuckles. “Red it is.”
Gentle warmth wraps around us, cradling us in the bubble of this moment. The sense of safety is an illusion, a temporary reprieve from the fear waiting on the other side of this sunrise. But for now, we can believe the lie.
And tomorrow… Well, that’s a problem for the us of tomorrow.
Chapter 26: A Hunter’s Dream
Now
Pale morning light filters through the cabin’s grimy windows, painting everything in soft grays and gold. I wake to the sound of Max’s steady breathing, his arm heavy across my waist, our bodies still tangled beneath the musty blanket. For a moment—just one perfect, suspended moment—I let myself believe we’re a normal couple in a normal cabin, waking up after a normal night of lovemaking.
Then reality crashes back. The surveillance photos. The threats. The symbol carved into Janet Wilson’s flesh. The knowledge that somewhere out there, powerful people are planning to finish what they started with me.
But looking at Max’s peaceful face, at the way the morning light catches the long lashes of his closed eyes, I feel something I haven’t experienced in months: hunger that has nothing to do with fear or survival. Pure, uncomplicated desire for this man who’s chosen to stand with me against the darkness.
I ease myself out of his embrace, moving with the silent grace I learned during years of sneaking through my family’s mansion. He stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, his breathing remaining deep and even. Perfect.
I position myself carefully, my thighs bracketing his head as I lower myself toward his sleeping face. The first touch of my center against his lips makes him wake with a start, his hands immediately flying to my hips.
“Belle?” His voice is thick with sleep and confusion, but I can feel his smile against my most intimate flesh.
“Good morning,” I breathe, rolling my hips slightly. “I thought I’d give you a proper wake-up call.”
His response is a low groan that vibrates through me, followed by the wet heat of his tongue as he explores my folds with eager precision. This is what I need—not gentle morning affection, but raw hunger, the proof that he wants me as desperately as I want him.
I move faster, steadying myself on the uneven floorboards, grinding myself against his open mouth, and his grip on my hips tightens as he pulls me closer. He lifts his head, tongue darting between my lips, swirling around the aching center of my need.
“Fucking delicious,” he murmurs, and the words send a shudder of pleasure through me. I try to move, but his hold on me tightens, his pace accelerating until everything else fades. There’s only heat and movement and sensation, building within me in a wave I can’t outrun, then breaking against the hungry mouth exploring my cunt.
I’m aware, in a distant way, that I’m moaning, my voice loud in the cavernous space as I rock my clit against his seeking tongue, but all that matters is the mounting bliss between my legs and the fact that I’m not in control. Not this time.
“Yes, baby, that’s it,” he growls, guiding me through the movements, his lips vibrating against my neediest spot. “Claim your pleasure. Let me taste you when you break apart.”
And I shatter, bucking against his hungry mouth, his name escaping in a moan that’s more scream than whisper. Theorgasm rolls through me, leaving me gasping, then every muscle turns to liquid, and I collapse forward.
His warm arms catch me, stroking my hair as I lie boneless and sated on his chest. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m aware of his pulse hammering beneath my ear, the ragged edge to his breathing, the iron-hard press of his erection against my thigh.
I’m helpless to act on it, though, my body temporarily numb. If not for the warmth of his hands on my back, the steady beat of his heart, I might have fallen away completely, sinking into the sense of pleasure and peace this moment evokes.
“Good morning,” he whispers. “Welcome back, Belle.”
“Mmm.” I can’t form words, so I rest my head on his chest and let myself drift as the cold floor beneath my knees creaks and wavers. Max runs his hands through my hair, tugging at the roots with enough force to cause discomfort, but in that sharp little bite, there’s an offer, a chance for connection outside of the realm of our fight for survival.
Yes, some part of me wants to cry. Take it. Take everything I have left. He holds the razor-sharp edge of control, the only thing keeping me safe, because I trust Max like I trust my own abilities. Not just to keep me safe, but to heal me.
To redeem me.
He always knows when enough is enough, when I need him to stop, but this morning, he seems content to draw out my pleasure. If I was in my normal frame of mind, I’d be furious at the teasing, but those orgasms have me thinking with the brain that sits at the center of my torso.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, pausing in his caresses to give my hair another tug.
“Fuck,” I sigh, stretching my arms above my head. “I’ve never done that before. Rode a guy’s face like that, I mean. I like it. How about you? You okay down there?”
