Page 34 of Make Me Hunt
The fucking driver might not be able to hear my moans, but he can definitely hear this. I want to protest, tell him to slow down, for the sake of my dignity and whatever’s left of my sanity. But before I get the chance to say even a word, warmth coils between my thighs and that tightening sensation grabs hold of me, ready to snap.
“You take my fingers so well. I can’t wait for you to feelmypiercings,” he murmurs, and I’m instantly mesmerized.
His what?
The thought’s too irresistible to disregard. My mind instantly becomes chaotic, and something so powerful, I fear it might leave me unconscious, rips through me.
I can’t hold back a moan, but his lips rise to find mine and seal it, swallowing my sounds like he’s starving for them. His grip on my wrists loosens, and I break free, but I don’t fight him, just wrap my arms around his neck, never tearing my lips from his.
I want to hate him, drive a dagger straight through his heart. But all I seem to be doing is kissing him. And I know, I won’t stop at that.
He seems different right now. Still in control, but almost careful with his gestures, like he’s on his best behavior.
He gently lifts my dress back over my shoulders, straightening it like that’ll make any of this decent. As if anything in this car could be.
He breaks the kiss, setting a distance, just to look at me. To see me ravished by him.
A weird silence settles in. As if the weight of what just happened falls like a blanket on us. This isn’t some kind of punishment for misbehaving. This is unfiltered lust following its course.
He brushes my cheek with the back of his thumb, then gently traces my lips like he wants to memorize every detail of my face. I know that's not what he’s actually doing… because I’m not that special. But I can’t deny the effect he has on me.
“Where have you been?” He ghosts the words, like they weren’t meant to escape. And I don’t even know how to answer.
Men like him don’t ask this kind of question. He doesn’t have to charm his way into my panties.He owns them.
But my gaze betrays me. I can’t hide that his question hit something deep—a part of me I want unexploited.
It’s just pillow talk, even if we don’t actually have any pillows around.
I trace my tongue across the tip of his finger, and instantly his chest begins to rise and fall with heaving breaths. “If you keep this up, I can’t guarantee that Dayton will keep his eyes tonight. Because I’ll have you screaming so loud, not even his Lord Savior can keep him from watching.” But just before he can do anything about his threat, the car pulls to a stop, and I can clearly hear Dayton exhale with relief. I guess he dodged that bullet. Both of us, actually.
fifteen
-Brynn-
Neither of us realized we’d reached his house.
The thought dawns on me, and even if I was prepared to cross this line, I was never prepared to feel any kind of pleasure doing it.
I fumble to straighten my dress because apparently, I don’t seem to function properly. But then Ares literally throws me over his shoulder and gets out of the car.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I mutter, kicking my legs to make him put me down. I’m not some helpless girl who can’t walk on her own.
“Stop kicking and stop cursing,” he catches the back of my legs to pin me still. “Your feet are hurting,” he says, and I realize this isn’t some kind of gesture to show off his strength. He’s carrying me to protect me.
Well, he should’ve thought of that sooner.
“My feet were hurting earlier, too. You didn’t seem so concerned about it then,” I protest, but in a softer tone. I’m not too good at being cared for—or too used to it.
“Pain looks good on you. Makes you more docile… pliable,” he snarls, and I can feel the grin on his face even if I can’t see it.
“Then let me down,” I mutter, trying to kick him in the chest, but he just grabs the back of my knees, locking me in place.
“If I let you down now, you’ll startpretendingyou hate me again. And eventually, that will get on my nerves.” He smacks my ass, hard enough to sting, then he carries me into the house, stopping only when we reach the bedroom.
I never had access to this part since there was no clear view of it from the garden.
It’s dark, but I don’t want him to turn on the lights. The drapes are open, revealing a large orange moon glowing at us through the ceiling-high windows. And I try to focus on it, distracting myself from what’s about to happen and trying not to get toowrapped up in Ares’s games. I still can’t manage to read this man. His alternating mood swings are a mystery to me. And I can’t tell if he’s genuinely into me. Or if he’s just a bored man in search of something to play with.
