Page 36 of Make Me Hunt
My hips arch a few more times, and I’m done with the next curl of his fingers. I feel my body spasming like someone has hooked me to a live wire.
The pulses make me jerk for a second out of his grip, trying to get myself together, because I feel like I’m shattering.
I’m genuinely scared of what this man could do to me. And I’m not talking about his gun or his knife. It’s with his bare hands. His Tongue. His Cock.
I want to rise from the bed and take back control, but before I can, he climbs on top of me, pinning me to the mattress.
I don’t like being caught. Or restrained. My first instinct is to try to escape, but I fight it. And let the pleasure that’s running through me keep me pinned.
He feels possessive, and I feel like I can’t fucking breathe. It’s not because of his weight. It’s because I’m eager to take him. And that scares the shit out of me.
I’ve never wanted a man the way I want him. I used to force myself to enjoy a man’s touch. Though it often didn’t work, to the point I nearly gave up.
But with him, there’s no forcing. It’s more like I’m unable to control my body anymore. And while I love the sensations he instills inside me, I hate how weak they make me feel.
He grabs my wrists as I feel him positioning himself at my entrance. No hands. He just expertly jolts his hips as he brushes my folds.
I’m so wet that it slips with ease against them, teasing, taunting.
And I’m fucking terrified.
Terrified of how much I might enjoy this.
“Remind me to help you up in the morning if you have trouble walking,” he smiles, his tongue darting to lick my collarbone as he sinks into me.
“Show off,” I mutter between gritted teeth, his kind of rough being much more than what I’m used to.
“I wasn’t kidding,” he looks at me, dead serious, like that’s a very real possibility. “Breathe, my little curse,” he says, pushing the first piercing in.
And that’s the only command I can hear echoing in my mind.Breathe.And I’m grateful he told me too because I don’t really know if I would have remembered to breathe. Truth is, I don’t really know what to do with myself right now.
Another follows.
And despite the molten pain, there’s a threat of devastating pleasure.
I breathe again. Just that. I don’t even blink. I don’t moan.
I just exist to feel him there.
Then another one enters. The third, and I swallow hard, as I see him watching, devouring the way I take him in.
Then another, that leaves me dumbstruck, like I don’t even know who I am anymore.
But before I come to my senses, he pushes forward.
The fifth, and the smile on his face while he brushes over the mark he left under my breast, is delicious. He groans, eyes on the scar. His thumb drifts from my nipple to it and back again.
Then another. And he curses. “Fuck, you’re so tight I might break you.”
But he doesn’t stop, just drives the last one in, and that’s when I can’t hold back my gasp. I don’t want to seem inexperienced, but he almost knocked me senseless.
“Does it hurt having me so deep in you?” he asks, nearly out of breath, like this time he feels my anguish gripping him whole. And I’m sure he lives for it.
“Y-yes,” I whimper so sensually he knows I don’t want him to leave, even though I can barely exist with him there.
“Good,” he grunts, pulling out, and I can feel every piercing drag through my channel. Then he slides back right in, managing to extract a sound from me I’ve never heard before. It was some kind of mixture between a purr and a cry. I want more, but I’m not sure if I won’t die in the process.
And then he repeats—his hips slamming into mine while I murmur incoherent nonsense.
