Page 8 of The Hunt
“Theo, I’m so close. Please don’t stop.”
“Come for me, Queen Astor. Bathe your king.” The branch trembles, a few leaves falling seconds before the two intruders break through the trees. From our position, I see their heads turning left and right, their body language anxious, while my mate tightens. She’s strung tight, breath shuddering, and every tremor runs through me before settling on my balls.
My cock drips pre-come against her walls, my fangs against her skin. This time, I bite down on her shoulder—she screams, loud and wanton. I tighten my grip on her neck. Own her.
Gabriella’s caught between my hand and the night while the men below turn rabid. They’re arguing, pushing each other, and trying to find the source, but come up empty over and over again. The younger looks up, but is distracted by the sudden rustling of a bush where a rabbit is trying to hide.
Fucking idiot.
“Theo, please,” she whimpers. I can feel every tremor that rips through her, love the way her heady scent curls around us, and each pulse makes her tighter around me.
Her breath catches, and my control breaks.
The next snap of my hips is meant to hurt, and it’s in that pain that my pretty girl comes for me. It crashes into her, each wave of pleasure ripping her apart until what’s left in my grip is pliant and soft. So fucking sweet.
And it’s only when the last tremor rocks her and she sags against me that I drop behind the men. If they notice me or not, it makes no difference. Their end won’t change.
Before the first head turns, I punch through the younger man’s back, tearing his heart out. His father sees my hand, takes note of the bloody organ held by my fingers, and meets the same fate before he can scream. Both bodies land with a dull thud, gaping holes in their chests and the useless muscles still twitching beside their bodies.
My pretty girl watches but remains silent, her pussy clenching and gyrating every few seconds as a recompense. It isn’t enough. Not when this interruption is of her making, noble act or not.
I could’ve jailed them days ago and killed them after, but she wanted this. Chose this.
With that thought, I snarl and toss her into the air, turning her upside down in my grip. She squeals, blood spiking with adrenaline, then lust as her mouth hovers close to my cock.
I haven’t come yet, and I won’t, but that doesn’t mean I’m not due a prize.
Another little shift, and my cock sits against her lips in this position. Her pussy is in plain view—spread as I take hold of her hips and begin walking back toward our castle. Stroll leisurely. No rush.
She’s pink and soft, so fucking wet, and I watch how her juices flow from that tiny, clenching hole. It pools at her entrance. This position doesn’t leave room for her wetness to drip, and I stop just long enough to lift her to my lips and run the flat of my tongue from her ass to clit, then place her back into position.
Her rough exhale against my engorged head feels good, but when she opens her mouth, tongue sliding…
“That’s it, baby. Fuck, you're my good girl.” At my praise, Gabriella whimpers, bobbing her head faster. She takes me from tip to base, using her throat as a cock sleeve a few times before pulling back so just the head sits on her tongue.
She flicks it. Sucks it. That sinful, pouty mouth worships me.
“Suck,” I command, letting go of her right hip so I can smack her pussy with three fingers. I catch her bundle of nerves and slick lips hard enough to sting, and she tenses. Whimpers for me. Her slick juices splatter my chest. “I want to fuck that pretty mouth, Mrs. Astor.”
“Please, Theo…” a cry this time, my direct slap to her cunt shaking her “…use me.”
“Then open. Open and hold still.” My mate does as I ask, lips wide with my swollen tip at the opening. Soft. Wet. Heat. “Motherfucking perfection.”
It’s a hiss. I thrust deep and fast, sliding down her throat until her lips meet the base. She swallows a few times, hollowing her cheeks as I continue to walk. Every few steps is a snap of my hips, enjoying her lack of a gag reflex as her throat muscles work me.
I’m not gentle. This isn’t meant to be sweet.
I don’t pause or slow down until we’re inside our home and walking into the throne room.
Only then do I release my mate, pulling out from her swollen mouth. She complains, the sounds full of annoyance, but I ignore her.
Once she’s on her feet and stable, I walk to the dais and sit on my throne.
Gabriella narrows her eyes; they’re full of fire and demand an explanation. But I’m not the one who interrupted our playtime.
This is her game now, but the reward remains mine.
Come to me, pretty girl.
