Page 107 of Hunt Me
“Come for me.” His voice is a barely human growl. “Come with my cock in your ass.”
“Alexi—” His name breaks on my lips.
“Now,detka.” His fingers speed up, making the pressure within build to unbearable levels. “Come right fucking now.”
My orgasm detonates. Wave after wave of devastating pleasure.
The muscles in my pussy clench and release violently. Fluid gushes from between my thighs, soaking the sheets beneath us.
“Fuck.” The word rips from his throat. “You’re squirting.”
He pounds harder, chasing his own release.
“Going to breed this perfect ass.” His rhythm turns erratic. “Fill you up. Make you mine.”
“Yes.” I’m still coming, flying high from the insurmountable pleasure. “Please.”
He buries himself deep and holds himself there as a growl tears from his chest. It’s primal, possessive, and completely fucking animal.
“Mine.” The word is savage. Broken. “Fucking mine.”
Heat floods my ass, and my pleasure spikes knowing he’s pumping his cum into me.
He stays buried, grinding deeper longer after he’s finished, making sure every drop stays inside.
“Take it all.” Another growl as his hips jerk with aftershocks. “Every fucking drop.”
I collapse forward, unable to hold myself up anymore on one arm, my shoulder wound throbbing from the strain.
He comes down with me. Still inside. Still pulsing.
“Never letting you go.” His teeth find my good shoulder, biting hard enough to leave a mark. “Never.”
He pulls out slowly, and his cum immediately leaks from my stretched hole.
“Stay right there.”
He disappears into the bathroom, but soon returns with a warm washcloth. His touch is gentle as he cleans me.
“How do you feel?” He asks.
“Wrecked.” My voice is hoarse. “In the best possible way.”
He tosses the cloth aside, pulling me into his arms, but careful not to touch my shoulder wound.
I curl against his chest, hearing his heartbeat slow beneath my ear.
This man. This brilliant, chaotic, dangerous man.
He walked into a federal facility with guns blazing and killed Morrison without hesitation. He chose me over safety, logic, everything.
My fingers trace the planes of his tattooed chest. Memorizing every ridge. Every scar.
How did this happen? How did I fall for the man I set out to destroy?
For years, I hated the Ivanov name. I blamed them for my parents’ death and spent months planning their downfall.
Now I’m lying in Alexi Ivanov’s arms. Completely his. Utterly claimed.
