Page 29 of The Huntress and Her Hound

Cher doesn’t say anything as she reaches over and starts the shower. My hands begin to sweat as she turns her back to me, unhooking her bra and tossing it to the floor.

“Did he touch that?” My eyes slide over the rose vines across her back and then drop to the brazier on the floor.

“Yes.”

“I’m throwing it away, too.” I reach down and pluck up the lace, my body burning with desire for the woman almost naked in front of me—but I’m also irrevocably infuriated at the thought of that guy touching her.

She’s not yours.

But I can’t stop myself. “Did he touch anything else?”

“He tried,” she says softly, and then slides her underwear down to just above her knees. She hesitates, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Can you help me?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Is she toying with me?

I swallow the knot in my throat and set the trash sack down. My fingers go for the soft material, but I’m careful not to touch her skin. I’m so fucking close to her bare body that it’s damn near the worst torture I’ve ever faced. “Step out.” I keep my gaze on her feet, feeling her eyes on me the entire time.

She’s testing me.

And because of that, I never look up. I’ll prove I’m trustworthy. I tug her underwear down to her ankles, aching to see so much more but ignoring it. She places a hand on my shoulder, and one foot at a time, she steps out, digging her black toenails into the fuzzy plush of the matching black rug.

I’m left with just her underwear and my cock nearly explodes as I fist the material that touched her, pressed against her most private place. I want to touch her. I’ve never been so jealous of scrap of fabric. I want all of her. I want every fucking one of her holes. And I don’t want to share. I nearly snarl at the thought of her being wet because of someone else.

“Thank you.” Her voice comes out as fragile, grateful even, shearing through my moment of internal turmoil.

I nod and swallow hard, shoving the underwear into the trash sack with everything else. “Of course.” I slowly stand erect again, and her hand that was on my shoulder trails down my arm. I fight the urge to look, but I keep my eyes on the wall, away from her naked body.

She’s not yours to look at.

If she told me she was, I’d devour her. I’d take control. I’d give her everything she never knew she wanted.

But I won’t even look at what’s not mine—and that drives me away from her.

“You should get some rest,” I mumble, spinning away toward the exit and heading for the bathroom door. “You need it.”

Fuck, I need it.

Chapter 11

The Huntress

Three YouTube tutorials later, the nasty bruise on my face is covered, and it’s more makeup than I think I’ve ever worn. I brush my fingers over the heavily covered area of my face and sigh. Part of me wonders if Jude will actually refrain from telling Henry. I still can’t let go of the way he never looked at me when I was on full display for him, either.

‘He must think you’re ugly.’

My brows furrow in the mirror back at me. If he does find me unattractive, could that mean he might want to be my...friend? Once upon a time, I had friends. I had good friends, and some of them were of the same sex I prefer to be dead now.

‘They didn’t stop anything from happening to you.’

“They didn’t know,” I reason, still staring at myself in the mirror. “That’s an unfair assumption of them...” The voice doesn’t seem to have a response for that, but my buzzing phone seems to stop the ringing in my ears. I sweep up the device from the marbled bathroom counter and stare down at the screen.

Unknown: You’re a very bad girl.

I stare at the message, caught between feeling the need to laugh at how cheesy it reads and cry at what it could mean for me. Does someone know what I did last night? My palms grow clammy as I slide the message open...

And then delete it.

It’s probably just someone sending out random stupid texts.

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