Page 14 of Hunted

"Let's eat," I rumble, gesturing for her to sit.

I watch Zara intently as she settles at the table, her every movement sending ripples of desire through my body. The simple act of her lifting the fork to those full lips is enough to have my cock straining.

I focus on the food before me rather than the tempting creature across from me. Each bite is like ash in my mouth as I wrestle with the raging beast clawing at its confines.

Zara appears oblivious to my internal struggle, her delicate brows furrowed in thought as she chews. Those emerald eyes keep flicking to meet my heated stare before shying away.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, finally breaking the weighted silence between us. "You seem tense."

I nearly choke on my next bite at the blatant understatement. Tense doesn't even begin to cover the storm roiling through my veins. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, aching for release in a way I've never experienced before.

Forcing a smile, I incline my head. "Just fine, littlefugl. Eat your food before it gets cold."

Zara worries her full lower lip, seeming unconvinced. But she obeys nonetheless, turning her attention back to her plate. “What does littlefugl mean?”

I grind my teeth. “Little bird in Norwegian.”

Her brow furrows as she meets my gaze. “Why do you call me little bird?” She demands.

So many fucking questions. “No more questions,” I growl, “Eat your food.”

She does as she’s told, and the simple act of submission, no matter how small, has desire flaring hot in my gut. I imagine her kneeling before me, head bowed in deference, as I stroke her golden hair. A shudder wracks my frame at the vivid image, my fork clattering to the plate.

“Aksel?" Zara's soft voice cuts through the haze of lust. “Are you sure you're alright?"

Before I can respond, she reaches across the table to lay her hand atop mine.

The instant Zara's soft hand touches mine, it's like a jolt of electricity shooting straight to my cock. Every nerve ending in my body ignites with a searing need, a primal hunger that leaves me breathless.

Her brow furrows in concern. "What's wrong?"

What's wrong? The words echo in my mind, taunting me with their innocent naivety. If only she knew the dark desires that swirl through me like a tempest, threatening to tear down the carefully constructed walls I've built.

With a herculean effort, I go still, refusing to give in to the beast that claws at its cage. I'm not some lust-crazed animal or a slave to my baser instincts.

Slowly, deliberately, I turn my hand beneath hers until our palms are pressed together. Zara's breath hitches at the intimate contact, her pupils dilating until the green is nearly swallowed by black.

"Nothing is wrong, littlefugl," I rumble. "I'm simply enjoying your company."

A delicate shiver wracks her frame as I brush the pad of my thumb over the skin of her wrist. So soft, so delicate. Like the finest porcelain begging to be marred and broken.

The beast howls its approval, urging me to claim this tempting creature and ravage her until she's marked with my scent, my essence. But I can't—won't—give in so easily.

With monumental restraint, I disentangle my fingers from hers and sit back in my chair.

Zara blinks rapidly, as if waking from a trance, and quickly withdraws her hand.

An awkward silence stretches between us, thick with tension. I can practically taste the desire in the air, mingling with the lingering scent of her shampoo and driving me half-mad.

Gritting my teeth, I reach for my glass of water and drain it in one burning swallow. The icy liquid does little to quell the inferno raging in my veins and soul.

Zara fidgets across from me, worrying her full lower lip in that delectable way that has me imagining all manner of sinful activities. Unable to bear the weighted silence a moment longer, she clears her throat.

"I should clean up," she murmurs, rising abruptly from the table.

As she moves to gather the dishes, I also find myself rising. Zara freezes as I crowd in behind her for the second time, the plates clattering in her trembling hands. The floral scent of her shampoo envelops me. I inhale deeply, committing that intoxicating aroma to memory.

“Allow me," I rumble, reaching around to still her movements.

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