Page 8 of Hunted

This is absurd. I'm a trainee scientist. I've never let a man rattle me before. Hell, I'm a virgin, for God's sake. But then, I've also never met a man like Aksel.

The sheer size of him is enough to make my knees go weak. He has to be at least six foot four with a powerful, muscular frame covered in ink. And those eyes—a gray-blue that bores holes straight through me.

When he touched me, trailing those rough fingertips along my skin, I felt like lightning struck me. The memory of it makes me shiver, my nipples tightening beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

What is wrong with me? This man is clearly unhinged, probably a psychopath. I should be terrified, not aroused. But I can't seem to help myself.

He moves with a predatory grace, like a great jungle cat studying its prey. And I have the sinking feeling that I'm the prey being stalked. The thought should frighten me. It does, in a way—that tight, anxious knot in my stomach that screams at me to run. But there's another part of me, a darker part, that wants to see what he's capable of.

What would it be like to be possessed by a man like that? To have all that raw power and intensity focused solely on me? A tremor runs through me at the thought, my thighs clenching instinctively.

Outside the bathroom door, I hear the fire crackle and the rain hissing against the roof and windows. Any sane person would be trying to formulate an escape plan right now, considering how he’s acted. We’re trapped in here with nothing to do. But all I can think about is the dangerous, beautiful beast waiting for me on the other side of that door.

6

AKSEL

After what feels like an age, Zara returns to the living room, and my jaw falls to the floor.

That dress shatters any resolve I had left. My mouth goes dry, drinking in her curves, the fabric clinging to her body in a way that makes my blood heat. Her blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, and I ache to run my fingers through those silky strands.

I take a shuddering breath as Zara settles onto the couch, trying and failing to keep my eyes off her body. The dress hugs her curves, the neckline plunging dangerously low. She crosses her legs demurely, utterly oblivious to the effect she's having on me.

"You look stunning," I force out, my voice a guttural growl. Never before has Aksel fucking Nilsen given a woman a compliment before, yet here we are.

Zara blushes, a rosy hue spreading across those high cheekbones. "Thank you," she murmurs, ducking her head shyly.

The motion draws my gaze to her tits straining against the fabric, and I dig my nails into my palms to keep from reaching out and ripping that flimsy material right off her body.

She clears her throat. "Sorry, is it too much? I can change into something more appropriate." Zara moves to stand.

"No!" The word bursts from me before I can stop it, far too forceful. Zara freezes, eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of fear. I take a calming breath through my nose. "You look perfect just as you are."

Her tongue darts out to wet those plump lips, and I track the movement hungrily. So innocent, so tempting. She settles back against the cushions, squirming under my scrutiny.

"Would you like a drink?" I offer, needing something to distract me before I pounce on her.

Zara nods, worrying her full bottom lip between her teeth. The sight of that lush mouth being abused sends a jolt straight to my cock. I grip the arm of the chair, knuckles whitening as I try to get a grip.

Moving to the small bar, I pour two glasses of the expensive scotch I keep on hand, letting the familiar ritual calm me. When I turn back with the tumblers, Zara has one knee drawn up, skimming that tantalizing hemline even higher. My steps falter, and it's a fucking fight not to drop to my knees and bury my face between those thighs.

For weeks, I'd planned her demise, intending to lure her out into the forest before stalking and then striking. A clean kill, then I could dispose of the body without a trace. But now... now those plans seem laughable.

Zara wasn't sent here to die. She was delivered to me, a gift from the gods to sate my darkest desires.

I don't know how long I can deny my body's cravings while I drink in every luscious curve, every tantalizing glimpse of skin. My mouth waters at the thought of tasting her. But for so long, I’ve avoided such proclivities for a reason. I can’t turn into my father.

Our fingers brush when I hand her the drink, and electricity crackles between us. She sucks in a sharp breath, pupils widening.

"Thank you," Zara whispers, her voice a breathless caress that has me clenching my fists to keep from grabbing her.

I give a tight nod, sinking into the chair across from her. From this angle, I can see straight down the tempting V of her neckline. It would be so easy to rip that fabric aside and bury my face between her tits.

Downing my scotch in one burning swallow, I set the glass aside with a trembling hand.

A predatory grin stretches my lips as I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees.

Zara's chest rises and falls rapidly with each panted exhale. She clears her throat. "Would you like me to make us lunch?” she asks.

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