Page 19 of Hunted for Halloween

There's someone in my house.

I stand rooted to a spot, my heart pounding erratically as goosebumps sprout all over my skin. I contemplate bolting out of the house when I still have a chance to, but I decide against it. I crouch softly, taking off my heels. I tiptoe towards the kitchen with both pairs in my hands, ready to lunge at my intruder.

Broad muscular back clad in a crisp dark shirt is the first thing that unfurls in my view when I stop short at the entrance. I feel my heart sink to the pit of my stomach. I don't know whether it's a relief or disappointment. I'd recognize that thick mane of dark hair anywhere. Lush dark strands that I have fisted on different occasions—three days ago, even.

“What do you think you are doing?” The question comes out harsh, laced with disbelief.

“Making us dinner.” I'm convinced Christian is not human, because he doesn't even flinch at the sound of my voice and judging by the look of things, he must have heard me come in.

He turns off the stove, whirling around to face me. My jaw nearly hits the ground because his mouth watering muscles are on display. The sleeves of his dark shirt are rolled to his elbows, his top buttons undone, giving me a sinful peek of his hard chest.

Whiskey eyes size me up in a lazy, sensual perusal, making my toes curl. I want to tug at the hem of my short knit button-up dress with how he's practically eye fucking me where I'm standing.

I fold my arms under my chest, unconsciously pushing up my breasts. “Are you insane? Who breaks into someone's house and cooks them dinner?”

“I didn't break in.” He disagrees, his husky voice slipping past his lips with a collected edge. “I just let myself in.”

“This is an abuse of power, you know? Simply because you run a security firm doesn't give you the right to hack my apartment's security system. This is insane, Christian. You can't just do things like that!” I raise my voice, throwing my hands up in the air.

“Yes, I can.” He responds coldly. “Would you have let me come if I told you I wanted to come? You aren't even answering my texts.” His jaw flexes in irritation and he tosses the napkin in his hands on the counter.

“Oh, you mean the ones where you have been texting me like an obsessive ex-boyfriend?” I snort, my tone sarcastic.

“I told you to stop running from me.” He seethes, his huge frame tense, radiating with anger.

“How could I possibly run from you?” I disregard the fact that being anywhere close to him makes me lose control, marching towards him. “You are my Dad's best friend, who invades my privacy however and whenever he wants, so there's really no running from you, Christian. You have made yourself clear.” I shout, exasperated.

Christian stares at me like he wants to choke me and fuck me at the same time. It's infuriating because my body burns with the same intensity that rages in his eyes.

“Come here,” the command hangs thick in the kitchen, containing an ominous edge.

I stay rooted to the same spot, blinking rapidly and trying to grasp what he means. Not that I don't pick up the underlying meaning in those two words, I'm just flummoxed that it's the only thing he can think of right now.

“W-what?”

“Don't make me say it again, Pumpkin.” He clings to a calm, controlled facade. The only thing that gives him away is the predatory look in those whiskey eyes. “I don't want to come over there and do it myself.”

My legs oblige before my mind can pick up on what I’m doing. I trudge towards him with slow, cautious steps. My palms turn sweaty, my heart raging against my ribcage as the space between my legs heats up.

The way Christian grabs onto me when I'm within arm's reach has me teetering between desperation and hunger. He yanks me towards him, pulling my small frame against his chest. He sucks in a breath, a satisfied hum unfurling from his lips.

I want to fight it, but my nostrils greedily cling to his scent, devouring it. It feels like I'm breathing him in for the first time, causing my heart to skip multiple times. I splay my palm on his chest to push him away, but my fingers trace against his pectoral muscles, appreciating every inch of his masculine beauty.

“I missed you.” He rasps.

My chest twists with an emotion that I don't recognize when I pick up how vulnerable he sounds.

My eyes slowly blink open, and I look up at him.

Our gazes clash, and I swear, it sends shivers down my spine, exploding in my veins like zaps of electricity. There's somethingutterly magnetic about the way he stares at me. It’s like he’s torn between looking at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he has ever seen and wanting to devour me at the same time. It's raw, shameless and intoxicating.

“Christian, we can't keep doing this…” I trail off, tears building up in my eyes.

He picks me up like I’m a porcelain doll, my backside hitting the edge of the countertop. The cold greasy surface connects with the back of my thigh, tightening my skin with anticipation. My lips part when I look up, his dark, lustful gaze making me swallow.

“I can't think straight at work.” He pushes his way between my legs, his veiny calloused fingers dragging up my bare skin and hiking my dress up roughly. “Every little fucking thing reminds me of you and knowing that I fucked you in my office a few days ago isn't helping.” He tugs me into him sharply, pressing his bulge into me.

It's too much. Him. This. All of this. His scent invades my mind. His touch makes my skin burn, and my heart feels like it's about to punch a hole through my chest.

---