Page 42 of Bound to the Bounty Hunter

Her words, meant to reassure, only made it harder to resist. Trust. Such a fragile thing, and so easily broken. I couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk her.

The pressure built inside me, a molten core of desire and instinct threatening to erupt. My fangs lengthened, ready to pierce her delicate skin. I could almost taste her blood on my tongue, could almost feel the rush of the claiming.

No. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

With a snarl of frustration and pain, I wrenched myself away from Samira’s neck. Before I could second-guess myself, I sank my fangs into my own forearm.

Pain lanced through me, sharp and clarifying. The taste of my own blood filled my mouth, metallic and familiar. It wasn’t what I craved, wasn’t nearly as satisfying as Samira’s would have been, but it was enough to snap me back to some semblance of sanity.

I pulled back, panting heavily. Blood trickled down my arm from the puncture wounds, which were already starting to heal.

“Arkon?” Samira’s voice was laced with concern. “What’s wrong? Did I do something-”

“No,” I cut her off, shaking my head. “No, it’s not you. It’s... it’s complicated.”

I looked up at her, taking in her flushed cheeks, her swollen lips, the marks I’d left on her neck. She was beautiful, perfect, and I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life.

I couldn’t give Samira the claiming bite, but I could make damn sure her body knew mine. With a growl, I redoubled myefforts with renewed vigor. The cell echoed with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, our gasps and moans a primal symphony.

Samira’s nails raked down my back, digging in hard. The pain only spurred me on, heightening every sensation. I gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, using my strength to lift her and slam her back down onto me.

“Arkon,” she cried out, her voice breaking. “Oh god, yes!”

Her words sent a surge of satisfaction through me. I wanted to hear her scream my name, to know that I was the one giving her this pleasure. My lips found her neck again, sucking and biting, leaving marks that would linger for days. Not a true claiming, but a visible sign of my possession nonetheless.

Samira’s inner walls clenched around me, drawing me deeper. The tight, wet heat of her threatened to undo me completely. I fought against my own release, determined to make her come first, to brand myself into her very being.

My hand slid between us, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her core. I circled it with my thumb, matching the rhythm of my thrusts. Samira’s back arched, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

“That’s it,” I growled against her skin. “Come for me, Samira. Let me feel you.”

Her body responded to my command. I could feel her teetering, so close to falling apart. With a particularly hard thrust, I pushed her over that precipice.

Samira came with a cry that echoed off the cell walls. Her body clamped down on mine, waves of pleasure wracking her frame. The sight, sound, and feel of her orgasm nearly undid me, but I held on, riding out her climax.

As her tremors subsided, I didn’t slow my pace. If anything, I fucked her harder, chasing my own release now. Samira whimpered, oversensitive but still meeting me thrust for thrust.

I felt her begin to tighten around me, her breathing growing ragged. “Arkon,” she gasped. “I’m close. Don’t stop.”

As if I could. I redoubled my efforts, ravishing her with all the strength the drug had given me. Samira threw her head back, a cry of ecstasy escaping her lips as she shattered in my arms.

The sight of her pleasure, the feel of her pulsing around me, was too much. With a roar, I followed her over the edge, my release crashing through me.

SAMIRA

Igasped as Arkon filled me completely again, his massive cock, those strange flanges, stretching me to my limits. The intensity of our connection overwhelmed my senses. Just as I adjusted to his size, he spun me around, pressing my hands against the cold metal wall.

“Samira,” he growled, his breath warming my neck. He drove into me again, somehow even deeper than before.

I cried out, pleasure and pain mingling into an intoxicating cocktail. My fingers scrabbled for purchase on the smooth surface as Arkon set a punishing pace.

“Arkon,” I moaned, struggling to form coherent thoughts.

He chanted my name like a mantra, each thrust punctuated by the reverent sound. “Samira, Samira, Samira.”

My legs trembled, threatening to give out. Arkon’s iron grip on my hips held me in place as he continued his relentless assault on my senses.

“Come for me,” he demanded. “Say you’re mine. My mate.”

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