Page 33 of The Wild Hunt

I can feel the pressure building again, a tidal wave of sensation threatening to pull me under. The Huntsman seems to sense it, his fingers finding my clit and circling it mercilessly.

"Come for me again," he commands, his voice dark and hungry. “Anois.Now.”

The tidal wave crashes over me, and I scream. The sound echoes through the forest as pleasure explodes through my body. Every nerve ending feels like it's on fire, sparks of ecstasy shooting through me. My inner walls clench rhythmically around The Huntsman's cock as he continues to thrust into me, prolonging my orgasm.

The Huntsman's pace becomes frantic, his breathing ragged in my ear. “Again,” he growls as he presses his finger harder against my clit.

I'm trembling, overstimulated and exhausted, but my body responds to his touch like a puppet on strings. His fingers move in quick, precise circles, sending jolts of pleasure through my oversensitive nerves. I whimper, torn between the need to pull away and the desperate desire for more.

The Huntsman's thrusts become erratic as his tongue licks against my neck. His claws dig deeper into my throat as he pounds into me, the pain blurring with pleasure until I can no longer tell them apart. I'm drowning in sensation, lost in a sea of ecstasy and agony.

His fingers press hard on my clit, and I feel myself hurtling towards another climax. It builds like a storm made of fire, raging out of control just beneath my skin.

I shatter. The storm breaks, waves of pleasure crashing over me with such intensity that I lose all sense of time and place. Heat burns through me as I'm vaguely aware of my own hoarse cries echoing through the forest, of The Huntsman's growl of satisfaction as he feels me clench around him.

His movements become frantic, desperate. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside me. I barely feel the burning rush of his release as everything turns black.

Chapter 19

Mac

The sound of knocking wakes me and it takes a moment to focus on the ceiling above me. The cottage. For a second I wonder if perhaps I dreamed what happened, but then I move to roll over and pain radiates through my entire body.

Glancing at the window I breathe a sigh, taking in the darkness outside, the sun hasn’t risen yet. But who would be knocking on my door in the early hours? The knock sounds again and it takes me three tries to clear my throat and croak out a weak “Just a minute”.

I push myself out of bed, my body protesting with every move. The dull ache in my muscles is a stark reminder that last night was no dream. My limbs are stiff, my skin feels raw, and the faintest touch against my bruised flesh sends fresh twinges of pain through me.How am I still standing after that?

With a wince, I grab my robe and wrap it tightly around myself, hoping it will cover enough of the damage. The soft fabric clings to the cuts and scratches on my skin, the sensationboth soothing and stinging. I shake out my hair, and do my best to cover the scratches on my face.

Another knock comes, louder this time. I steady myself and take a deep breath before heading toward the door. The cool air from the hallway feels sharp against my exposed skin as I approach. My hand hesitates on the doorknob, but then I crack it open just a sliver. Through the gap, I see Bridget standing on the doorstep, her face full of concern. She seems taken aback for a split second, but if she's surprised by my disheveled appearance, she hides it well.

"Hi," I say, my voice rough. "I'm sorry, I didn’t hear you."

Bridget shakes her head, offering me a soft smile. "No, it’s me who should apologize," she says kindly. "I should’ve known you’d gone to bed early to rest before your flight tomorrow. But when you didn’t show up at the pub for dinner, I got worried."

Her words take a moment to sink in, and when they do, I frown.Dinner? Pub?I raise a hand to rub my face but stop when I notice the mud still caked in places, quickly lowering it out of sight, trying to think fast. "I must’ve fallen asleep after exploring the countryside. I lost track of time... What time is it now?"

"It’s just after eight," Bridget replies, still smiling, though her eyes flicker with something like suspicion. "I came straight from dinner to check on you."

Eight?I close my eyes, trying to piece together the timeline. It must be the first of November. I rub my temple, trying to push through the fog in my mind. I somehow slept for nearly twenty-four hours, but my body is still exhausted. I take another deep breath and force a smile. "I must have been more tired than I thought. I completely forgot about the flight."

Bridget’s concern softens into a playful grin. "Don’t worry. I’ll be here bright and early to take you to the airport. And tell you what, I’ll even bring breakfast. How does a muffin and a proper coffee sound?"

The thought of food, of something normal, makes me sigh with relief. "That sounds perfect. Thank you."

"Good." She waves a hand dismissively. "Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning."

With that, she turns and heads down the path, disappearing into the night. I close the door gently behind her and lean my forehead against it. My body feels like it’s been dragged through hell.

Groaning softly, I turn and head toward the bathroom, the thought of cleaning off the mud, blood, and...whatever elseclings to me is daunting. I flick on the light and turn the water on in the shower to heat before stepping in front of the mirror. My reflection is almost unrecognizable. Bruises bloom across my skin, the scratches on my face look angrier in the harsh light, and the intricate markings from The Hunt are still faintly visible, though some of them have already started to fade.

I peel off the robe and step under the hot water. The warmth helps ease some of the pain, though every cut and bruise still protests. I scrub at my skin, trying to wash away not just the grime but the memories. The water runs red and brown at my feet, swirling down the drain like some sick reminder of what I've been through.

As I rinse the last of the mud from my hair, I let out a shaky breath.I seriously need a vacation after this vacation. The thought almost makes me laugh, but the sound comes out more like a pained exhale. There's no time to dwell on it, though. Tomorrow, I’m getting on that plane, and I’m putting this place behind me.

Stepping out of the shower, I reach for the towel, dabbing gently at the parts of my body that sting the most. As I dry myself off, I cautiously glance in the mirror again, expecting to see the same battered reflection staring back at me. To my surprise, it doesn’t look as bad as it did before. Most of the cuts andscratches seem to have started healing faster than they should have, some already faint and barely noticeable. The marks of The Hunt on my chest and arms remain, standing out in sharp contrast against my pale skin.

I step closer, fascinated. The markings are beautiful, almost delicate—filigree patterns that spiral and twist in intricate designs. Among the delicate curves on my chest are vines, entwined through the filigree with tiny thorns and leaves decorating them. Given The Huntsman's fondness for using vines to ensnare me, it feels oddly appropriate. The longer I look, the more hypnotic the pattern becomes.

---