Page 32 of The Wild Hunt

The initial pain quickly gives way to pleasure as he fills me completely. I have never felt so full, and I can't hold back the loud moan that escapes me. I feel him shudder in response and he begins to move.

He doesn’t wait for me to adjust to him, dragging his cock back before thrusting hard and deep. I whimper at the force, my pussy squeezing around him in response. The thorns dig deeper into my skin as I arch against him, seeking more. The pain only heightens every sensation, pushing me closer to the edge again.

The Huntsman sets a relentless pace, each powerful thrust driving me further into the muddy ground and into a haze of pleasure and pain. His hands grip my hips and I can feelhis claws are back, pricking my skin, adding to the myriad of sensations overwhelming me.

"That's it," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "Take all of me."

I cry out as he hits a spot deep inside that makes my vision blur. My body trembles, pleasure building with each thrust. His claws dig deeper into my hips, drawing pinpricks of blood that mix with the sweat and mud coating my skin.

The sounds we create together are like a symphony as they echo around us. My moans and whimpers combine with the sounds of skin slapping as his hips crash into mine over and over. Pressure builds inside my core, coiling tight as my body tenses on the edge of release.

"Come for me," The Huntsman commands, his voice a guttural growl that sends a jolt down my spine. "Let me feel you fall apart around me."

His words, combined with a particularly deep thrust, send me over the edge. My back arches off the ground as waves of pleasure crash over me. I cry out, loud and unrestrained, as my orgasm rips through me. My inner walls pulsing around him as he continues to pound into me, fucking me through my climax.

The Huntsman's pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more erratic. His breathing grows ragged, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. I can feel him swelling inside me, stretching me even further. The pressure builds to an almost unbearable level; my entire body quivers with need.

With a guttural groan, he slams into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt. I feel the hot rush of his release deep inside me, filling me. The sensation triggers another, smaller orgasm, making me tremble and whimper beneath him.

As the waves of pleasure begin to ebb, reality comes crashing back. The weight of The Huntsman's body presses me into the muddy forest floor. The thorns still bite into my wrists andankles, a sharp contrast to the lingering pleasure. I can feel our combined releases slowly trickling out of me, warm against my sensitive flesh.

For a long moment, we stay frozen like that, both panting heavily. The forest around us is eerily quiet, as if holding its breath. Then, slowly, The Huntsman withdraws from me, sitting back and looking down at me. I wince at the loss, feeling suddenly empty and cold. The vines release me and I gasp at the feeling of the thorns pulling out of my skin.

I close my eyes, trying to make sense of what just happened. Trying to make sense of the whole night, the whole week. With a groan I slowly roll over. I need this to be a dream, a nightmare. My whole body aches, like I’ve been chased through a forest and fucked hard on a muddy floor.

Forcing my eyes open again, I’m met with the sight of the half deer skull mask again and the wicked smirk on The Huntsman’s face. Fear slices through me at the thought of what he will do to me now and I push through the pain to scramble to my hands and knees. I will crawl away if I have to.

His chuckle is low and the sound is drenched with sex and wicked things. A hand fists my hair before I get far, jerking me backward and I cry out at the fresh pain as he twists me back toward him. “We are not done yet, little prey.”

I'm exhausted, my body aching from our previous encounter, but I can feel a traitorous spark of arousal igniting deep within me at his touch.

"Please," I whimper, unsure if I'm begging him to stop or continue. My mind is a jumble of conflicting emotions - fear, shame, and a desperate, primal need I can't quite suppress.

He uses his hold on my hair to move me until I’m positioned on my hands and knees again. “I did enjoy the look of you like this,” he says before he shifts behind me, pressing his cock inside me once more. I whimper as he slides into my oversensitivepussy. The fact that he is hard again so soon just reinforces that he isn’t human.

Pulling on my hair he arches my back painfully until he pulls my back to his front. Then he moves slowly, his languid pace a contrast to before, like he is wanting to savor this moment. He wraps his other hand around the front of my throat and I feel the claws moments before they pierce my flesh.

I gasp as the sharp tips break the surface, tiny rivulets of blood spilling down my skin. The Huntsman's grip tightens, not enough to cut off my air but enough to make breathing a struggle. Each shallow breath sends a jolt of pain through me as his claws dig deeper.

His hips continue their slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust pushing me further into a haze of conflicting sensations. The pain from his claws mingles with the pleasure building inside me, creating a dizzying whirlwind that leaves me trembling in his grip.

Reaching up, I dig my nails into his skin as I wrap my hands around his wrist. He grunts, his hips slapping hard against my ass as they jerk against me in response.

"You're mine now," he growls in my ear, his hot breath fanning across my skin. "No matter where you go or what you do, your body and soul are mine. Do you understand?"

The words barely register, I try to nod, but his grip on my hair and throat is too tight. A strangled "Yes" is all I can manage. I can feel myself getting wetter, clenching around him as he continues his slow, deep thrusts.

He rewards me by increasing his pace, his thrusts becoming harder. I find myself arching back into him, seeking more of that exquisite feeling. The Huntsman responds by tightening his grip on my throat, the claws digging deeper. I can feel warm blood trickling down my chest, staining my skin.

His pace quickens, each thrust driving deeper, harder. The hand in my hair releases, sliding down my back, leaving a trail of scratches in its wake. I cry out, the sound strangled by his grip on my throat. The pain blurs with pleasure, leaving me dizzy and desperate for more.

"That's it,mo ghiolla amhrán," he growls, his voice rough with desire. “So perfect.”

I don’t understand the words he said but I don’t care. I shouldn't want this, shouldn't crave his touch but I push back against him, meeting his thrusts, desperate for more.

"Is liomsa tú.

Mine," he snarls, punctuating the final word with a particularly deep, powerful thrust that makes me see stars.

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