Page 50 of The Huntress

“I would like that.” He clenched his knees with stiff fingers as he fought lunging for her, taking her right here on the counter, burying himself in her, claiming her as his.

He cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his now too-tight jeans. “Please add garlic to your sauce. I haven’t had it in years.”

“Parmesan?” She held up the powdered parmesan he kept in the freezer, shaking it for emphasis.

He had no idea how old it was, though.

“Yes, please.” A rush of endorphins pumped through him, escalating his heartbeat and ramping his level of affection, formulating one circling thought—he adored her.

She made dinner for herself, knowing he’d drink from her later, taking his wants into consideration. Why had no man snatched her up? Not that he liked the idea of it. He just wondered what was wrong with human men in general.

She was his now, and he wasn’t releasing her from her vow, ever.

She served herself, sprinkling parmesan over it, before choosing the chair next to him.

“It smells good,” he said, admiring her features as she forked pasta into her enticing mouth.

“It tastes good. I’ve never tried this brand before. We’ll get more of it tomorrow.”

“Do you need anything from your home?”

She blinked, her body stilling, as if his question startled her. “My uniforms, a few books but that’s about it. I can’t sell, though. The apartment was my dad’s.”

She was willing to trade in everything for him. Moon above, the hold this woman already had on him.

“Tomorrow, we can see if Val can visit.” He offered, needing to give her something… Something that could match what she offered him—herself. It felt as if he fell short, though. As if nothing could compare to her worth.

“That would be wonderful, Gabe.” She held out her arm, resting it across the table. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” He stared at the smooth skin of her wrist.

“I freely give.” She smiled and licked her fork.

His gaze rested on her lips, torn. He could feed now and enjoy the taste of garlic, tomatoes, and parmesan. Or he could wait until she was beneath him. At the memory of her aroused, her chocolate flavor burst across his tongue, and he shifted in his chair to ease the throbbing.

He pressed his lips to the soft skin of her inner wrist, scenting the bounty that awaited him. The staccato of her pulse tapped a rhythm on his lips in her excitement. He lingered on her flushed cheeks. The emerald of her eyes sparkled, and her mouth parted, revealing her small white teeth. She fought to breathe with the rapid rise and fall of her chest, her food forgotten.

With a shudder, he brushed his fangs along her skin, teasing her and himself in the process. He spread his thighs to accommodate his erection, ignoring the constant ache. When he bit into her skin, he ensured she endured the least amount of pain. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and a throaty moan tore from her.

Garlic, parmesan, pasta, tomatoes, and oregano overwhelmed his taste buds. He moaned in pleasure. He refused to close his eyes to savor her flavor, though. The last time he did that, he’d lost cognizance of how much he’d taken. He needed her well for when he buried himself deep in her and tasted her again. Dragging his tongue across the tiny wounds he’d made, his saliva sealed them. Licking his lips, relishing every drop, he stared at her with a need that roared at his sanity.

He kissed the now-healed spots. “Thank you.”

“Had enough?” she asked, as if she would offer him a second helping.

Not releasing her wrist, he shook his head, doubting he’d quench the craving for her that went deeper than hunger, than sexual. “I don’t think I’ll ever have enough.” He stroked his thumb across her soft skin mesmerized by the flush staining her cheeks again.

“Have you?” He gestured to her almost empty bowl.

“Yes, thanks.”

He’d promised to take it one step at a time, but he could kiss her, at least. Jumping forward, scraping his chair backward, he startled a gasp from her. He took full advantage, crashing his mouth across her, plundering without hesitation. A groan rumbled up his throat, and he tightened his hold, needing every inch of her to touch him.

She clung to him, digging her nails into his biceps as she swept her tongue across his.

Fuck, he didn’t need her participation, not if he had to go slow.

He pulled away, throwing himself against the wall, adding distance between them.

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