Page 131 of Hunting Pretty

He came into me with a surge of hot cum, muffling the groans of his orgasm with a mouthful of my breast, his teeth sinking in viciously.

The pain tipped me over the edge. I came right along with him, shuddering against his chest, grabbing at him as wave after wave rolled through me.

He sagged against me, breathing heavily against my naked skin, goosebump-riddled in the Paris night wind.

I don’t know how long we stayed there, foreheadspressed against each other, panting breaths swirling around each other’s cheeks.

But when I shivered, he pulled away.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned me up.

Then he shrugged off his black leather jacket and slid it over my shoulders.

It was heavy and warm and it smelled like him—leather and spice, a combination that made me feel strangely safe.

I blinked up at him, my mind still reeling from everything that had happened, but there he was, calm and focused, his hands gentle as he zipped up his jacket to hide my ruined dress.

His arms came around me and he lifted me off the cold tomb.

I pressed my face into his chest and I felt… safe.

His strong arms cradled me, holding me close against his chest as he carried me through the dark streets, his steps steady, unhurried, like nothing in the world could touch me now that I was in his care.

The familiar luxury of the Paris Ritz loomed ahead, but all I could focus on was him—the way his heart beat steadily beneath my ear, the quiet strength in every movement.

Of course he knew where I was staying, he knew which room number I was in, and… look at that, he even had his own key.

Tears stung my eyes. He’d been watching this whole time. Even when I didn’t know it.

He never left my side.

He’d always been there, my shadow.

My Scáth.

He didn’t speak as he carried me into the suite. He didn’t need to.

I could feel the weight of his emotions in the way he gently set me down, helping me out of my clothes with a quiet reverence.

The hot water of the shower ran over me and his gentle hands soaped my body and washed my hair until the bloody water swirling into the drain turned clear again. There was a softness to him I hadn’t expected, one that left me stunned.

He dried me with the same care, his hands slow and careful, never once lingering too long even though I hoped he would.

When he dressed me in a soft robe, his touch was light, almost tender, and the knot in my chest loosened. This was a side of him I’d never seen—a side I hadn’t even imagined existed.

The man who could be so brutal, so dangerous, was also capable of this kind of quiet care. It was disarming, in the best possible way.

I wasn’t sure what to make of this Scáth, this gentle, protective side of him. But for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had to figure it out.

I just felt safe.

He dressed me in soft, clean pajamas and carried me to the bed, tucking the blankets up around me, his movements deliberate, as if making sure I was perfectly safe, perfectly warm.

I grabbed his arm before he could pull away. “Where are you going?”

He kissed my forehead. “I’ve got to take care of something.”

Right. The body. Evidence.

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