Page 39 of Hunted By Valentine

I smirk. “You’re bold for someone in your position, Ruby. Married. Bound. You think you can still command the attention of someone like me?”

Her pulse quickens, I can practically see it just beneath the skin of her throat. It’s magnetic, the pull between us. I’m used to controlling these situations, but this time it’s different. Ruby’s desire mirrors my own, and it blurs the lines of control.

“I think,” she says, stepping closer, “that you’re more intrigued by me than you want to admit.”

The laugh bubbling from me is laced with amusement and something darker. “Intrigued? Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I’ll act on it.” I lower my voice, leaning in so my lips nearly brush her ear.

“You already have,” she says, a sly smile grazing her lips.

I tilt my head slightly, studying her. She’s pushing me, testing my limits, and part of me wants to let her. Our bodies are nearly touching now, the heat between us tangible. There’s a faint salty scent on her skin, but with the lingering sweetness of her perfume. I want to feel the warmth of her beneath my fingers.

A dark chuckle leaves me. “You’re right. But that doesn’t mean I’ll do it again.” My voice is threaded with dominance, making it clear that despite everything simmering between us, I still control the rules. “I have rules for a reason.”

I have a rule against intimacy. Lust is clean—a fire that burns but leaves no scars; it’s controllable. It’s physical, a body’s way of demanding release. But intimacy? That’s the real danger. It creeps in under your skin, makes you care, makes you trust. It creates a tie, a bond, and with bonds come cracks in the armor.

Lust I can live with. Intimacy is poison.

That’s why I visit The Black Orchid every other month or so; more frequently if I’m close to breaking. I never allow my physical need to threaten or interfere with my focus and control. But I’m not stupid enough to leave it unchecked.

With Ruby, though, it’s different. She calls to me in a way that isn’t just physical, isn’t just physiological… it’s all encompassing.

“Is that why you’re holding back?” she asks. Her eyes darken, something like anger flashing through them.

I slide my hand around her throat, fingers grazing the delicate line of her jaw. Her skin is warm, soft, and I feel the way she tenses under my touch, her body betraying the conflict raging inside her.

Then I tighten my grip slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to assert control. Her lips part, a small gasp escaping. We’re so close now, our breaths mingling, lips hovering just a breath away from one another. The air between us is electric, heavy with unspoken desire.

Her pulse beats against my fingers, rapid and frantic, but she doesn’t resist. Not physically, anyway. I notice the battle in her eyes, the part of her that wants to give in, and the part that refuses to relinquish control.

“Touch me,” she whispers, and despite the softness of her tone, it isn’t a plea; it’s a command.

“Why?” I challenge. With the way she’s acting it’s clear it’s what she wants and not because of whatever orders Michael has given her.

“Because I want you to.”

Without letting go of her throat, I turn us so we’re hidden from prying eyes. Then I move my hand under the fabric of her dress, cupping her pussy. “You’re already wet,” I rasp. “Is that all because of me?”

I easily slide two fingers into her heat. “Y-yes,” she moans.

I keep us like that for several minutes; suspended in the phase of nearly kissing and without moving my fingers. My own pulse is pulsating as fast as hers, and my cock is rock hard in my slacks. Both of our breathing is ragged.

When Ruby lets out a small whimper, my determination wavers. I start pushing my fingers in and out, faster and faster.

“Do you like me fingering you like this? Where anyone could see us, all while your husband is fucking someone else?” I growl.

“Don’t mention him when you’re inside me,” she spits.

“Answer me.”

She moans again, gyrating her hips in perfect symphony to the way I’m fingering her. “Yes. I fucking love it.”

“Are you going to come for me this time?” I ask.

“I can’t come without—”

Growling, I cut her off. “Let me rephrase; youaregoing to come for me this time. Come all over my fingers, Ruby.” With each word, I squeeze her throat tighter while pumping my fingers faster, harder.

She lets out a small cry, one I’m tempted to swallow. But I don’t give in to the temptation of kissing her. Instead, I focus on her body, loving the way her sex tightens around my fingers, squeezing them as I scissor them to hit her g-spot.

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