Page 44 of Hunted By Valentine

Her delicate hand trails up my leg, grazing my inner thigh before she wraps her slender fingers around my rigid length. I swallow down my groan and force a sound of disapproval.

When she replies, “Yes,” I slide my hand under the table and pat her head again.

“Put my cock in your mouth, Mrs. Simmons.”

Her warm breath fans against my skin, sending a shiver of anticipation through me. Her hand steady as she squeezes the base. The feel of her lips brushing against the tip of my cock is exquisite, and I have to fight the urge to thrust into her mouth.

Her mouth is warm and wet, the texture of her tongue sending jolts of pleasure through me. I feel her internal conflict, the way she’s torn between the wrongness of the act and her need to obey. Her movements are hesitant yet obedient, a testament to the power I hold over her.

“You’re so obedient, Pet,” I murmur, my voice a low purr that makes her shiver.

Her fingers tighten around my cock, then she begins to lick and suck, making a groan escape my lips. The feel of her mouth around me, the way her tongue swirls around the head, is almost too much to bear.

But this isn’t about pleasure, and I won’t allow either of us to forget that. “Stop,” I say, my voice a cold command that makes her freeze. “You’ll sit still until you’ve earned the privilege of making me come.”

Before I start making a dent in the papers, I lean back and look down at her. She looks beautiful like this, on her knees and with my cock in her mouth. The knowledge that I have this power over her, that I can make her do anything I want, sends a thrill of satisfaction through me.

Chapter 17

The Prey

The potent mix of salt, musk, and Valentine sends a shiver down my spine. His cock, thick and heavy, fills my mouth as I kneel for him, powerless to resist his commands. I know I probably should feel humiliated, debased. That’s not what I feel, though.

I feel a strange sense of fulfillment, and a need to please him that I don’t fully understand. What’s more, I don’t want to. I don’t want to be in my head when I’m with him; I just want to feel and let go.

Although the desk hinders me from watching him, I feel his dark brown eyes through the wood. I just know he’s watching me as I struggle to breathe through my nose. The sensation of being so close to him, so vulnerable, is exhilarating.

His cock twitches in my mouth, and I momentarily lose focus. In a burst of defiance, I trace the swollen tip with my tongue. A low growl emanates from his chest as his hand shoots down, winding into my hair. He wrenches my head back, forcing me to still.

“I didn’t tell you to suck it, Ruby,” he snarls, the sound of his voice sending shivers down my spine. “Just keep it there, like a good little pet.”

Despite the sting, I smile—a real smile. He called me by my first name.I wonder if he realizes his mistake. I know he calls me Mrs. Simmons as a way to keep his distance, so this feels like a win.

He releases my hair, and I whimper softly, my body aching for more. My clit is throbbing and my nipples turn to hard peaks at the roughness. Pain and fear are my aphrodisiacs, they send my body aflame. It’s why I could come at the charity event while he restricted my airway.

I rest my head on his powerful thigh, still clutching his cock in my mouth, and watch as he works. He’s a man of contradictions; a brilliant scholar with a ruthless streak, a lover of beauty with a taste for the macabre. Despite everything I know about him, there’s no denying the pull he has on me, the way my heart races whenever he’s near.

Valentine returns his attention to the papers on his desk, grading them with meticulous precision. I remain on my knees, waiting, my breath hitching every time his muscles flex beneath me. It’s an oddly comforting sensation, the warmth of his skin against my cheek, the sound of his pen scratching against the paper.

My body grows stiff from the prolonged position. I remain where I am, a willing captive to his whims, bound by a force stronger than reason or logic. And as I kneel there, my body aching from the strain, I feel a twisted sense of satisfaction coursing through my veins like liquid fire.

I’ve known men like Valentine my entire life. Power drives them—it’s their only motivation. But for me, it’s different. Through his words and actions, Valentine is reshaping me, molding me into a different version of myself. And the truth is, I’m okay with it—more than okay.

The way he challenges my mind is delicious. The way he looks at me is addictive. But mostly… I crave how he sees me. It’s that simple.

As the minutes tick by, my body grows stiffer, my muscles protesting the prolonged position. I know that Valentine is testing me, pushing me to see how far I’m willing to go. And I’m determined to prove myself to him, to show him that I’m worthy of his attention.

Shifting a little, I can see the tattoo on his wrist, the black serpent coiled around… no. That can’t be right. I blink rapidly to make sure I’m not seeing things, but I’m not.

I know what that tattoo means, and… but surely… shit!

Sweat beads on my forehead as realization dawns on me. My mind slowlypiecing together who my professor really is.

Yet, despite knowing the truth—feeling the rightness in my marrow—I can’t make myself believe it. I stubbornly push the intrusive thoughts aside, refusing to deal with it right now.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Valentine sets down his pen and looks down at me. “You may stand up now,” he says, his voice cold and detached.

I crawl out from under the desk, and rise to my feet, my legs shaking slightly as the blood rushes back into them. Valentine’s eyes are on me, burning a hole through my clothes as I straighten it and smooth my hair.

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