Page 99 of Hunted By Valentine

With each flick of my tongue, her body responds with a gasp or a moan. Above me, she writhes and squirms, her thighs tightening around my head as I continue to pleasure her. Her trembling intensifies as I push her closer and closer to the brink.

She rides my face with an increasing sense of desperation, the sounds escaping from her lips becoming more urgent. The wetness and heat between her legs is a clear indication of how much she wants to let go andsurrender herself completely to the sensation.

“Valentine… I need… I have to feel… oh God!”

I know what she’s begging for, the primal yearning that has been ingrained into every fiber of her being. Me; I long to free her from the chains of her past, to teach her that there are other ways.

For now, though, she needs pain to orgasm, and I want her to come on my tongue. I want—need—to drown in her wetness. So I reach into my pocket for the arrowhead, and pull it out. Tapping her thigh, I hold it up, wordlessly asking her if she’s okay with what I’m about to do.

I’m surprised when she all but leaps off me. “No,” she says, shaking her head vigorously.

“No?” I echo, leaning up on my elbows. Then I lick her juices from my lips, savoring the taste. “What do you want, Pet?”

Holding her hand out, she says, “Give it to me.”

I do, and she immediately brings it closer so she can inspect it. She turns it this way and that before letting out a soft gasp. “Oh!” Without elaborating, she falls to her knees and reaches for my hand. Knowing what she’s looking for, I push myself all the way up so I’m seated. Then I give her my wrist. “It’s not a tattoo,” she murmurs as she pushes my sleeve up, revealing the mark on my wrist.

I suppress a shudder as her fingers run across the puckered skin. “No, it’snot,” I confirm.

“Who did that to you?” Sadness creeps into her tone.

I reach for her chin, forcing her to look up at me. “I did, Pet. I did it to myself.”

“With this,” she says. It’s not a question, but I still nod as she pushes the arrowhead back into my hand.

The searing smell of burning flesh still lingers in my mind, a stark reminder of the night I branded myself all those years ago. The sharp scent filled my nostrils and left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I can’t recall the pain, though that could be attributed to the copious amounts of alcohol I had consumed beforehand. I was numb to everything except for the intense heat radiating from the hot metal against my skin. The memories may have faded, but the smell still haunts me to this day.

“I want you to do that to me.”

Surely I didn’t hear her correctly. “You want me to do what?”

Her finger runs across the serpent on the metal. “You heard me,” she murmurs. “I want you to brand me while I fuck you. It’s… perfect.” She licks her blood-red lips.

I move my hand to her chin, cupping it. My heart skips a beat as she turns her face, kissing the palm before resting against it. “No. You don’t know what you’re asking for. The pain…” Trailing off, I shake my head. “My answer is no. I won’t ruin you like that.”

She lets out a mirthless mock of a laugh and spins around, giving me her back. “You won’t be the one to ruin me,” she retorts, flipping her hair over one shoulder.

White-hot rage burns through my veins at the sight of all the scars webbing along her back. When I inspected her in my loft, I only paid the most attention to her new marks, barely registering the old ones.

But… Christ. Some look like… he whipped her? The bastard actually whipped her so hard her skin split all along her back. There are others as well, some look like cigarette burns. The sight makes me sick to my stomach, but I’m also realizing just how strong she is.

“How perfect you are,” I rasp, leaning closer so I can kiss the exposed skin. “You’re not ruined.”

Ruby turns again, crawling into my lap and wrapping her long legs around my waist. With trembling fingers, she reaches for the hem of my shirt, and I raise my arms so she can pull it off me. “I’m not perfect,” she whispers, her green eyes meeting my dark ones. “But with your mark, I’ll be one step closer. Do this for me, Valentine. Please. You… you owe me.”

Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Regardless, that’s not the reason I say, “Okay, I’ll do it.” No, it’s because I’m dying to see my mark on her creamy skin.

With a small, satisfied sigh, she presses her lips to mine, licking at the seam of my lips until I open my mouth for her. The kiss feels like gratitude mixed with finality, and as I think that, I realize there’s been an undercurrent of finality in every word she’s said. It’s not defeat or regret as I first thought. No, it’s like she knows something I don’t, and I hate that.

“What are you keeping from me?” I ask, my tone demanding. I kiss my way down her neck, waiting for an answer.

She takes her time replying, waiting until I reach her collarbone. Leaning back slightly, she reaches behind her, gripping my thighs for support. “Who says I’m keeping anything from you?” she asks, raising her chin.

The new position makes it hard to ignore her glorious breasts. Impossible, in fact. Lowering, I close my mouth around one, sucking until she moans for me. “I say so,” I groan.

Laughing, she places her hand on the back of my head, holding me tightly against her. “I’m not keeping anything from you, Valentine. You… oh!” Throwing her head back, she moans as I graze her hardened nipple with my teeth. “… just don’t know the right questions to get the answers you want,” she replies, cryptically.

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