Page 48 of Hunter

For a moment, I slide her down my body, taking a second to undo my belt, unbutton my pants, and drag down the zipper, freeing myself from the ache that has been building all day. I lift her up, positioning myself at her entrance, and slowly lower her onto me, giving her time to adjust to the fullness.

“So fucking tight,” I rasp, my voice hoarse with desire. She feels incredible, like nothing I’ve ever known. I can’t think straight. “Ready, baby?” I ask, trying to hold back, needing her permission before I lose control.

She grips my shoulder, her nails digging in slightly as she nods, her breath hitching. “How do you want it?”

“Hard,” she whispers, her voice tinged with need.

“As you wish,” I reply, my breath shaking with relief. Thank fuck, because I don’t have the strength to go slow right now.

I lower my hands to her hips, gripping them tightly, and thrust up into her, burying myself deep. My eyes roll back at the overwhelming tightness.

“Oh God,” she moans, her body trembling on top of me. She starts to move, her rhythm matching mine, and every second feels like heaven. She is perfect. Every single time, she’s perfection. She is my addiction, my weakness, my salvation.

I open my eyes and catch the way she throws her head back, her breasts bouncing with each movement. My hands roam over her body, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples.

“Oh God, Maxim, yes. Oh, fuck. I’m so close,” she gasps, her voice breaking with the pleasure she’s losing herself in. Her moans push me, urging me to move faster, harder. I obey, thrusting deeper, my hips slamming against hers, hitting that spot that drives her crazy.

She digs her nails into my shoulder, the sharp sting only adding to the pleasure, and she starts to move faster, matching my frantic pace. Our breaths are heavy, tangled together, drowning out everything else. Her body clenches around me, and with a cry of my name, she comes, her release tearing through her, shaking my control to pieces.

“Maxim!” Her voice is desperate, for me, for this connection, and her orgasm sends me over the edge. With one last powerful thrust, I spill inside her, my body wracked with pleasure as she collapses onto me, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath.

I loosen my grip on her hips, pulling her closer, wrapping my arms around her, my hands gently caressing her back as we stay like that, tangled together.

I’m not sure how long we stay there—seconds, minutes, hours? I don’t care. The water continues to fall around us, but it feels like nothing could disturb this moment. I close my eyes andbreathe her in—the scent of vanilla with a hint of lavender wraps around me, soothing the chaos inside.

This…this is what I want. To come home to her, to leave everything else behind. To forget about the weight on my shoulders until I’m ready to face it. So why does my stomach feel tight with knots?

Because she asked you to be open with her.

Why is it so hard for me to do? I want to tell her about my day, about everything that has been weighing on me, but I’m scared—scared of her leaving. Things are already hard for her, and when she realizes it’ll never get easier, she’ll walk away.

No. She loves you.

I spend a few more minutes, internally battling whether to unload on her. I know what I need to say, but the truth is, it’s not going to be easy for her. She has been through hell, fought her way back, and I’m terrified what I’m about to say will set her healing back—destroy any progress she’s made. But I also know she won’t stop asking. She won’t let me sweep it under the rug with a half-assed excuse. I can’t lie to her.

“Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath, and before I can change my mind, I blurt it out, the words spilling out of me like a confession I’ve been holding back for too long. “We found some incriminating evidence on Andrei. We think he might be behind everything that’s been going on.”

I brace myself for her reaction, ready for anything—anger, disbelief, maybe even fear. But I don’t think I’m ready for what I see next.

She lifts herself up from my chest, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of anger and concern. Her chest rises and falls quickly, her breathing shallow. “What sort of incriminating evidence?”

“Money transfers to multiple accounts. One of them is Marco’s bank account. All under Andrei Sidorova—my mother’s maiden name.” I take a shaky breath, knowing the worst is yetto come. “We found emails where Andrei’s feeding someone information about me, my business, the blueprints for all my properties…details about you. About my staff. Names. Pictures.”

Her face hardens, and without another word, she climbs off me, turning off the water. She grabs a towel and dries herself, but I can see her hands shaking. I know it’s not just from the cold or from what I’ve told her. She’s processing something, something I’m not sure she’s ready to face.

I stand, my clothes soaked through, and I strip them off, letting them fall to the bathroom floor. I grab my own towel and dry myself off before following her out of the shower, my chest tightening with a sense of dread. I find her sitting on the bed, staring blankly at the wall, brushing her hair with a numbness I can’t ignore. Did I make a mistake? Should I have kept this to myself? But I know I can’t lie to her, not anymore.

I walk over to her drawers, grab some underwear and a pair of pajamas, and turn back to her. She’s so lost in her head, she doesn’t even protest as I help her get dressed. She doesn’t push me away, doesn’t tell me she’s not a child. Her silence screams louder than words, and it’s crushing me. My heart begins to pound as worry for her—fear, maybe—starts to settle in my chest.

I gently lower her back onto the bed and pull the covers over her, hoping the warmth will calm her shaking. But I don’t speak. I just get dressed in silence, trying to ignore the ache inside me as I watch her.

When I’m finished, I leave the room to make her a cup of tea, desperate to do something—anything—to ease the tension. When I return, she’s exactly as I left her, staring at the wall, lost in her thoughts. I set the cup on the nightstand, the sound snapping her out of her stupor.

“You think Andrei had me kidnapped?” she asks, her voice heavy with emotion. Those six words carry so much weight.“Andrei and I don’t have the best relationship, but I don’t think he would do this—not to me, not to you.”

I sigh and sit beside her on the bed. She props herself up on her elbows and looks at me, her expression a mix of confusion and frustration. “All the evidence points to him,” I admit, my voice uncertain. “It’s hard to accept, but I can’t let my feelings cloud my judgment. I have to follow the facts, no matter how difficult it is, until I know otherwise.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” she asks, anger flickering in her eyes.

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