Page 56 of A Hunter for Luna

The confession hung in the charged air between us for a single, breathless heartbeat. Then the coiled tension snapped, and Benedetto yanked me against him, his mouth descending to claim mine in a fierce, bruising kiss.

There was nothing gentle about it, no sweet brush of lips or tentative explorations. I matched him with equal fervor, my fingers digging into the hard planes of his shoulders as I pulled him impossibly closer.

The kiss was flavored with pent-up frustration and simmering anger, a need to unleash the chaotic emotions that had built up between us. Every slide of his lips, every nip of his teeth, every stroke of his tongue was a silent battle, a push and pull for dominance that left me weak and wanting.

My hands slid down the front of his shirt, mapping the sculpted ridges of his chest. Even through the fabric, I could feel the heat of his skin, the thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palms. I pushed impatiently at the garment, desperate to feel him without barriers.

Understanding my unspoken demand, Benedetto broke away just long enough to yank the shirt over his head and toss it aside. The reveal of his bare torso made my mouth go dry, my gazedrifting hungrily over the roped muscles and scattered scars that decorated his golden skin.

He reached for me again, his fingers going to the fastenings of my cloak. With a few deft movements, he unfastened it and let the heavy fabric slither to the floor in a whisper of silk. Then his hands were at my shoulders, undoing the clips that held my dress in place with an urgency that bordered on desperation.

As he worked the closures, I traced the raised edges of a scar that slashed across his ribs, feeling the way his abdominal muscles tensed and quivered beneath my touch. The vulnerability of the moment, the intimacy of exploring his body, made something ache deep in my chest.

Benedetto loosened the final clip and paused, meeting my gaze with an unreadable expression. Then, slowly, deliberately, he peeled the dress away, baring me to his heated perusal.

I stood before him in nothing but a thin shift, the delicate fabric doing little to conceal the curves it barely covered. His eyes raked over me, taking in every inch of exposed skin with a hunger that made me flush.

After removing the rest of our clothing, he scooped me up into his arms and carried me to the bed. We tumbled onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, our mouths finding each other again as our hands roamed with frantic urgency.

He settled his hips between my thighs, the hard press of his arousal against my core making me groan. His warmth made me ache with primitive need.

"Please," I whispered against his lips, not even fully sure what I was begging for. "Benedetto, please..."

He answered with a deep, powerful thrust, sheathing himself inside me to the hilt. The sudden fullness, the exquisite stretch and burn of his possession, tore a ragged moan from my throat. I arched against him, tilting my hips to take him even deeper.

Benedetto set a relentless pace, driving into me with a force that shook the bed frame. Each fierce pump of his hips pushed me higher, winding the coil of tension tighter in my core. I clung to him as he ravaged my body, my nails scoring thin red lines down the flexing muscles of his back.

It was fast and rough and was spurred on by desperation and raw animal need. There was no room for tenderness here, no place for soft caresses or sweet words. This was a frantic race towards release, a battle to use pleasure to obliterate the demons that haunted us both.

My climax built, the pressure expanding outwards until my entire being was focused on the place where we were joined. Benedetto seemed to sense how close I was, because he changed his angle slightly, hitting a spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids.

"That's it," he growled, his voice a dark rumble against my ear. "Let go, Luna. Come for me."

His words were my undoing. With a hoarse cry, I shattered in his arms, my body convulsing as ecstasy ripped through me in violent waves. Benedetto followed me over the edge with a guttural groan, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside me.

We collapsed together in the aftermath, slick with sweat and struggling to catch our breath. My heart pounded against myribs as if it wanted to escape my chest, and every nerve ending felt raw and exposed.

As the haze of passion slowly began to clear, I became aware of the intimacy of our position. Benedetto's weight pressed me into the mattress, his face buried in the crook of my neck as his chest heaved against mine. For a stolen moment, it almost felt like we were lovers instead of reluctant allies.

But I knew better than to indulge in that fantasy. This had been a means to an end, a calculated risk to improve my chances of bearing the child that would secure my future. I couldn't afford to let sentiment cloud my judgment.

With an unsteady exhale, I gently pushed at Benedetto's shoulders, needing to put some distance between us. He rolled off of me with a soft grunt, settling onto his back beside me. For a long moment, we both just stared up at the ceiling, lost in our own swirling thoughts.

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged emotions. I knew I needed to say something, to find a way to navigate us back to safer ground. But my tongue felt thick and clumsy, my brain still fogged with the lingering haze of pleasure.

In the end, it was Benedetto who broke the quiet. "When will you know?" he asked gruffly, his gaze fixed resolutely on the ceiling. "If it worked, I mean."

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the twinge of disappointment his dispassionate tone sparked in my chest. "In a few weeks or so," I replied, forcing my voice to remain steady. "When my bleeding time comes. Or doesn't, as the case may be."

He grunted an acknowledgment, the sound devoid of any real emotion. I risked a glance in his direction, trying to read his expression in the faint moonlight. But his features were carved from stone, giving nothing away.

I shifted slightly, wincing at the unfamiliar ache between my thighs. It was a tangible reminder of what we'd done, of the line we'd irrevocably crossed. In the passion of the moment, it had been easy to ignore the consequences. But now, in the harsh light of reality, doubt began to creep in.

Sighing, I rolled onto my side and propped myself up on one elbow. Benedetto lay beside me, one arm thrown across his eyes, his chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths. My gaze traced the network of scars that marred his golden skin, each one a silent testament to a history of violence and pain.

Unable to stop myself, I reached out and gently traced the ragged edge of a particularly brutal-looking mark just below his ribs. Benedetto tensed at the contact, his arm falling away from his face as his eyes snapped open to meet mine.

"Why Tulliano Lucardi?" I asked quietly, my finger still resting on his scar. "Why are you hunting him with such single-minded focus?"

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