Page 38 of Hunt

That man fucked me in the natural spring and I loved it. That man told me not to cum until he said and I loved it. My Simmering Summer is Ronan Byrne, right-hand man to the man I imprisoned, and I loved it.

I spotted a foot-long stick on the ground, a twig broken off from one of the nearby trees. Like a teenage girl annoyed that her crush was giving her the attention she wanted, I threw the stick near, hoping it would land a couple of feet away. Close enough to grab his attention, but far away so it didn’t hit him. Instead, the breeze steered the stick toward him, smacking him lightly on the face.

“Oh,” I shouted, feeling bad, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

His eyebrows lowered over his eyes in surprise, and he shot me a disapproving look, hinting at a suppressed smile. “That wasn’t smart, Riley,” he called after as he leaned over to grab the stick and examined it.

“I said I’m sorry. I meant for it to land over there,” I pointed to the side of him, and he shook his head.

“That was a big miss,” he pointed out the obvious, then stood so he was full height in all his glory, the handsomest man in the world. Irish hunk. Simmering Summer. His hair was swept back, with a single strand falling forward, giving him a look reminiscent of a 1960s Hollywood actor. Clean-shaven, impeccably dressed, but dirty on the inside.

He stepped toward me, slapping that stick against his thigh, mischievousness written across his face. “What are you going to do with that?” I queried as he loomed closer.

“Why don’t you bend over and I’ll let you know,” he answered with a wickedness in his eyes, still spalling that stick against his thigh.

“You wouldn’t,” I challenged, stepping backward to him at a distance of a few feet.

“Oh, yes, I would, Riley. Or should I call you Pet-ra Black?” he hissed mockingly.

“No,” I cried out, turning my back and running toward the baseball diamond as thudding footsteps followed closely behind.

“Run little rabbit run,” he snarled as I squealed in laughter and fear.

“Ronan,” I cried, half giggling, half freaking the fuck out imagining what he’d do once he caught me. “Don’t be mean.”

“Swim little selkie swim,” he chimed. “Run little rabbit run. I like seeing that little ass wiggle. Watching you go is almost as good as watching you swim in the water nak-ed.”

“Ronan,” I giggled as his hand smacked my butt cheek as I kept running for my life.

“Don’t let me catch ya, Riley?” he snarled as I ran as fast as I could along the baseball diamond, weaved, dashing, and diving away from his outstretched stick that kept being smacked against my backside.

I squealed, attracting the attention of students nearby who were either walking to their classes or sitting on the grass in the sunlight. It was getting late, after 4:30 PM, so I ran to the bleachers as fast as possible.

“You gotta run faster than that, little selkie,” he growled into my ear, frightening me that he had gotten that close.

In the next moment, his long, solid arms were wrapped around my waist as my feet left the grass, and his warm breath tickled my ear. We landed on the soft grass, with me giggling and him wearing a mischievous look beneath his chiseled jaw and perfect hair, perfect in every way, enveloped in a cloud of tantalizing scent.

He tossed the stick aside and rolled me over onto my back, sitting astride on me, bent knees nestled into my sides.

“What are you going to do, Mr. Byrne?” I asked as my chest rose, and he devoured my breasts beneath my clothes. I noticed something protruding from the waistband of his jeans, and I reached for it, realizing it was a gun.

He snatched it from my hand before I could dislodge it from his waistband. “What would you like me to do, Riley?” his voice was husky and sexy, making me wet for him.

“Have you got plans with that gun?” I teased, biting my bottom lip, gazing up at him.

I doubted that I looked alluring because my glasses were skewed, and my hair was messy, falling over my face. Next to his flawless features, I felt plain and uninteresting.

Yet, all he saw was me. All he noticed was me. The entire world seemed to shrink into this moment, drowning out every sound and motion around us. He didn’t care that students might see him, the ever-so-handsome Ronan Byrne, straddling Plain Jane Riley Laws, even though vivacious Annika was only a layer of skin away.

He’s still hard with that bulge protruding, and my naughty hands gravitated to stroke him, and his reaction was to snatch my wrists and hold them above my head.

“Protection,” he replied bluntly.

“From who? Me? Little ol’ me?” Again, I tried to seem cute, but it’s a massive failure. “You think I might pull a gun on you?”

He chuckled, amused. “No, Selkie, I thought you were in trouble, so I bought protection to convince whoever was hurting you that it’s not a good idea.”

“My hero,” I batted my eyelashes behind my glasses, and it seemed to work, even though I was a disaster.

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