Page 40 of Hunter

He grabs my ass, pulling me closer to him, angling my body upward. His face disappears between my thighs, and his tongue begins to explore my pussy. Gently at first but as his confidence increases, so do the strokes. His tongue finds my clit, flicking the spot relentlessly.

There is no mistaking my body preparing itself for him as his tongue works. My wetness is audible. He grabs a pillow from one side, encouraging me to lift my hips and sliding it beneath me. He pushes my knees wide to allow himself better access, teasing and sucking continuously. When he looks up, a shimmer on his lips glints in the low light. He grins at me like a schoolboy caught with ice cream but enjoying it immensely.

My own hands move lower, my pussy screaming to be touched. Hunter bats my fingers away as they explore, sliding inside for a moment then retracting.

“Is my wife impatient?” he asks with a chuckle.

“Always,” I mutter. “I want to…”

He rises to his feet, and I reopen my eyes.

“What do you want?”

“You inside me,” I gasp out, my fingers returning to my clit, massaging the sweet spot as my body buzzes with excitement of what’s to come. “Now, we can do the other stuff later, but now, I want…”

He wraps his fingers around mine, pulling them away from my pussy then replacing them with his own. One thick finger slides inside followed by a second. He pumps slowly, my body opening for him more with each stroke. The distinctive sound of flesh on flesh amplifies as he works, molding my pussy ready for his cock. Our focus never leaves each other, me half-dressed and him still in his tuxedo preparing his wife to take him—for what is for both of us our real first time.

“Does my wife want her husband’s cock deep inside her?” he rasps as he removes his shirt. I stare up him as each item of clothing is discarded on the floor.

“Yes.”

“Does my wife want to lie back and have the man who has dreamed of her for decades finally take what’s his?”

“Yes.”

He unfastens his belt and drops it to the floor. My stomach flips as the moment I want so badly comes closer. He steps out of his shoes, then unbuttons his fly but doesn’t remove his suit pants. His cock strains against the containment, impatient. It takes all my willpower not to reach up and lower the zipper.

He leans down, then reappears holding a knife that must have been concealed somewhere. He offers me his free hand and pulls me up to sit. We stare at one another again, unspeaking. In one hand he holds my own, in the other the knife. For a moment, I remember the exact man I am in bed with. A dangerous man, the deadliest in London if some were to be believed.

“Before I do,” he says. “I want you to know I’m yours.” He passes me the knife, then sits down beside me. “Whatever happens from this day on Bella, I’m yours. I always have been. But I want to wear the honor for all to see.”

“What do you mean?” I stammer, unsettled to be holding a blade. He taps his chest over his heart.

“Brand me with your initials, Wife. Claim me as yours, then I will make you one hundred percent mine.”

Chapter nineteen

Hunter’s Residence, London

Hunter

Isabella takes the knife from my hand. She stares at it, beautiful dark eyes narrowing with interest. The silver glints as she turns it over in her palms, then a delicate finger runs down the blade to the tip. She presses on the pad and a drop of blood appears. I take her hand, lifting it to my mouth and sucking at the bead gently, removing the smudge of imperfection.

“Why do you love your knife so much?” she asks, catching me off guard.

Her focus stays on the blade. She wraps her palm around the sharp edges and raises the handle to eye level. It’s an intricate, made in silver with a dragon curling around the woven design, a large green emerald lodged in the hilt.

“This is one of my favorites,” I tell her. “The stone was once the property of King Henry VIII. He requested it was set in this blade as a dress piece to wear to events. I like to think I’m royalty when I carry it.”

She gives me a dubious look that tells me she doesn’t believe my story, and I shrug. In all honesty I wasn’t sure I believed the seller’s tale either, but it was a nice touch and one I’ve used a few times over a drink with men. Inebriated individuals will believe anything when you sound as if you’re telling the truth.

“That’s not answering my question, Hunter. I’ve heard plenty of gossip about you and your knives. I want to know why my husband has a deadly fetish.” I laugh out loud at that. My obsession with the weapon isn’t something I think of often. I just know without one somewhere on my person, I feel undressed.

“I suppose…” I begin, unsure how to word my explanation without seeming more deranged than I already appear. “Knives have been the one constant in my life I could trust. My ability to use them to both get what I want and protect myself is my greatest strength.”

Isabella looks from the item in her hands directly at me. Her face twists a little as if in pain. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling dramatically. She looks absolutely radiant sitting on my bed, where she should always have been for the past two decades.

“No, Hunter,” she says, her voice trembling. A single tear runs down her cheek. I quickly wipe it away with my thumb. “Your greatest strength is your heart.”

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