Page 37 of Hunting Harbor

“Never.”

Chapter Fifteen

Kairo

Iwraponearmaround her waist and clamp my other hand over her mouth to muffle her scream. She kicks me in the leg as I grunt, moving her towards the fat tree trunk.

"Found you," I whisper through the mask, my voice distorted into something inhuman.

Harbor struggles wildly in my grip, her body thrashing with the last desperate strength of true terror. I spin us around, slamming her against the oak tree, pinning her with my weight.

"Shhh," I soothe, as if calming a frightened animal. "Fighting just makes it worse."

"Please," she gasps when I ease my hand from her mouth. "Please don't hurt me."

"Hurt you?" I press closer, letting her feel my hardness against her stomach. "That's not what this is about."

Moving my hand upwards, I grip her throat, watching the tears well in the corner of her eyes. With my now-free hand, I reach up to stroke her face, wiping away the drops that stream down her cheeks.

"You're beautiful when you're afraid," I tell her, drinking in the sight of her flushed face, her wild eyes. "But that's not all you're feeling, is it?"

My hand drops from her face to her breast, squeezing roughly through her sweater. Despite her fear, or perhaps because of it, her nipple is hard against my palm. Evidence of the dark truth neither of us can deny.

"No," Harbor says, but it's weak, unconvincing even to her own ears. Her body betrays her, arching slightly into my touch.

"That’s right. You’re a dirty girl. My dirty, dirty little rabbit,” my fingers pinch her nipple hard enough to make her gasp. "Your body knows what you need, even if your mind hasn't caught up yet."

In one fluid motion, I grab both her wrists and pin them above her head with one hand. My other hand grips her throat, not squeezing, just holding—a reminder of who's in control.

"Tell me to stop," I challenge, pressing my thigh between her legs, feeling the heat of her even through our clothes. "Tell me you don't want this."

Her lips part, but no words come out. Just a shuddering breath that might be fear or might be anticipation. Maybe both.

I crash my mouth against hers, swallowing whatever protest she might have made. The kiss is brutal, all teeth and tongue and desperation. To my dark delight, after a moment of resistance, she kisses back, a whimper escaping from the back of her throat.

My hand releases her neck to slide down her body, roughly shoving up her sweater to expose her breasts to the cold night air. They're perfect—small, firm, with dusky pink nipples pebbled from the chill. Or from arousal. I lower my head to take one in my mouth, biting down just hard enough to make her cry out.

I move to the other, my hand twisting and flicking where my mouth just was. Harbor squirms against me, her breath coming in ragged gasps as I work her over. The little noises she makes are the sound of submission, a chorus of need. I could do this forever, keep her teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain until she doesn't know which is which.

Releasing her nipple with a pop, I drag my lips up the curve of her breast to her collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave yet another mark. Her skin will be a map of my conquest by the time I'm done with her.

My hand tightens around her wrists as I bite and lick my way up her neck, feeling her pulse race under my tongue. She tilts her head back, giving me more access, her body pliant and soft against my hardness. I nip at her ear, tugging on the delicate lobe with my teeth, and she shudders like I've shocked her.

"Please," she whispers, the word slipping out before she can stop it. I don't know if she's begging me to stop or begging me for more. It doesn't matter. I know what she needs, even if she doesn't.

I kiss her again, taking my time now, drawing it out while my free hand roams her body, squeezing her breast, her ass, finally slipping between us to cup her through her jeans. She's wet. I can feel the heat of it, the proof of her desire, and it's almost enough to make me come in my pants like a teenager. Almost.

I grind my palm against her clit, relishing in the little sounds she makes as she subconsciously bucks forward.

"Please," she gasps, but she's not fighting anymore. Her hands, released from my grip, tangle in my hair, holding me to her breast rather than pushing me away. "We shouldn't—"

"Shhhhh now," I growl against her skin. "Stop pretending."

I reach between us to unbutton her jeans, yanking them down her thighs along with her panties. The night air is cold against her exposed skin, making her shiver. Or maybe that's from the way I'm looking at her, devouring her with my eyes through the slits in my mask.

"Tell me what you want," I demand, my voice rough with need.

"I don't—I can't—" she stammers, but her hips push forward, seeking friction against the hard length straining against my pants.

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