Page 93 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
I can’t pretend I don’t love her…because God, how could Inotlove her? How could these men expect me to mate with this beautiful, bright woman and treat her like anything but a goddess?
I lose myself in her as she sucks my finger into her mouth, her big brown eyes hooded, her eyelashes fluttering. Peaches works her tongue around me with the enthusiasm of someone who’s never done a lot of this before, tasting my skin like it’s her first time—because it is.
I can’t believe I’m lucky enough that she chose me, of all people, to be her one and only.
I don’t deserve this…I don’t deserve her.
I take my hand away and start to move down her body, already aching to taste her again—but her fingers slide into my hair, gentle and firm. She stops me. Holds me there.
I blink up at her.
She looks…awestruck. Like she’s still trying to wrap her head around this—us. That we’ve survived. That we found something sweet in all this rot. That I’m hers and she’s mine and we still get to have this, even in a place that wants to take everything.
“I want to make you feel good,” she whispers.
My heart stutters.
I lean down and kiss her—slow, deep, reverent. “You do make me feel good,” I growl against her lips.
She huffs a quiet laugh. “Not like that,” she murmurs, eyes gleaming. “Like…roll over.”
And I do. No hesitation. I roll onto my back and stretch out on the bed, my cock already hard, already aching for her. She moves to straddle my thighs, still in that little white dress—thin and clingy and indecent, her curves outlined like a prayer. She keeps her eyes on mine as her fingers move to the button of my jeans.
It’s the softest undressing—gentle, unhurried. Her hands are warm, sure. She unzips me and slides the fabric down just enough, freeing me from the denim. My cock springs up, flushed and ready, and I expect her to climb into my lap.
But she doesn’t.
She wraps her hand around me instead, light and tentative. Testing. Exploring. Learning.
I suck in a breath, watching her as she strokes me—slow at first, then gradually faster. Her touch is delicate but focused, and I feel every inch of it like fire lapping at my skin.
“You’re not gonna hurt me,” I murmur. “Don’t be so careful.”
She bites her lip—and then I see the decision in her eyes. That flash of determination. That hunger.
Her hand tightens. Her pace quickens.
A groan tears out of my throat, and I buck into her touch, half-dazed already—and then she leans forward and lowers her mouth to me.
Wet heat wraps around the head of my cock and I nearly lose it.
“Fuck,” I hiss, eyes flying open to watch her. Her mouth is soft and eager, her lips slick as she kisses the tip, then lowers again, taking me in inch by inch. Her hand works in tandem, stroking what her mouth can’t reach, her eyes flicking up to watch me as she learns what I like. As she gives me something no one ever has.
Worship. Willingly. With power in her hands.
I fist her hair and guide her gently, my other hand braced behind me. “Deeper, mate,” I breathe, my voice trembling.
She moans around me—and the sound reverberates down my cock. It’s all I can do not to come right there, with her mouth stretched around me and her tongue so eager, so fucking good.
She’s in control, and I love it. I love the way she watches me fall apart for her. I love the raw, honest pleasure in her eyes like she wants this—like she wants to know me this way too.
But I’m close. Too close.
I jerk back suddenly, gasping, my cock slipping free of her mouth with a soft pop. She blinks up at me, flushed and breathless, her lips wet, her chest rising and falling fast.
“What—” she starts.
I answer by pulling her into my arms and kissing her like a drowning man. My hands find her hips, her thighs, and I guide her over me—turning her, placing her on her hands and knees with reverence. I push Peaches’ dress up over her hips and hold her there, her cunt glistening with arousal, swollen with need and still pink and pretty from getting fucked all night.
