Page 71 of The Hunted
“At least take your shirt off,” she grumbled, greedy to get her hands on him.
He shook his head. “You like this dynamic too.” He shifted her around so she was straddling the bench. He pulled her toward the edge as he slowly got down on his knees.
Silva’s breath left her in awhoosh. “Wha…what are you doing?” she stammered, watching him spread her wide open.
“I want to taste how good we are together.” His voice was gruff, his eyes zeroing in on her pussy, and she could feel her own wetness and his cum trickling out of her.
Her heart was in her throat, and the urge to close her legs hadn’t come from some deep shyness she was feeling in the moment. It came from how bright the locker rooms were and how close Santino was to the scars on her inner thighs, both the old and the new ones.
“Silva,” she felt his rough hands on her thighs, his fingertips tracing her newest cut. “My sweet, sweet girl.” She closed her eyes when she felt his lips press against the cut.
Her eyes filled with tears she refused to release, refused to let him or anyone see. But something she didn’t want to name was seeping into her body. It was pouring in from the press of Santino’s lips against each and every scar that lined her inner thighs. The ones she put there herself when she tried to make herself ugly so those unwanted touches wouldn’t come.
He grabbed her hands, flipping them over—no doubt looking for more ways she hurt herself to release the buildup of things she couldn’t voice. There were no scars there, but his lips still pressed softly against her pulse.
“Silva,” he whispered her name, and she shook her head refusing to look at him. She wanted to go back to how they were in the shower. She wanted this to be just about sex, but of course, the one time she was willing and enthusiastic about it, she stumbled and fucked it up. Well, the scars on her body did. The ones she put there.
“Princess, look at me.” The command in his voice snapped her eyes open even though she didn’t want to. She’d been afraid that she’d see pity in his gaze. He’d feel sorry for her or offer false pleasantries.
But she saw none of that.
“You strong, brave, beautiful, intelligent woman.” The reverence in his tone plus the desire and need in his eyes made her stomach tighten. “I won’t ask, and you don’t have to tell me. Only if you want to, and if you need me to take care of them, I will.”
And she believed him.
She wasn’t sure what it was or why, but she believed if he could find those who hurt her in the past he would. She didn’t think it would be FBI agent Santino Alvarez showing up but something dark and a little more threatening.
“Okay,” her voice was barely above a whisper. She reached for him because she needed him, needed something to keep her grounded and ease the rapid pace of her chest.
Santino went willingly and let her set the pace of the kiss. His warm hands were wrapped around her, holding her close and keeping her steady when all she wanted to do was climb in his lap and fuck him again.
A whimper slipped past her lips when she couldn’t get close enough.
“Easy, princess. We don’t have to do anything else.” Santino pulled back, his thumb making circles against her hip was making her a little lightheaded.
“I want to.” She was grateful her voice held steady. “I want more. I need more.” She slowly pulled away, leaning back and opening her legs wider—an invitation to take what she willingly offered up to him and only him.
“Are you sure?” Santino’s eyes darkened when his gaze dropped to between her legs.
“Please. I…,” her words turned into a low groan. Santino was on her in a second.
She never felt as normal and as wanted as she did now with her scars laid bared and a man who made her come alive with a single look and touch buried between her legs.
A girl could get used to this.
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Amra’s eyes burned, and her yawn was so wide she heard her jaw crack. The coffee she was drinking was doing nothing to keep her awake. She took a quick nap this afternoon and had planned to go home to shower—to get the stench of Martin off of her—but she got wind that they received access to the security footage around Denise Miller’s home. She couldn’t keep herself from looking through it.
She’d been convinced she’d find someone with Alvarez’s exact build on one of the many videos she’d gone through but no one fit his description.
“You aren’t that good,” she whispered, leaning even closer to her computer screen. Her vision blurred, but she was determined to find something, something small that tangibly pointed to Alvarez as their killer.
He fit the profile.
But not perfectly.
She growled and pushed her chair back, letting out a frustrated breath. Her gut was telling her he was hiding something, even though everyone here thought he was a star employee and a good person.
