Page 34 of Hunted to the Altar
His large hands spread my legs apart, and I gasped at the sensation of our skin touching. Sparks exploded in my stomach, and I let loose a low moan.
I begged him to touch me, my mind going crazy with want. Just as he circled my clit with his fingers–
I woke up with a start, my skin flushed and my heart racing. The remnants of the dream clung to me like smoke, refusing to dissipate. I buried my face in my hands, disgusted with myself for the heat pooling low in my belly. This wasn’t who I was. I wasn’t supposed to feel this way about him.
But as the dream replayed in my mind, vivid and unrelenting, I couldn’t ignore the truth clawing its way to the surface. I hated him. But a part of me–a tiny, treacherous part–couldn’t deny the pull he had on me.
I let out a shaky breath, forcing myself to push the thought away. Tomorrow would come, and with it, new battles to fight. But for now, I was left with the lingering ghost of a dream I wished I could forget.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Samuel
The airin the safe house felt heavier than usual. The kind of weight that pressed against your chest, making every breath a conscious effort. I could feel it as I stood by the window, the twinkling in the distance, mocking the chaos that swirled within these walls. Behind me, the faint rustle of movement caught my attention. I didn’t turn around immediately; instead, I let the sound of her fill the silence.
Nina.
She was pacing again, her bare feet whispering against the hardwood floor. Now and then, her muttered curses punctuated the quiet, a symphony of frustration that made the corners of my mouth twitch in amusement. She hated this, hated me, but she was still here. And that simple fact sent a dangerous thrill through me.
I finally turned, my gaze landing on her as she moved fromone end of the room to the other, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her hair was wild, a cascade of curls that framed her face and made her look like she’d just stepped out of a storm. Her dark skin glowed faintly in the soft light of the room, and her expressive eyes—always filled with fire and belligerence—darted to me the moment she realized I was watching.
I chuckled, the sound rough. "You should try to relax."
She didn’t respond, just twisted on her heel and resumed her pacing. I watched her for a moment longer before pushing off the window and walking toward the small bar in the corner. Pouring myself a drink, I let the familiar burn of whiskey calm the restless energy buzzing under my skin.
"You’re not even trying to make this bearable," she muttered behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "Bearable?"
"You heard me," she said, stopping again to face me. "You’ve dragged me into your world, made me—what did you call it? Yours? And yet you act like I’m just some pawn on your chessboard."
I turned fully, holding the glass loosely in my hand. "You’re not a pawn, Nina."
"No? Then what am I?"
I took a slow sip, letting the warmth of the alcohol spread through me before answering. "You’re the queen."
Her eyes widened slightly, surprise flashing across her face before she masked it with a scoff. "Is that supposed to be flattering?"
"It’s the truth," I said simply. "The queen is the most powerful piece on the board. Everything I do is to protect you."
"Protect me?" she repeated, her voice rising. "You’re the one I need protection from!"
I set the glass down on the bar, the sound sharp and deliberate. In two strides, I was in front of her, close enough to see therapid rise and fall of her chest, to feel the heat radiating off her skin. Her defiance didn’t waver, even as her breath hitched slightly.
"You think I’m the villain in your story," I murmured, my voice low. "And maybe I am. But I’m also the only one standing between you and the monsters waiting to devour you."
Her eyes searched mine, her lips parting as if to argue. But no words came. Instead, the silence stretched between us, thick and charged. I could see the conflict in her gaze, the war between her hatred for me and the instinctive pull she couldn’t seem to resist.
I reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away, but she didn’t. My fingers brushed against her jaw, tracing the delicate line of her face. She stiffened, her breath catching, but she didn’t move.
"Why do you fight me so hard?" I asked, my thumb grazing the corner of her mouth. "Is it because you’re afraid?"
Her eyes narrowed, the fire flaring back to life. "I’m not afraid of you."
"No?" I tilted my head, studying her. "Then why are you shaking?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening as she tried to wrestle back control. But I saw it—the way her body betrayed her, the slight tremor in her hands, the way her pulse raced beneath my touch.
