Page 100 of Hunt Me
All that did was the longing to touch and taste, to feel his cock thrusting inside of me.
Filling me.
Every step taken methodical, he moved up the basement stairs, heading through the house to the steps leading to the bedrooms.
Morning had dawned, the bright sun a reminder that with every darkness came a light to toss aside the shadows. Sadly, the ghosts of our past had come back to haunt us. Now I feared thestrange connection created in a moment of tragedy two decades before would eventually be a noose wrapped around our necks.
But even in the moment of fear, the sense of belonging was undeniable.
I caressed his chest, marveling at his amazing physique, even resting my head against his shoulder. He kissed the top of my head as if letting me know everything would be alright. That he’d keep his promise not to hurt me, instead protecting me against the unknown enemy.
A part of me needed to believe him. The reason was easy. I hungered for this man like no other, craving the roar of darkness that fed the woman inside.
I was no longer a little girl, but a woman with wants and needs, satisfaction something only he could provide.
He took me into a bedroom, the beautiful setting as unexpected as the man. The king-size bed was huge, the thick dark wooden posts creating a space meant for a powerful man. He swept the pillows aside, gently easing me onto the comforter. He placed a single knee on the bed, shaking his head as he peered down at me.
I was going nowhere.
And in truth, I didn’t want to.
We were drawn to each other like moths to a flame, although I knew in my gut that my actions and submission could create the kind of combustible fire that could turn into acid, scarring both of us. I was taking a significant chance on trusting him, but I did.
Perhaps with everything inside of me.
What did that say about my resolve? Or my mind?
The truth was I wanted him more than possible, more than I should.
He brushed his lips along my jaw then down and against the column of my neck, allowing his hot breath to cascade across my skin. Very slowly he lowered his hand, swirling his fingers to sweep back and forth.
Across my arm.
Across my breast.
Crawling his fingers down to the hem of my dress.
I stiffened, sucking in my breath when he eased the slip of material up to my thigh. As he exhaled, he rubbed his knuckles back and forth across my leg, my skin tingling from the gentleness of his touch.
Very gently he removed my dress, pitching it aside while never taking his eyes off me. Using all four fingers, he brushed the tips down from my forehead, gently sliding them to my neck as if tracing me for his long-term memory.
I remained silent, still unable to catch my breath. He continued his slow exploration, his eyes filled with lust. As he swirled a finger around my nipple, I took a series of short breaths, tingling to the point I was shaking all over.
“My perfect angel,” he whispered in utter reverence, the tone holding a hint of sadness.
I was caught in a dream, the nightmare no longer existing. I’d envisioned the man who’d saved me, creating a magical figure in my mind.
A powerful man capable to doing extraordinary deeds.
Strong and handsome.
My hero.
And here he was, only the hero was tarnished with blood and violence. How could the two be the same?
He cocked his head, his eyes never leaving me, but a daring smile crossed his face the moment he pinched my already aching bud between his fingers. Arching my back, a moan slipped from my lips. The pain was entirely different, extraordinary in a way that kept quivers vibrating through my system.
“Ideal’nyy angel.”
