Page 66 of The Hunter
Suddenly, his lust had teeth, and it chewed through him with the hunger of a pack of winter wolves. It ripped through his veins with the violence of the wild, and he plunged his hand into her hair, pulling it back and exposing her neck to the firelight.
The sound she made startled him, because it was one he’d never heard before. An answering hunger. A sibilant whisper of submission.
Fuck. He’d planned to rip her dress to shreds. To fill his hands with the pale breasts that had tormented his memory since he’d seen them in the bath. He wanted to see, touch, and taste all of her. To draw the experience out so that the memory would last him a lifetime.
But with one groan, she’d undone him. Stripped him of whatever humanity he’d possessed and turned him into nothing but a creature of inflamed, violent need.
His hand still twisted in her hair, they stumbled to the bed. Once in front of it, he bent her over and tossed layer after layer of heavy skirts up her waist.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, her voice laced with a new hesitancy. It was too late now, he was too far gone. Blood pounded in his loins so powerfully the pleasant ache had turned into raw pain.
“Fucking you,” he gritted out. Finally his hands found her undergarments and they became a casualty of his frenzy.
“Like… this?” She rose up on her elbows to look back at him and he seized her hair, pressing her cheek into the covers.
“I only fuck like this.” As he pulled his cock from his trousers, even the pressure of his hand threatened to overwhelm him. It had never been like this, though. Not ever. If he had a thought that was his own, a moment to stop and consider, he might fear this power she had over him. The way she siphoned his control until there was none left.
“Don’t look back at me,” he ordered. He couldn’t look her in the eyes. She’d see too much, or he would; either way it would be his undoing.
She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, as though preparing herself. “I won’t.”
He looked down and nearly came. Her ass was pale and perfect, curving into long, slim legs that disappeared into black stockings.
Christ Almighty.He wasn’t going to last long enough to get inside of her.
He closed his eyes and ran his fingers through the soft hair at the apex of her thighs, relieved to find it moist. She was ready.
Her breath hitched when the throbbing head found her opening, but she didn’t move or struggle. In fact, her hips curled, lifting back and pressing toward him. Coating his already weeping tip with her wetness.
With a groan born half of pleasure and half of exquisite pain, he bucked his hips forward and plowed into her.
He was ripped in separate directions as two phenomena he’d never before experienced tore his consciousness to shreds.
Something like a pop, or a tear, as he drove into her body.
He registered resistance. Even as he thrust again, and yet again.
Her flesh clenched him like a fist as he moved within her. Tight. Too. Fucking. Tight. Her body pulled and strained at him, forcing a release. Even though the darkness behind his eyelids exploded with the pulses of pure rapture pouring from his cock. His teeth ground together as he withdrew, his seed bathing her pale thighs.
The pleasure, it felt like it would never stop. Thathewould never stop. The burning began at his spine and shot from his body in long, wet throbbing waves. He hadn’t known that for all the depths of pain a man could endure, the spectrum of pleasure was equally excruciating.
But then he saw her eyes squeezed in pain. Noted the trembling of her chin until she pulled her lower lip into her mouth and bit down.
And his pleasure was strangled by a terrible knowledge. Millie LeCour had told him the truth today. And for years, she’d been lying.
When she said Lord Thurston and Lord Benchley had never had her, she’d been honest.
But her lie, her lie was much larger than her truth.
Because when Argent looked down and saw the blood, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jakub LeCour was not her son.
Because up until only a moment ago, Millie had been a virgin.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Well,Millie thought as she felt a wet cloth roughly swipe at her bare thighs before her dress was tossed back over her flanks. All in all that wasn’t… so bad. A bit of a pinch, is all, maybe a tearing sensation, but she’d experienced more pain removing a fake mustache and beard a while back when they’d accidentally used too much adhesive. That had brought tears spilling and her skin had been raw for an entire day. This didn’t even register on that scale.
The painful part, at least, was over rather quickly. Somehow, Millie had been under the impression that the actual act, itself, lasted quite a while. In fact, she was experiencing a troubling sense of unfulfillment.
