Page 67 of Huntsman
Her pussy clamps down on my dick, rippling, milking. I stare at her face, taking in the mask of lust twisting it, reveling in that pleasure that seems edged in pain. It’s the same sensation that barrels through me. Her sex is so tight, my cock is no doubt marked and branded. And yet, I still fuck through those grasping muscles, burying myself inside her until I can’t hold out. Not anymore.
On a low roar, I nut, and it seems endless. Stream after stream of cum shoots in this pussy. We rock and grind against each other, giving and taking every measure of our release. Finally, we slow, moving in an almost-gentle glide instead of the furious pounding of flesh to flesh.
On a sigh, she tumbles to the mattress, sprawling beside me, and silence permeates the room. But it’s not awkward, not heavy with tension. For once, a… peace settles over me, and while a frisson of fear whispers through me, the contentment, the… wholeness overwhelms it. Overwhelms me. A lethargy seeps into my muscles, weighing them down, and my body slowly sinks into the mattress.
I should get up, go shower, treat my cuts, dress, then go downstairs and clean up the kitchen. Make sure the loft is secure. Do anything but sleep in this bed beside her. I don’t do sleepovers. Have never trusted anyone enough to be that vulnerable and close my eyes around them.
Yet I don’t move.
My mind spins with chaotic thoughts, slamming against my skull again and again. I just experienced the biggest, most soul-stripping orgasm of my life. I should be tired, wiped out. And my body is just that. But not my brain. I have too many questions about this woman who exposes a side of me I’m not sure I like. Ifor damn sure know I’m comfortable with it. The vulnerable side. The scared side. One question though… One question screams louder than the others.
“Why?”
A beat of silence. Then: “Why what?”
“Why have you been following me? Been watching me? Whyme?”
“Simplest answer? I don’t have an answer. At least not one that makes sense. Remember inTwilightwhen that weird-ass wolf inappropriately imprinted on that baby with the equally weird-ass name?”
Yeah, I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. “No.”
“You didn’t miss much. But what I’m saying is the first time I saw you, you imprinted on me. You crawled inside me like poison, changing me, infecting me… killing a part of me. I wasn’t the same person after that. Ibreathedfor another glimpse of you. And it became an all-consuming need, hunger. You call it ‘stalking’; I call it ‘necessary.’ I couldn’t stay away. I can’t now, even though it would no doubt be healthier for us both if I did. But I don’t give a fuck about none of that. Not boundaries, not health, not being appropriate. I can’t lie. Sometimes I hate you for how you’ve become a compulsion for me. Sometimes I wish I had never laid eyes on you. But the truth is from February twenty-second to now, I’d crash out behind you. I have.”
My heart pounds so hard, it bruises my sternum. Something that tastes too close to fear swarms in my chest, coats my tongue. I feel… claimed by her in this moment. And it terrifies me that I like it. That I crave more of it.
“Why did you stay in the shadows? Never approach me?”
She gives a soft chuckle. But there’s no humor in it.
“Sometimes the known is safer, kinder than the unknown. I haven’t been scared often or of much in my life. But you? Even discovering all the details about you down to your favorite food, I still didn’tknowyou. If I kept my distance, you couldn’t hurt me. Reject me. You could still be mine.”
She shifts, rolls over on her side, and when I turn my head, she meets my gaze, her stacked hands tucked under her cheek.
“I haven’t seen a lot of beauty in my life.” Eshe’s voice is hoarse in the thick silence. Probably from the screaming as she came hard and long. It might make me an asshole, but I don’t give a fuck—pride coasts through me that I’m the cause of that abused throat. “Death. Street wars. Betrayal. Hate. Blood. Violence is our norm, and suffering is our currency. It’s literally what we bank on for survival. It’s what I was born into, and what soul I have thrives on it. I’m not ashamed to admit that. It’s who I am. But it’s not all of me. I am my mother’s daughter. I’m the Mwuaji olori. I’m a sister, a friend. It’s why I can recognize beauty when I see it. Because they humanize me. They remind me darkness only makes the weakest light shine brighter. That without pain, joy is empty and a cardboard caricature.”
She reaches out, swipes a finger through the trickle of blood at my collarbone, and lazily paints my skin with it.
“You’re more than the Huntsman. More than the underworld’s bogeyman. You’re a son, a brother. You’re Malachi Bowden.” I shake my head, hard, but she holds up a hand, halting my damn-near-frantic movement. After I still, she splays her bloodstained fingers wide on my chest, directly over my heart. “Yes, you are. No bomb, bullet, or sick-ass fuck can take that from you. Do you want to know why I called you a beautiful nightmare?” Her fingertip traces my piercing, brushes the cut directly above it. “Because not all nightmares are scary. Some are revelations, some are protectors or warders, and others are messengers. You’re all three. Terrifying, deadly, but still so gotdamn beautiful.”
She pokes a fingernail into the newly opened wound, and a sliver of delicious, burning pain slashes through me. Her gaze dips to it. Propping herself up on an elbow, she leans over me, drags her tongue over the cut, her low sound of pleasure vibrating over and through me. Her lips close around my nipple and piercing, teeth catching on the metal and tugging, not so gently.Another punch of dull pain reverberates through me, and my hips grind into the dick-hardening sensation.
Eshe wastes no time crawling back on top of me, grinding her pussy over my length, coating it in her juices before sliding down over it. She sucks me deep like a hot, tight mouth, and our groans drench the room. My hands fly to her wide hips, pinning them in a hard, inflexible grip as I fuck her from the bottom. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her head tipping back her on shoulders.
Eshe.
She’s my beautiful nightmare.
And right now, digging so deep inside her I can’t find my way out, I don’t want to wake up.
CHAPTER ELEVENEshe
Holy shit, being this lazy should be criminal.
Even hidden several feet away in the dark shadows of the woods surrounding the obodo, I still have a clear view of the stark-white marble of the compound and the startling lack of security around the rear of it. Lowering my monocular, I shake my head. Yeah, we’re in the fucking suburbs, and the buildings are located on acres of private property encased by barbwire fences, butImade it through. And not by the gotdamn front gate either—riding my motorcycle down the access road that runs parallel to the property, hiking it in the two miles from there, then climbing the fence in the dead zone where the security cameras don’t reach. And shit, here we are.
Nah, I stand corrected. This kind of laziness should be punishable by death.
Oh right. I smile grimly, tugging the face covering of the hooded black ski mask and storing the monocular in a pocket on the outside of my thigh. It’ll be a lot of death by the time I’m through. Gotta find those silver linings.
