Page 125 of Gilded Locks
“Hunter, please,” The words came out breathy, desperate.
“Please what?” He spun her around, backing her against the thick trunk of a palm tree. The bark bit into her shoulders, rough and textured, grounding her through the delicious bite of pain. His body caged hers completely, his chest heaving, eyes wild with triumph and lust. The darkness radiating from him made her core clench. “Please let you go? Please be gentle?” His hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back until her throat was exposed, vulnerable. “That’s not how this works, Lisichka. I hunted you. I caught you. Now you’re mine to do with as I please.”
Unhinged desire swirled in her belly like a tornado of mixed sensations she couldn’t rationalize. It was a game. Only a game. But he’d triggered her adrenaline in a way that heightened ever pulsing response her body was having in that moment.
All she had to do was breathe the word ‘stop’ and the game would be over, but what fun would that be? Dear God, she was as twisted as him, as unhinged as every name on the stacks of applications in his office.
His hand closed around her neck, forcing her wild eyes to focus. Hunter would never accept less than her full attention.
“Whose pussy is this?” His other hand clamped between her legs, massaging firmly.
“Tvoya,” she gasped, the Russian word for yours causing him to growl and tighten his grip another degree.
“Fucking right, it is. Moya. All mine.”
“Yes,” she breathed, the word synonymous for her surrender and his invitation all at once.
His kiss was brutal, claiming, all teeth and tongue and dominance. He devoured her mouth like a starving man presented with a feast, like he could consume her entirely and still not have enough. One hand remained tangled in her hair while the other roamed her body with rough possession, squeezing her breast hard enough to make her gasp, then softer, thumbing her nipple through the fabric until it peaked painfully.
When Hunter touched her, he demanded her full focus. To him, when they were alone, she belonged solely to him. It seemed to be a requirement they all accepted and no one dared to challenge.
“My lisichka,” he growled, his voice thick with absolute possession.
The primal taste of his desire caused her to moan into his mouth. His scent surrounded her, overwhelmed her—cedar and sweat and raw masculine hunger that was more intoxicating than any drug they’d forced down her throat at Whitmore.
“Pants off,” he commanded against her lips, the words vibrating through her. “Now.”
Her hands shook as she fumbled with the button, fingers clumsy with need and adrenaline. She shoved the fabric down her legs, the air against her bare skin feeling cool despite the tropical heat. He didn’t wait for her to step out of them completely before spinning her around with bruising force, pressing her front against the trunk.
The bark abraded her breasts, her belly, her thighs, intensifying every sensation until each nerve ending sung with awareness.
“Don’t move.” He pushed her hands to the trunk, silently commanding her to stay.
She gripped the tree, her nails biting into the bark. Behind her, something snapped and she turned. Hunter fisted the stem from a nearby aloe plant.
“What are you doing with that?”
He bit into the green branch, peeling open the leaf to expose the gel-like flesh on the inside. “Don’t you worry.” Scraping the natural liquid out of the plant with one hand, he tugged down his zipper with the other, that metallic rasp impossibly loud in the humid space.
Her eyes went wide as he fisted his swollen cock, stroking the aloe gel up and down his shaft until he was slick and fully coated. The heat of his hard body pressed against hers, his now lubricated cock hard and demanding.
“Hunter, wait!” Fear spiked through the arousal, sharp and clarifying.
“Nyet. You want me to stop, say the word.”
She bit down on her lips, knowing if she even mouthed the word stop he’d let go in a heartbeat. But the truth was, she lived for his wild domination. “Just…be gentle.”
“I’d slit my own throat before causing you pain.” His voice gentled fractionally, his hand stroking down her spine with surprising tenderness. “But you’re going to take it for me. You’re going to let me claim every part of you, mark you inside and out.” His fingers found her center, stroking through her slickness, finding her swollen and soaked, ready despite her protests. “And you’re going to love it. Aren’t you, Lisichka?”
“Yes,” she whimpered, the word torn from somewhere deep inside.
“That’s my good girl.” He worked her carefully, his fingers sliding through her wetness before moving to that forbidden place, circling, pressing, preparing. One finger breached her and she gasped at the foreign sensation—the burn, the stretch, the overwhelming fullness. He added a second finger and she whimpered, torn between wanting more and wanting mercy.
The aloe definitely helped. Despite his rough words, his touch was measured, patient. He worked her open slowly, thoroughly, his other hand reaching around to stroke her clit in maddening circles that made her hips buck against the tree trunk.
When he finally withdrew his fingers and positioned himself—the broad head of his cock pressing against that tight ring of muscle—she could taste copper in her mouth where she’d bitten her lip, could smell the rich earth scent of the solarium mixed with their combined arousal, could feel every atom of her body focused on that single point of contact.
“Breathe,” he commanded, one hand reaching around to stroke her where she needed it most, fingers slipping through her wetness with obscene ease. “Breathe and relax for me. Let me in.”
