Page 112 of Mine To Hunt

His voice cuts through mine, cold and commanding. And this time, I don’t.

Before I can protest, he wraps the scarf around my eyes, tying it securely behind my head. Darkness engulfs me completely. I can't see anything, but suddenly, every other sense sharpens. The sound of his breathing, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with something metallic, the feel of the air shifting as he moves.

My pulse races, a cocktail of terror and anticipation flooding my veins. Without sight, every brush of fabric against my skin feels amplified, every creak of the floorboards under his weight sends a jolt through me.

Strong arms lift me up effortlessly, and he throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. I gasp, my hands clutching at his back for balance, feeling the hard muscles shift beneath his shirt.

The world tilts as he carries me a short distance, back to the bed, I realize, and drops me onto it so I'm lying flat on my back. The mattress dips under my weight, and I feel exposed, vulnerable, my body sprawled out in the blackness.

My breathing comes in shallow bursts, my skin prickling with awareness as I strain to hear his next move.

His presence looms closer. I can feel the heat of his body hovering over mine, the subtle displacement of air as he leans in. Then, his lips brush against mine, soft at first, then demanding, claiming.

He must have removed his mask. The kiss feels too real, too intimate without that barrier, his stubble grazing my chin, his breath warm and ragged against my mouth.

I part my lips, responding despite myself, my body betraying the fear in my mind, a rush of heat pooling low in my belly as his tongue invades, exploring with a possessiveness that makes me dizzy.

I reach up, my fingers fumbling for the scarf, desperate to see his face. Who is he really? But his hand catches my wrist, pinning it down beside my head with effortless strength.

"No." He growls. "You don't get to see. Not yet."

His grip tightens just enough to send a thrill of pain mixed with pleasure through my arm, reminding me of my helplessness. His free hand moves to my clothes, undressing me slowly, deliberately.

He peels off my shirt, his fingers trailing along my collarbone, down my sides, raising goosebumps in their wake. The cool air hits my exposed skin, making my nipples harden instantly.

He unhooks my bra with practiced ease, tossing it aside, and I feel his gaze on me even though I can't see it, imagining those hidden eyes devouring every inch.

Then my pants, sliding them down my legs inch by inch, his thumbs hooking into my underwear and pulling them off too. I don't fight him, part of me complies, arching into his touch even as my mind screams warnings, my thighs pressing together instinctively against the growing ache between them.

I hear the rustle of fabric, his clothes, I think. The uncertainty heightens everything, my ears picking up the zipper of his pants, the soft thud of boots hitting the floor, the whisper of cloth sliding off skin.

He's naked now, I realize, and the thought sends a fresh wave of vulnerability crashing over me. My body tenses, waiting, every nerve ending alive and screaming for contact.

I hear him position himself at the edge of the bed, standing while I'm lying down. His hand guides my head toward him, turning it to the side, and I feel the hardness of him pressing against my lips, velvety smooth skin over rigid heat, the musky scent filling my nostrils.

"Open your mouth, Iris." He commands, his voice low and edged with that calm. "Show me how much you want this." His fingers tangle in my hair, not pulling yet, but holding me in place.

I hesitate, my lips parting slightly as conflicting emotions war inside me, fear, desire, the thrill of the unknown. But the pull is too strong, the command in his tone overriding my doubts.

I open wider, and he thrusts inside, filling my mouth with his length, the taste salty and overwhelming. He moves slowly at first, shallow thrusts that let me adjust, but soon deeper, pushing to the back of my throat, making me choke slightly, my gag reflex kicking in as saliva builds. Tears well under the blindfold, but the action fuels a twisted fire in my core.

"That's it. Good girl." He murmurs, his voice laced with dark approval. "Choking on my cock like the perfect little slut you are. You'd look so pretty on your knees, but this will do for now."

His hand tightens in my hair, controlling the rhythm, pulling me onto him as he stands firm, my neck straining at the angle. Each thrust sends vibrations through me, my jaw aching, my throat constricting around him.

I breathe through my nose in ragged gasps, my hands fisting the sheets as I fight to take more, the mix of discomfort and arousal making my body hum.

He pulls out briefly, letting me catch my breath, a string of saliva connecting us that I feel break against my chin. "Your breathing's quickening. Now imagine my cock stretching that sweet cunt wide open later."

The words hang in the air, painting vivid, filthy images in my mind, my clit throbbing in response despite the edge of humiliation.

He shifts me then, pulling me up to my knees on the bed while still blindfolded. My balance wavers in the darkness, but his hands steady me roughly.

He grabs my wrists, crossing them behind my back, and I feel something soft, another scarf, perhaps, or a tie from my drawer, binding them securely, the material biting into my skin just enough to remind me of my restraint.

I can't move them, can't steady myself, my body arched forward slightly, breasts heavy and exposed, nipples tight from the cool air and anticipation.

"Open wide." He says, and thrusts back into my mouth from his standing position. His hand in my hair pulls me closer, deeper, forcing me to take him fully.