Page 31 of Hunt Me

I should teach him what I know. How to be more stealthy. To be more dangerous. To treat everything like a threat.

But for now, I allow my little rabbit his moment to stalk me.

He’s finally close enough to pounce as I twist my hand around the head of my dick and grunt softly. His footsteps crunch over fallen leaves and bits of stone, and my gaze lifts to his face the moment he comes into view, his cheeks mottled pink, lips parted with his panting breath.

I look to the sides of his head, but he’s not wearing his cochlear implants, so I have to use my body to convey what I want. I arch my hips up, moving them in time with my wrist as I jerk myself, and he lets out a sharp, chest-deep moan as he drops to his knees.

His hand reaches out, too tentative for my liking, and something in me snaps. I reach for his wrist and tug until he’s tumbling onto my legs.

Straddling them, he lets out another moan as I guide his hand to where I want to be touched. His brows lift in question, like he’s unsure he’s allowed to do this. Fingertips graze my length before closing around it, and he shifts closer, knees clenching around the outside of my thighs.

“Yes,” I say. His eyes are fixed on my lips, reading my words.

“More?” he asks aloud. His accent is heavy with desire and so fucking perfect.

I nod. ‘Please.’ I rub my hand in a circle on my chest, fingers trembling with the need to grab him and force him to give me what I want. But I don’t.

He’s successfully hunted me down. He gets to take what he wants. I am his prize.

He squeezes me tighter, then lets go to spit in his hand before gripping me again. I moan loudly, and when he sees it, he reaches up and presses fingertips to the side of my throat.

“Again,” he demands.

I obey as he feels the vibrations against his palm. His head dips in close, like he’s trying to catch my moans on his tongue, so I part my lips and invite him in. His kiss is frantic at first, deep and too wet with too much tongue. But when I shove my fingers into his hair and pull, he softens and pulls back.

“So good,” I murmur. I realize he can’t understand my words, so I wrench him back and with one hand tell him, ‘You, so good.’

His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he starts to jerk me harder, and I take the opportunity to shove my hand down the back of his pants.

I don’t feel lace this time. I feel silk, soft as the lining in a coffin, and I tug and tug until the fabric pulls up over the curve of his ass and I can see the color. They’re a bright, gorgeous royal blue.

It suits him so fucking much.

I want to see him stripped naked except for silk, spread out on my bed, helpless against anything I want to do to him. I want to taste every fucking inch of his body. I want to choke on his cock until I cry. I want to push my tongue deep inside him and experience the very essence of who he is.

If it wouldn’t terrify him, I would keep him in soft nylon ropes in my room and never let him go.

But I know better than that. Percy taught me years ago that loving someone that intensely is dangerous. It doesn’t allow for being loved back, and I don’t want to be lonely.

I don’t want this to be one-sided.

“Kiss me,” he says, interrupting my fear-laced thoughts.

His voice brings me back to him, and I grip his hair again, pulling him down and giving him the sharp, biting kiss he’s asking for.

As I sink my teeth into his lower lip, his grip on me tightens, his arm speeding up like he’s trying to rip the orgasm right from my body. And, in that moment, I realize he’s succeeding.

I have no more control. My hips begin to fuck upward, bouncing him on my lap as he holds my dick even tighter, and his free hand curls around the front of my throat as I cry out.

The world goes white as I shoot hot ropes along his stomach, pulling him tight against me to share the mess. He moans, rocking his hips forward as his lips find mine again, and he sucks on my tongue through the aftershocks.

Fuck.Fuck.

I attempt to tell him that, but all that comes out is a stuttered, wordless whine. Being with Denver was so good it’s stolen my voice. And the perfection of this moment is that Denver doesn’t need to hear me to know.

He sits back on my thighs, eyes hazy as he looks down at me, and then he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a crushed red fabric flower.

I recognize it immediately as part of the bouquet I’d stolen from the graves and given to him. I take it from his hands and put the wire stem behind his ear. He looks fucking ridiculous, but I love it anyway.