Page 60 of Hunted

Pearce’s shrewd stare felt warm on the side of my face. “No,” he murmured. “You didn’t.”

“No. I didn’t,” I agreed, twisting my neck to look back at him over my shoulder. Meeting his gaze head-on, I was surprised to see a complete absence of disappointment staring back at me.

“You hit exactly where you meant to.”

“I did.”

“That was probably unwise.”

“Probably.”

“But it was also incredibly hot.”

“It was?”

“Mmhmm.”

Then, somehow, the rifle was on the floor and my face was in his hands as our lips crashed together. I rolled my hips, disjointedly realising that my legs had captured his waist and I gave zero fucks about that fact.

Pearce groaned, delving his fingers deeper into my hair, wrenching it loose from the half-hearted confines of my hair tie. His hips kicked upwards and I moaned, the sound hushed by the next crescendo of his tongue, expertly exploring the shape of my own.

I cared not for the fact that we should not be doing this, and all for the knowledge that, fuck it, we are.

I did not think past the next second, the next touch, the next moment.

I reached for the hem of his shirt, wrenching it over his head like I would perish without seeing what lay beyond that tiny sliver of skin I’d glimpsed earlier—and by the gods, it was a sight worth seeing. Like he had been crafted from bronze marble, midnight ink, and⁠—

You’re drooling, Addie.

He chuckled, clearly pleased with all the ogling I absolutely was doing, and dropped a hand to my waistband. It went no further, much to my clitoris’ displeasure. When I whimpered at his restraint, he laughed again.

Yes, joy came easily to Deklan Pearce. I wondered if pleasure did, too.

Because he was annoyingly chivalrous as fuck and made no move to do so, I sat back and tore my own shirt off over my head, exposing admittedly not much, thanks to the black sports crop hiding anything of visual value.

“Fuck,” he whispered, leaning back to rest on his elbows.

His eyes looked mostly green in this light, with a distinct chocolate core around his pupils. How did I know this? I was transfixed—held hostage by the way those eyes devoured every inch of visible skin.

Suddenly self-conscious, I frowned, crossing my arms over my belly—and that soft pouch that never went anywhere despite all the years of training I underwent.

“No.” He sat bolt upright, claiming one of my wrists in each of his warm, golden hands. “Don’t you dare. Not until I’ve personally inspected every scar, freckle, and stretchmark. Preferably with both teeth and tongue.” He winked, uncrossing my arms gently and leaning forwards to lay me flat on my back.

Somehow, without me even registering it until it was too late, he’d secured both my wrists above my head with only one of his hands, leaving the other free to do… well, I wasn’t quite sure what he intended to do with it.

But I wasn’t exactly arguing about it either.

I choked on an inhale.

I’d been straddling his hips, but now, they were wedged firmly between my thighs, pressing against my core in the most delicious of ways. This was a masterclass in temptation. And I was failing the test.

He grinned, pressing his lips hauntingly soft to the side of my neck. When I shuddered, he huffed a laugh, and continued to trace a line down the centre of my body, all the way to my navel.

I was a sodden mess. This pair of underwear was as good as drowned.

But when he paused to kiss across my belly, I froze.

“What, this?” he asked, kissing just beneath my belly button. “Is this what you’re worried I’ll see?”