Page 103 of Hunted

Her body is all tension and reaction, furious at its own responsiveness, and I am drunk on the contradiction.

I undress her slowly because it is the only way I can keep from tearing the fabric off with my teeth.

One button at a time. A kiss for every inch of skin I reveal.

My mouth grazes her shoulder, then the elegant line of her collarbone, and the shudder that runs through her feels as though it passes through me first. Her hands are everywhere, at my shoulders, in my hair, on my chest, each touch a demand she would never voice cleanly.

‘Squisito,’ I tell her, the word from the country of my birth dragged from somewhere rough and dark inside me. ‘Do you have any idea what you do to me?’

My fingers slide lower, peeling away another layer, and fury flashes hot in my blood at the sight of her. At the way she lies there and undoes me without trying.

I praise her because I cannot seem to stop. Her skin. Her scent. The tremble in her breath. The pulse beating wildly beneath my lips.

Each compliment sounds too reverent to my own ears.

The truth is worse.

Reverence is exactly what this feels like, and I resent her for making a creature like me feel it.

‘Why the fuck do I allow this? When you smell all⁠—’

‘Do not tell me I smell wrong again, Moretti. You’ll hurt my feelings. And then I’ll have to— Uunhmph!’

I pinch her nipple to stop her words.

She glares at me even as her back arches off the sofa, chasing the pleasurable pain.

‘I was about to say you smell uniquely you. Maddeningly intoxicating.’

Her eyes widen a touch. ‘Oh, well… carry on then,’ she mutters, as a flush creeps up her neck.

I want to chase it with my tongue, then the graze of my teeth.

Instead, I splay her vest open, the sheer number of visible and hidden weapons impressive enough to give me momentary pause.

Then she trembles.

And I burn with the effort of restraint.

I drag her trousers off and drop to my knees between her thighs, a position that gives me what I want. Her parted legs. Her breath catching. The full, unbearable sight of her unfettered breasts, rose-tipped and heaving, begging for my mouth.

I anchor one hand on her hip hard enough to remind myself she is real, then drag the other slowly up the back of her leg, feeling the tension in her muscles, the tremor she cannot hide.

I do not go near her collarbone or throat because if I feel her pulse beneath my lips, I may lose what remains of my mind.

So I kiss down her sternum with a patience that feels like torment, skating over silky skin to one tight peak.

I lick and tease her nipple into my mouth.

And fuck, she is exactly what I called her in my mother tongue.

Exquisite.

Warm and alive enough that my fangs threaten rebellion again. I let my eyes drift shut, as much to concentrate as to savour, linger on the opposite peak, and pray to the Gods of the underworld that this infuriating woman will not ruin me with a taste of skin.

‘Stay still,’ I murmur, voice low and frayed. ‘Let me look at you.’

I should hate how much I want this. Want her. But the lie dies before it forms.