Page 33 of Primal

She leans down.

I feel her breath first. Then her lips brush the scar—gentle, like an apology.

I tilt her face up. “Don’t.”

She smirks. “Too late. Already did.”

I flip her beneath me—moss compressing under our weight, her wrists locked in my fist before she can land a hit. The air hangs heavy around us—pine resin, sweat, and freshly fucked trouble.

“You think one kiss makes me soft?”

She arches, testing my grip. “Oh? Gonna punish me for caring?”

“Gonna reward you.” I drag my teeth down her throat, lingering over her pulse. “That waiver of yours? We’re working through it alphabetically. Starting with”—my hand slides between her legs—“how many times I can make you come before you forget your own name.”

“Bold words for a guy who just finished.”

“Give me two minutes. Think you can last that long without begging?”

She bucks against my touch. “Make me.”

“Oh, I will.” I yank her upright, crushing her against me. “But first?” I bite her earlobe. “Tell me what you really want next.”

Her nails dig into my shoulders. “What do you want?”

“Your ass.” I growl the words into her mouth. “My cock. You screaming into my palm as I stretch you open.”

She shivers, but her grin is pure sin. “Not without lube! Guess you’d better go find my backpack then.”

“Nice try.” I swat her ass. “Stay and take what I give you. Or go fetch it yourself. Either way, you’re getting wrecked.”

She pouts. “Or maybe ...” Her fingers trail down my chest. “I’ll stumble into some other hunter …”

I kiss her—hard—before pulling away. “Stay. Put.”

The mask swallows my expression as I slip it back over my head. What’s left is the thing she summoned.

“If I catch you wandering,” I growl through the modulator, “I’ll tie you to this tree and fuck you so deep you’ll forget why you ever needed that backpack.”

That goddamn smirk stays intact. “Yes, sir.”

I grab my knife and stalk off—before I ruin her six ways to hell.

Chapter Seven

The second Kade’s silhouette vanishes into the trees, I sag against the trunk.

IT guy.

All this time, my quiet, nerdy neighbor who fixed my printer and pretended not to stare was this sexy beast?

And damn, I was right—without his glasses, he’s lethal. Tonight, he looks like something carved from sweat, blood, and sin. All arrogance, coiled violence, and a tongue that could tie me in knots.

How the hell does he pull that off? I figured he works out. Recites sonnets to his cat. Maybe bench-presses encyclopedias in his spare time. But holy shit. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised he delivers. And then some.

Which is … fuck. How does he know exactly how to wreck me?

The waiver, duh. He’s got the rundown on my secret kinks.