Page 41 of His to Hunt (The Owner’s Club #1)

Thirty-Eight

BECKETT

Her eyes lock on mine—wide, wild, defiant. But beneath that defiance, I see something deeper. Something she's fighting against with every ragged breath she takes.

The shift doesn't happen all at once. It's gradual, like watching a cliff erode beneath relentless waves.

I track every micro-expression—the last tremble of her chest as resistance surrenders to want, the almost imperceptible tightening of her thighs as she presses them together without conscious thought, the sharp little inhale that catches in her throat when I drag my fingers up the inside of her thigh—slow, deliberate, until I'm just below her pussy, watching her hips twitch like her body's begging for me without permission.

And I don't stop.

I watch her break into pieces.

Not with screams or sobs. Just... slow. Inevitable. Beautiful in its surrender.

"Still fighting?" I murmur, my voice rough against the silence between us.

She doesn't answer, but her pupils dilate, dark and hungry.

I lean in and press my mouth to hers—not quite a kiss at first, but then softening, deepening, becoming something neither of us expected. My hands cradle her face with a gentleness that surprises even me, thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't noticed on her cheeks.

Her lips part beneath mine—hesitant at first, then hungrier, and there's something different this time. Not just desire, but need. Not just passion, but longing. Something that feels dangerously close to coming home.

I release her, half-expecting her to push me away, to make one last desperate attempt at resistance. But she doesn't move. Doesn't run. Instead, her arms wrap around my shoulders like she's been waiting for permission to hold on to something real, something solid in this chaos we've created.

"I've been so angry with you," she whispers against my mouth, voice breaking. "For locking me away. For thinking you could control me."

"I know," I admit, the honesty burning in my throat. "I thought I was protecting you. I didn't know how else?—"

She silences me with another kiss, deeper and more demanding than before. When she pulls back, her eyes are clear. Resolved. "I'm not something you can own, Beckett."

"No," I agree, the word feeling like freedom rather than surrender. "You're something much more dangerous."

In one fluid motion, I guide her down, laying her beneath me on the soft forest floor. I take my time now, bracing myself above her, studying her face like I'm trying to memorize every detail—not just the desire, but the vulnerability. The trust that's costing her everything to give .

"I need you," I confess, the words torn from somewhere deeper than I knew existed inside me. "Not just your body. Not just your submission. I need you. All of you."

She trembles beneath me, and I can see tears gathering in her eyes again—not from fear or pain, but from the raw honesty between us.

"I need the way you fucking look at me when you're breaking. I need the way you hold on like I'm the only thing keeping you grounded. I need the way you ruin me without even trying."

"Then take me," she whispers. "Take me as I am."

She's not just offering herself—she's daring me to survive her.

I reach down and gather her to me, our bodies aligning with an inevitability that feels like fate.

Her cunt's already soaked for me, aching and open, and I sink into her slow—inch by fucking inch—like I'm carving my name into the center of her.

Like her body knows it's mine and is begging to be filled.

This isn't a claiming. It's a joining. A vow I didn't know I was making.

A recognition of what we've become to each other.

She gasps, her body arching to meet mine, legs wrapping around my waist to draw me deeper. I move within her slowly at first, savoring every sensation, every subtle shift of her body beneath mine.

"Look at me," I command softly, needing to see her eyes when she comes apart this time.

She does, her gaze locking with mine, hiding nothing.

I can see everything there—her desire, her fear, her defiance, her surrender.

The complexity of what we've built between us.

And when her pussy clamps down around my cock, tight and desperate, I feel that exact second she snaps—her mind breaking, her body giving in, her soul fucking mine .

"I see you," I tell her, my voice rough with emotion. "Not just what you show everyone else. Not just the masks. I see you, Luna."

A sob breaks from her throat, but she doesn't look away. Doesn't hide the vulnerability. "No one's ever seen me before," she admits, her voice barely audible.

"I do," I promise, increasing the pace of my thrusts, feeling her body respond to mine with perfect synchronicity. "And I'm never looking away."

Her nails rake down my back, dragging deep enough to draw blood, and I fucking revel in it—because this?

This is worship. Her pain, her pleasure, her surrender.

This time, when she falls apart, it's not just her body—it's all of her.

I feel her start to shake beneath me, feel her clench tight around my cock, her entire body trembling like her soul is shattering in my hands.

"Beckett," she gasps, my name a prayer on her lips. "Please?—"

She's not begging for release. She's begging for presence. For connection. For me.

I thrust deeper, finding that spot that makes her cry out, and hold her gaze like it's the only thing anchoring us to this moment.

"Let go," I whisper against her lips. "I've got you. I've always got you."

And she does—coming apart with a cry that splits the air, her body writhing beneath mine as I watch her fall with me. The raw, unfiltered emotion on her face as pleasure overtakes her wrecks me completely.

I lose it the second she shatters—my rhythm stuttering, hips slamming deep as I spill into her with a groan that's half worship, half destruction. Like I've been torn open from the inside and filled with her instead. Something holy in its ruin.

This isn't just pleasure. It's choice. Hers and mine. It's finding something we didn't even know we were looking for—and realizing we'll never let it go.

"I'm still yours," she whispers, voice raw and wrecked, her fingers dragging lazy circles across my sweat-slicked chest. "But not because you broke me. Not because you fucked me like I belonged to you."

I shift just enough to see her eyes—hazy, red-rimmed, still glassy with the aftershocks—and I know this matters.

"Then why?" I rasp, my voice shredded. "Tell me why you're still here."

Her lips curve—barely—but it's real. "Because I fucking want to be," she says. "Because no one's ever ruined me like you do and made me like it."

She drags her nails down my ribs, eyes blazing. "And that's all that matters."

I pull her closer, my arms tightening around her as something fierce and protective and terrifying blooms in my chest.

I drag her on top of me, pressing my hand to the back of her neck, like I need to feel her pulse to believe this is real.

"You're mine," I whisper, rough and reverent, burying my face in her hair. "And I'm never letting go. I'll burn this whole fucking world down before I lose you."