Page 44 of Hunted to Be Mine

I nodded once, barely moving.

I let his lips find mine, giving in. He kissed me hard, desperate, consuming. His mouth took, didn’t ask. I matched him, fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

When he broke away, we were both breathing hard. “Look at me.” His voice came out rough.

I opened my eyes to find him staring, predatory, possessive, but vulnerable. Without breaking eye contact, he lowered his head to my throat, lips on the marks he’d left earlier. I shivered.

“I’m sorry,” came against my skin, breath hot.

“Don’t,” I said softly. “Just be here now.”

His uninjured palm gripped my thigh, fingers digging in as he pulled me closer onto his lap. Heat pooled low. His bandaged hand rested at my waist, careful despite everything.

He was holding back. Every muscle tight. His breathing turned ragged against my neck as his lips moved down my collarbone.

When he raised his head again, his eyes had darkened to storm gray. He studied my face hard enough that I felt naked, not just of clothing but of every defense.

“I want to mark every inch of you,” he murmured against my lips, a threat and a promise.

My pulse kicked, my body responding to the edge in his voice. I should have been afraid, should have pulled away. Instead, I arched against him, inviting it.

His thumb traced my lower lip, eyes locked to mine. “I need to taste you.” His voice had dropped to a growl, chest vibrating. “Need to have you. Now.”

I nodded, past analysis or caution. “Yes…”

He gripped my sweater and tore it open. Buttons hit the wall. His bandaged hand stayed at my waist while his good one pushed the fabric from my shoulders.

“Christ,” he said under his breath, looking at me. His mouth was on me, hot against my collarbone. He bit down, then licked, working down my chest.

I gasped at his teeth, then his tongue. Each touch burned, his need feeding mine until I was arching into him, desperate.

His hand slid up my back, found my bra clasp. The garment fell away, and his lips closed over me, heat blooming. I cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders as he used his mouth on me.

He pulled back to check my face, his eyes wild but searching. Whatever he saw made him dip back down, hands everywhere, gripping my thigh, sliding up my side, tangling in my hair.

I couldn’t catch my breath, didn’t want to. Each touch was possessive, hungry, starved. His good hand cupped my breast, thumb rough while his mouth worked the other.

When I rolled my hips against him, he groaned into my skin, feral. The bandages on his hand rasped against my waist as he pulled me harder against him.

“More,” I rasped, a voice I barely recognized. I pulled him up and crushed my mouth to his. “I need more.”

He stripped the rest off me fast, skirt yanked, tights peeled, panties dragged down my thighs with his knuckles at the inside of my knees. Cool air hit. Warmth answered. He lifted me, set me on the bed, and followed, weight braced on his good hand so he didn’t crush me.

“Open,” he commanded, lips moving down my torso.

I let my knees fall. He settled between them, shoulders pinning my thighs wide. The first touch wasn’t his mouth. His thumb traced where thigh met pelvis, unhurried. Then his lips at the inside of my knee, the back of my thigh, the high place. He tasted me carefully, quick samples that turned deliberate fast.

My pulse hammered. He slid his bandaged hand up and pressed two fingers there, gauging. The rough gauze rasped my skin.

“Breathe for me.”

I exhaled a rough breath. Took another, deeper. He counted with his fingers at my neck.

His mouth finally found me. His tongue parted me gently. I cursed. He groaned, quiet, tasting me.

“Fuck,” came against my skin. “You’re warm.”

Warm wasn’t right. I felt molten. He licked again, slower, and I watched him change, eyes unfocused, movements even, a pattern sliding into place. Programmed touch. Mechanical rhythm.