Page 23 of Hunted to the Altar (Caputo Crime Family #3)

A grin spread across my mouth just slightly when the door swung open and hit the wall behind me. I was facing the bed with my arms behind my back.

“You’ve been a very bad bunny,” he growled.

I shivered, but not in fear .

Samuel was unlike any man I’d ever encountered. I made some innocuous noise in my throat and went to move when his hand wrapped around my throat. He dragged me flush against his body and groaned in my ear.

“Don’t move.”

My pussy was wet. I should hate this man, but the way he played my body was like a demon. I couldn’t get enough. I wanted a repeat. I deserved another orgasm, and I was going to get it.

“What are you doing?” I gasped against his chest.

“I’m making sure you don’t run on me again.” He bent me over the bed and pulled my arms above my head.

I struggled halfheartedly while he tied me down. Did he have rope in every room? I couldn’t help wondering. That was oddly kinky and not something I’d been expecting of him.

“I wasn’t running,” I protested. “I was just heading to the powder room.”

“At a full sprint?” he murmured in my ear, yanking the bonds tighter to make sure they were in place.

I felt a small smack on my ass as he chuckled. “I don’t even have to look into your eyes to know that you are lying to me. What were you really doing, little bunny?”

Caught, I snickered. “Antagonizing you.”

“Well, you gained my full attention. Let’s see if you like it, hmm.” He growled in my ear.

I whimpered as his hand slammed down on my ass again.

“Why did you run?” He groaned in my ear, grinding his erection into me.

“I just wanted to play,” I cried out.

He smacked my ass a few more times. “Then ask and I will provide what you need when you need it.”

Tears pricked my eyes even though I knew he could’ve punished me worse. “Y-yes, sir. ”

“Who do you belong to?” He spanked me harder, ramping up the intensity of his punishment.

“Y-you,” I stammered breathlessly, the fight all but knocked out of me.

“There, was that so hard?” He soothed my stinging ass by rubbing a large hand up and down my cheeks before helping me stand and fixing my clothes.

“Yes,” I grumbled. I didn’t want to act like a petulant child, but I was sick of him getting the upper hand.

“Don’t forget it,” he warned.

I nodded my agreement. Samuel pulled me toward the dance floor even though I didn’t feel I was ready and wished we could’ve stayed in that room longer. But Samuel would be missed and we didn’t need people looking for him.

His possessive hold made me feel things deep inside that I shouldn’t for a man like him. The way he held me close. His scent. I couldn’t help falling under his spell as we swayed. I couldn’t help myself, I stopped thinking as he spun me slowly in his arms.

The bass faded into something softer, slower—something meant for bodies that didn’t know how to touch without meaning it. And I hated how easily mine responded to his.

Samuel’s hand slid to the small of my back, drawing me in with the kind of ease that shouldn’t have belonged to a man like him. Not after everything. Not after the fear, the stalking, the silence that had wrapped around us like barbed wire.

But in that moment, I let him.

Not because I trusted him.

Because I didn’t know what it meant that he felt like gravity when the rest of the world had stopped holding me up.

“I didn’t ask for this,” I whispered, unsure if I meant the dance or everything that led us here.

“I know,” he said, voice low, almost too gentle. “But you didn’t ask to be hunted either. And I didn’t ask to need you this much.”

His confession was quiet. Raw. Like he was offering it up with a knife against his own throat.

Our bodies moved in slow circles. My breath caught every time his thigh brushed mine, every time his lips hovered near my temple like he wanted to press a kiss there but didn’t dare.

His touch didn’t burn—it unsettled me in a different way.

Like I was waiting to be caught in a fall I didn’t remember stepping into.

I didn’t want to feel this.

Didn’t want the way his scent curled around me like comfort instead of control. Didn’t want to admit that the monster who ripped me from my life now held me like something fragile he didn’t know how to keep.

My stomach twisted. I should’ve pulled away. I didn’t.

Instead, I looked up.

And for the first time, I didn’t see the predator. I saw the man who stood under cold water just to wake up beside me. The one who washed blood off my skin without blinking. The one who watched me too closely, held me too tightly, but maybe—just maybe—had already buried a part of himself inside me.

“I should hate you,” I said, almost to myself.

His hand came up, brushing the hair from my cheek. That thumb again—so soft, so slow. “But you don’t.”

“No,” I breathed. “Not right now.”

The air between us grew heavier. My heart beat a little too fast, and I couldn’t tell if it was fear or something worse.

Longing.

He leaned down, and for a split second, I thought he’d kiss me. But he just touched his forehead to mine and let out a breath like I was the thing holding him together.

Like he didn’t know what to do with me.

And I didn’t know how to react to that either .

But in the strobing lights and soft rhythm of the dance floor, I let myself feel something dangerous.

It all felt like too much. I let myself feel him like he commanded me to. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like drowning. I couldn’t stay here. If I did, I would catch real feelings for this man.

And then I would be stuck, forever.