Page 83 of The Ecstasy of Sin

Hunter lets out several sharp barks, the squirrel now perched on a branch with its tail twitching in irritation. I smile as I watch the interaction, Hunter’s tail swishing like he’s proud of himself.

Abandoning the very threatening squirrel, Hunter takes a turn that looks like it leads us back home. Dominic mentioned we were taking a smaller loop in the trail system, and Hunter probably knows these paths by heart.

“So… you do this every day?” I ask.

Dominic nods. “Ryker’s busy running Blood Siphon most of the time, but he shows up to take care of Hunter as often as the other two. Sometimes they fight over who gets to take him for a long hike, or for a jog out here in the woods.”

“Hunter is so loved,” I say, mostly to myself, as I watch the big, happy-go-lucky German Shepherd trot ahead of us like he doesn’t have a single worry in the world.

After another twenty minutes spent in surprisingly comfortable silence, we make it back home.

As soon as he opens the front door, Hunter trots inside and drinks deeply from his bowl. Then he curls up on his bed with a long, satisfied sigh.

Dominic places Hunter’s well-worn leather collar with its matching leash on a hook next to the whiteboard by the door. Once Hunter’s gear is put away, he turns to me with his hand extended.

A blush creeps across my cheeks. I hesitate for a few seconds, then slide my hand into his. “Where are we going?”

“I need a shower before we head out to the club.” He leads me through the spacious bungalow, into the bedroom and straight to the bathroom.

I’m still blushing when he releases my hand to turn on the water in his shower, spacious and sleek, and easily large enough for two.

When he turns back, he steps into my space and crowds me. My heart begins to race as he looks down at me with an intensity that has my lips parting as my breath becomes a little uneven.

“Did… did you want me to wait in the bedroom?” I ask, my voice so quiet it’s barely louder than a whisper.

He shakes his head.

I feel like I’m running a fever as I watch him reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head, and tossing it into the laundry basket in the corner of the bathroom.

He breathes deeply, and my eyes shamelessly roam his powerful chest. His abdominal muscles are something out of a fitness magazine. His work out routine must be intense.

He steps into me, closing the distance between us. One of his heavily inked arms snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against his rock solid body.

“I love how soft your body feels against mine,” he confesses, his voice gravelly with lust.

I’ve never been confident with my body, so his words make my blush deepen. Between being predisposed to chubbiness when I’m not starving, and stretch marks from a lifetime of rapid weight fluctuations, I’m not exactly the picture perfect model I imagine men as gorgeous as Dominic attract.

As if he can sense my disbelief, he pulls my body harder against his, until I feel the rigid length of his hard cock between us. “You’re beautiful, Wren,” he says pointedly. “I don’t deserve you at all, but I’m a greedy bastard, and I won’t let you go.”

My head tilts back as I look up into his eyes. All I find is sincerity, and it makes my heart ache.

He leans down, his mouth finding my throat. He kisses me there, his lips brushing across my fluttering pulse.

My knees weaken as lust brews inside of me like a violent storm, threatening to once again steal every bit of my questionable sanity.

His mouth leaves a hot trail from my throat to my jaw, until his hand grips my face and forces our mouths together in a sensual clash.

His kiss is drugging, his tongue sweeping into my mouth to stroke against my own. I melt against him, dizzy from the feel of his huge, powerful body pressed against mine. He’s overwhelming, overpowering, and dangerously seductive.

I didn’t think I had a type before now, but Dominic is it for me.

When he pulls back, I’m panting softly as I watch him slowly lower himself to his knees on the cold tile floor.

His hands slide up to my hips, gripping the waistband of my leggings and tugging them down. The way he lifts each of my feet with care—like I’m something precious—makes my heart stutter in my chest.

And when he presses several kisses to the insides of my thighs, I start to tremble again.

I sway slightly, drunk with lust, as he rises to his feet. His eyes stay locked with mine as he grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it up over my head.