Page 86 of The Hunter

So many anxieties and alarms clamored about in her restless mind, and with every sweep of his velvet tongue, with every grind of his pressing hips, they became quieter and farther away until only their two panting, clinging bodies were left in the close and intimate darkness.

Millie thought they may have lost themselves at this moment. Perhaps she’d ceased being who she was and he left himself somewhere else. They were no longer actress and assassin. Mother and hunter. They were man and woman. They existed for this moment. In this kiss. And if either of them breached, they would both cease to be.

Or perhaps find themselves and remember why this was wrong.

If this was his dream, Millie also never wanted to wake. She felt safe here, in the hold of a dangerous man. How could that be? Why did she trust him so?

Over her gown, his big hands found her breasts and engulfed them. She could feel the roughness of his palms through the thin fabric. The calluses brushed her hardened nipples and drew a soft sound of surprise and appreciation from her throat.

Her palms smoothed down the muscled ridges of his shoulders, testing their width. The webbing of his scars softened her heart, enough that she lifted her lips and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

He tensed and made a sound she couldn’t identify. Encouragement or censure, she couldn’t tell until he spoke. “Don’t be kind to me,” he ordered roughly, and tore her nightgown down the front. “I don’t know what to do when you’re kind.”

He bent to claim her breasts with his mouth. His hands lifted and molded them as his tongue circled the buds until her entire body felt like it was burning. His licks turned to nips, and then tugs, drawing small whimpers from her throat. She writhed against his touch. The darkness fueled her boldness, hid her blushes, and intensified every sensation.

She’d never considered how lovely it would feel to lie beneath a man. To cradle something so warm and large was shockingly tantalizing. A pose as eternal as time, itself, but in that moment Millie felt as though she were experiencing something unique.

His rough chin scratched at the soft valley between her breasts, and she stiffened when she realized his mouth was drifting lower, leaving her upper half completely exposed.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Your scent on my body, on my hands, drove me mad with hunger,” he said against the plane of her quivering belly. “Once I bathed I wanted it back. I want to taste you until you say my name.”

Dear sweet Lord, she couldn’t let him do that. It was too wicked. God, who was this man? Where was her terse assassin? Where was the man who bent her over and took her with her clothes left on? The one who’d pleasured her in the ballroom earlier and then pushed her away and disappeared? Who knew that in his dreams he was so utterly sexual? That he could set her blood to burning and mortify her at the same time?

Those rough palms pushed her legs apart, making room for his broad shoulders.

“Wait,” she breathed, overwhelmed, overstimulated, and suddenly very self-conscious.

“No.” His teeth nipped at the thin, sensitive skin inside her thigh as his finger split through the wet folds, coating him with her slick desire.

She bucked at the sensation as it branded its way through her blood. His other hand reached around her thigh and pressed her abdomen down, holding her hostage for his pleasure.

“I love you like this. Spread open and wet for me,” he confessed roughly. “I wanted you like this… I just can’t—” He broke off, silent for a tense moment.

Can’t what?

His finger slipped inside her and her entire body heaved beneath the sweetness of it. All breath left her lungs in a pleasured rush.

“Just like I remember,” he murmured against her thigh. “Soft… tight… drenched.”

Untried muscles clenched involuntarily around his finger and he let out a soft curse.

“Sorry,” she gasped.

“Don’t ever apologize to me…” he said tightly, eliciting a breathy sound when he withdrew his finger, and joined it with another. They didn’t slide inside her easily, but pushed, their way somewhat eased by the slick moisture there.

“So tight,” he growled. “You were so fucking tight… Christ.”

She couldn’t speak, only gasp and whimper as his fingers worked their way out of her before plunging back in again. Shefelttight, and aching.

To her ultimate disappointment, he pulled his fingers from her and she whimpered her displeasure.

“I could taste you every night,” he moaned.

Sweet Jesus, had he just licked the fingers that—

“I need to taste more of you, Millie.” He pressed her thighs wider with his shoulders. “I need it all.”