Page 88 of The Hunter

Rolling his hips, he found her opening and gently slipped the head of his shaft inside of her heat, sheathing himself inch by aching inch. She was as tight as he remembered, but nothing tore this time, nothing barricaded his way.

She gasped and the sound did something delicious to his chest. It swelled somehow, expanded.

“Ohhh.” Her elegant hands feathered over his back. “That’s so… much.”

“Too much?” Had he hurt her? Even here, even in his dream, he didn’t think he could go through that again.

“Don’t… stop,” she cried between heavy breaths.

He didn’t think he could. Blood poured the fires of lust through every nerve, and if he pulled away now, it would surely kill him. It was her fault. She was too sweet, too soft. She was everything a fantasy should be, and somehow more.

He glided back and drove forward again, reveling in her small sounds of pleasure. Only in a dream could something feel this right. Could the icy void become a warm, velvety sheath. A cradle of silken flesh and soft murmurs. Only in a dream could he rediscover what wonder felt like.

He gave himself to her in deep, slow thrusts. Lost part of himself with each stroke. Something came alive inside him, grew, glowed, and pulsed. He wanted to shrink from it, from the pressure, from the pleasure, but he was a man of pure primal lust now. Made of nothing but carnal instinct. Her little, high mewls drove him forward until it was not enough. It was never enough. It would neverbeenough. Desperate to get deeper, he slipped one of her legs over his shoulder, angling himself so deep that he thought he felt her womb.

Her sob touched him as deeply as he penetrated her. Soft hips spread beneath him in sweet feminine submission.

“Come for me,” he demanded on long, almost punishing thrusts. “Say my name… One… more… time.”

“Christopher.” His name was ripped from deep in her throat.“Please.”A plea or a prayer, he couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. She whimpered, then screamed. Her body clenched around his cock, bore down on him with a throbbing pressure so intense, he couldn’t fight it.

He closed his eyes, battling the ecstasy building in his abdomen and preparing to burst from him. He clung to the moment, held as long as he could.

Now he would wake. Now he would lose her—

Hot release spilled through him and he gasped his disbelief as his breath expelled along with his seed. He couldn’t draw air back into his lungs. Could do nothing but jerk and strain as every muscle clenched, held prisoner by pleasure. Consumed by sheer unadulterated bliss. It pulsed from him, poured from him, bathing her womb with warmth and further easing his last desperate thrusts.

The tempest passed as abruptly as it had hit him, and in its wake left a crushing destruction. Horror turned his blood to ice, even as the heat of lust still sang through him.

“You’re… still here.” He stood, the wetness of his manhood against his thigh an awful cold burst of reality.

“Where else would I be?” He could hear the confusion mingling with something else in her voice that made it husky and thick. It sickened him. Regret? Fear? Pain?

Christ. The things he’d said to her. The things they’d just done…

She’d been—shewas—beneath him. She’d shivered when he settled above her.

He’d held her down…

Fuck.

“Christopher?”

He stumbled blindly toward the door, kicking it open and making his way on weak legs down the dim hall. He was running. Running from the darkness. From the lily-white woman of his dreams.

From the fantasy that had quickly become a nightmare.

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

Christopher’s knuckle split as it glanced off the rough wood stump he’d weighted down with stones in his training room. Rain pelted the windows and cast the room in late-morning gray, turning his implements into shadows.

Cursing his lack of concentration, he welcomed the sharp, stinging burn like an old friend. The pain would bring focus, the blood would foster clarity.

I want you.

Then I’m yours.

A harsh sound ripped through the emptiness of the room, a growl he could barely identify as his own as he clenched his wounded fist and drove it into the wood again. And again. And again.