Page 79 of The Hunter

This time, he kissed me back.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ariana

Henry’s lips moved against mine, and everything else slipped away — pain, fear, memory, even air. There was only him. Only us. And this kiss that stole my breath and jumpstarted my heart at the same time.

His mouth was warm and insistent, a mix of heat and hunger, but laced with something deeper. Restraint. Reverence.Respect. It was just a kiss. Just two lips pressed together, two tongues exploring.

Yet it felt much more intimate than any of the times Victor had forced himself on me. I’d learned how to shut down. Disengage. Go somewhere else mentally. It was the only way to survive what he put me through.

But right now, I didn’t want to shut down. Didn’t want to disengage. Didn’t want to go somewhere else mentally.

I wanted to anchor myself to the present. To this moment I’d chosen.

And god, it felt good to choose. To crave. To want and be wanted in return.

Henry’s tongue swept across mine, coaxing rather than controlling, and I melted into him. Every part of me felt like it was waking up after a long winter, numbness giving way to need.

And not just for his mouth. I wanted more of him.

I wantedallof him.

But before I had a chance to deepen the kiss even more, Henry tore away. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, chest heaving through his ragged breaths.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispered, like he didn’t trust himself to speak louder.

With a smirk, I lifted a brow at the very obvious tent beneath the towel. “From where I’m standing, it looks like I’m turning you on.”

He cupped my cheek, gripping me like I was the only real thing he could hold on to.

“You’re going to make me break all my damn rules,” he rasped, his lips a breath from mine.

“Rules are made to be broken,” I whispered.

That was all it took. With a low growl, he slammed his mouth back against mine.

His kiss turned frantic, stealing my breath as he moved a hand to my hip and guided me across the room. When the back of my knees hit the bed, I fell onto the mattress with a soft thud, looking up at him with hungry eyes.

He stood above me for only a moment. Then the towel dropped, and I had to remind myself to breathe.

He was beautiful. Like a Greek god. All muscle and scars and shadows. Real and raw and mine, if only temporarily.

With heat in his gaze, he crawled on top of me, his eyes tracing over every inch of my face, as if he were trying to imprint me to memory.

Then he lowered his lips to mine and kissed me again.

It was chaos and control, his tongue tangling with mine like he couldn’t get enough, his hands caressing me like I was something fragile. He had all the power in the world to take, and yet he gave, each movement deliberate, bordering on restrained.

I ran my palms over his chest, desperate to explore every inch of him.

And he let me. He didn’t stop me as I traced the scar along his spine, then another near his shoulder blades. I mapped his body like it was a story I wanted to read over and over again.

With each brush of my hand against his skin, he kissed me harder until the taste of him was carved into my soul. A slave to sensation, I wrapped my legs around his waist and rolled my hips in slow, teasing pulses.

“Fuck,” he groaned, tearing his lips from mine and burying his head in the crook of my neck.

His unshaven jawline was invigorating on my skin, making me feel more alive, more desperate, more in control than I ever had before.