Page 88 of The Hunter

“Fuck. Ariana,” Henry panted. “I’m going to come.”

He tried to pull out, but I didn’t let him, gripping his hips and giving a subtle shake of my head.

“Goddamn,” he hissed, his pace becoming almost too much before he exploded into my mouth, my name a benediction on his tongue as I swallowed every last drop.

When his aftershocks had subsided, I pulled off him and licked my lips. He tugged me to my feet and slammed his mouth against mine, kissing me like he didn’t care that he could taste himself on my tongue.

Then he murmured, “Panties.”

I tilted my head. “What?”

“Take off your panties,” he instructed.

More than eager to continue this, I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and slid them down. Before I could kick them away, he grabbed them, brought them to his face, and inhaled.

“Fucking delicious.”

I pushed out a laugh. “You’re twisted.”

“Oh, princess…” His eyes met mine, dark and full of heat. “You haven’t seen twisted yet.”

He crushed his lips back to mine as he yanked my body against his. It didn’t matter that it had only been a minute since my last orgasm. I ached for more.

“Now I think it’s time for dinner.”

“I’ve certainly worked up an appetite.” I pushed against him and reached for the burner. But he stopped me with a hand around my wrist, slowly shaking his head.

“That’s not the dinner I was thinking about.”

Before I could respond, he threw me over his shoulder and carried me from the kitchen, his limp barely slowing him down.

Setting me onto the dining table, he sank into the chair at the head, his eyes locked on me with unrelenting hunger.

“Now give me something to eat.”

“Yes, sir,” I said as I leaned back and spread my legs for him.

His smirk turned wicked in the seconds before he buried his face between my thighs like a man starved.

And I fed him everything.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Henry

I woke to the scent of her. Faint traces of lavender and powder, like something half-remembered from a dream I didn’t want to leave.

Ariana lay beside me, a single leg slung over me, the sheets barely covering the slope of her hip. Her hair was a tangled halo of gold across the pillow, a few strands brushing my jaw as she breathed soft and slow against my throat.

I still struggled to wrap my mind around the fact that I was sharing a bed with Ariana Kane.

No.

That wasn’t who she was anymore.

That bastard didn’t deserve to have his name attached to her. She was just Ariana now. Just her.

Just…mine.