Page 104 of Hunted

I am already lost.

‘Exquisite,’ I repeat, grip tightening when she trembles again. ‘Do you hear me, little hunter? You make monsters out of men who were doing perfectly well pretending they were stone.’

I spread her exactly as I want her, look up into her face with fury and desire warring in equal measure, then down at her cotton-covered pussy.

One insubstantial rip and her panties are useless shreds on my floor.

And I loose an unstoppable groan at the sight of Eira’s beautiful cunt.

I spread her wider, rabid to see every sublime, drenched shape of her. She squirms, self-consciousness flickering across her face as she tries to close her legs.

‘No. You will show me what I mean to feast on.’

Her flush deepens.

My tongue darts out, anticipation dragging across my lips.

Then I swoop, burying my mouth in her slick cunt.

She gasps and grabs for me, and I close my eyes for one brutal second, half maddened by the taste of her, half enraged that I could kneel here like this and still feel it is not enough.

That it might never be enough.

Which is absurd.

I grunt and growl as I taste and suckle and feast. As she rewards pleasure with increased wetness I am only too eager to drink down. Sweet horned demons, but I could eat her for eternity and it would not be enough.

Is she a fucking witch? Some sort of demoness, able to cast this spell on me?

‘Ah… oh Gods,’ she gasps, fingers delving deeper into my hair, pulling at the roots.

The pain barely registers, but the frantic grip swells my cock thicker, releasing eager, desperate spurts of pre-cum into my trousers.

Stars above, any more and I will blow wide open. Regress to a base creature without control of its impulses.

‘Oh… that feels… Right there!’

I suck, then toss the pebble of her swollen clit over and over my tongue, revelling in the keening sound growing higher in her throat. I barely manage to slot one finger shallowly into her tight channel before she’s screaming.

Her hips pump, grinding against my face, her whole body shaking as slick pours from her, and I cannot stop groaning as I devour it.

For this taste alone, Eira Cross has earned herself a modicum of leeway to sass and snark.

Not much. But I will allow wider parameters. Because this taste… this sensation. Power.

Unique.

Like her.

When she climaxes a second, glorious time, it is with my mouth still fused to her cunt, one hand on her collar-covered throat, basking in the echoing pulses from both vital, beautiful places, and the other curved possessively at her waist.

Her body goes taut, then shatters in waves against mine, the sound she makes low and stunned, as if she did not expect pleasure to betray her so completely.

For one suspended moment, I can do nothing but hold her.

Her breath is ragged, her fingers trembling where they clutch my shirt.

My own body is a live weapon I have not yet sheathed. I am still forcing my fangs down, still deciding whether I am more relieved or enraged that I stopped where I did, when Malachi’s voice strikes across my mind like flint.