Page 130 of Hunted

Strategic.

Win-win.

I reach for his zipper.

His hand tightens at my waist and he shakes his head once, almost lazily. ‘No. You first.’

I blink at him, fingers hovering over the hard outline of him. ‘I didn’t realise this was a timed practical exam in advanced vampire hospitality.’

My fingers skate over his cock as I say it, because if I’m going to be mouthy, I may as well be thorough.

The effect is immediate.

He grunts low in his throat, grip tightening painfully at my waist. At my involuntary wince, he releases me at once and raises his arm to join the other on the headboard.

His fingers tighten on the iron bars hard enough that tendons stand out in his forearms. The movement ripples through his chest and stomach in one brutally beautiful line of tension that makes my mouth water.

There’s power in this.

Real power.

Watching how much I affect him. Watching this ancient, dangerous creature strain beneath my touch and let me see it.

It would be easy to get drunk on that. Also very stupid to forget what he is so making him snap is probably not my best idea this week.

So I slide off him before I do something reckless and stand at the edge of the bed, pulse skittering, skin hot, trying to look like I have any idea what I’m doing.

He watches me like a starving king trying to remember his manners as I peel off my top.

His gaze drops, slow and measured, over my skin. Somehow more intimate than if he’d lunged. By the time I unhook my bra, his mouth has gone still.

When I free my breasts, his cock jumps.

He licks his lips and mutters something under his breath in a language I don’t know.

I toss the bra away because if I hold on to it, I might put it back on and flee the country.

My hand goes to my trouser zipper.

Then I remember, belatedly, with a hot flood of embarrassment, that he tore my panties to shreds earlier.

So I’m naked beneath my trousers.

I glance at him.

His smile is wicked enough to qualify as a felony. Hot enough to have melted my panties if I’d still been wearing any.

Face flaming, I tug off my boots first because I suddenly need another task and boots are practical. Then socks. Then back to the trousers. The awkward shuffle of getting one ankle free without face-planting in front of a vampire who could stop time enough to witness every humiliating angle.

When I straighten, I’m naked.

Completely naked in front of this man for the second time today.

The room goes very quiet.

Valentin doesn’t pounce.

There’s no smug male satisfaction. No vulgar comment meant to make me feel small, which I did not expect but still weirdly braced for.