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He was demanding. Untamed.
And that shock of electricity and a kind of primitive recognition she didn’t want to acknowledge resonated inside her, catapulting her out of her head and the past at last—and directly into the fire.
His fire.
And Zoe let herself burn.
* * *
Yes, Hunter thought, and took her.
Her mouth, hot and sweet, clever and sharp and his, like the finest wine he’d ever tasted. His hands in her hair, tumbling the black silken mess of it down from the elegant twist that hid it away. That wild spice of her desire against his tongue, her tight curves wrapped around his body, incandescent and addictive—
Yes.
He felt as if he’d wanted her forever. As if he’d never wanted anything but this and never would. Zoe, her wicked mouth meeting his, daring him, challenging him even now.
And he couldn’t get enough. He couldn’t taste her enough, he couldn’t get close enough. Finally, he wasn’t frozen. He wasn’t numb. He felt everything and he wanted more. He wanted.
Again and again, until they were both sated.
Yes.
She laughed then, a husky, inflamed sound, and he realized he’d spoken out loud.
But it penetrated that tight fist of need that held him in a vise. Hunter set her down on her feet, then smiled, and he could feel the edge in it. He saw her dark gray eyes widen slightly, heard her breath come harder.
Perhaps a better man wouldn’t revel in that. But he did.
He moved toward her, backing her up, herding her toward the absurd monstrosity of a bed that dominated the room. Zoe swallowed convulsively, audibly, but she went. Slowly. Never taking her eyes from his.
He liked that, too.
Hunter pulled his shirt off with one hand, impatient with the split second he lost sight of her beneath the fabric. He reached down and unbuttoned his trousers, then forgot about them, because they’d reached the first step that led to his bed.
“Don’t trip,” he said, and his voice sounded like a stranger’s in the thick silence. Rough and hot.
“Don’t let me fall,” she retorted, a flash of her usual fire moving over those flushed cheeks of hers, and Hunter grinned.
She was his. All of her. At last.
No masks. Only Zoe.
He didn’t think he’d ever let her go.
“I’ll pick you right back up again,” he told her, and it should have alarmed him, how deeply he meant that. How far it went. But her eyes were like the sea after a long winter’s rain, and he wanted her. “I promise.”
He reached over and wrapped his hands around her hips, easily picking her up and setting her against the edge of the high mattress. He didn’t join her on the dais. He leaned forward instead, kneeling down and pulling her long, smooth legs over his shoulders as he wedged himself between them.
“Remind me,” he said then. “How did you want me to kneel? Like this?”
She muttered something that sounded like a prayer, or maybe it was his name.
“I’m not going to stop,” he warned her, and felt her shudder against him. “I’m going to drown in you, and then I’m going to do it again. And again. Until I’ve had my fill.”
She said something else, fervent and low and unintelligible. She was like a sensual banquet before him, her black hair a tangle around her head, her creamy skin flushed with desire, two scraps of erotic black lace framing that perfect body of hers, and all of it his.
“And I’m warning you, Zoe. That might take a while. I’m a greedy bastard.”
She made a sound that was more like a sob. Hunter laughed.
He smoothed his hands up her silken thighs, drinking in each shiver, each tensing motion she made against him, around him. The black lace she wore was killing him, so sexy against her trim curves, her sweet skin. He could smell lavender again, and it made him even harder than he already was, bordering on desperate. She moved against him, against the bed, still making those noises that weren’t quite words. Needy and mindless, and he was just getting started.
He wanted her screaming his name. He wanted her so badly it felt like a body blow. He didn’t give a shit why she’d sought him out, only that she had.
“You’re mine,” he told her, fierce and sure.
He leaned forward and simply pressed his mouth against the center of her heat, black lace and woman, all Zoe and all his.
And then he feasted.
Chapter Seven
It was like dying.
Dying and then coming back to life, dressed all in fire, and Zoe couldn’t catch her breath. There was only Hunter and that mouth of his, wild and demanding against the heart of her need. She found herself lolling back like a drunk, her arms over her face, panting desperately against the salt of her own skin.
