both hands around her hips.
His first thrust was hard, unyielding. The second drove her a few inches across the bed, and he gripped her hips and dragged her into the third. Every thrust came harder, faster, threatening to overwhelm her.
Through it all, he watched her in the mirror. His gaze never left her, roaming over her face and body, his eyes flashing satisfaction at every noise he drove from her, every whimper and gasp and sigh.
It was far too intense to last long. Ophelia twisted the covers and bucked, anything to ease the knot inside her. It tightened and built so quickly she wondered if she had come down at all, or if the steady thrust of his body into hers had kept her hovering near another peak all along.
Still watching her, he stroked his hand beneath her body, demanding fingers slicking over her clit as he drove into her again. And again.
Another breathtaking pulse of pleasure rocked her, and she shook beneath him. She’d be sobbing soon, insensible and utterly at his mercy as he spun her higher and higher.
And he’d love it. Thrive on it. Wallow in her pleasure and demand more, all she could give, all he could wrench from her trembling body before he soothed her with soft touches only to start all over.
It was there in his eyes, his hungry blue eyes, fixed on their reflection as he rode her through another throbbing wave of bliss, growling encouragement as her body tightened helplessly around his still-hard cock.
He was a man too long denied, and he wanted everything she had.
Everything she was .
As if he’d heard the thought, his possessive grip on her hips tightened. “Mine,” he rasped, and fucked her over the edge of reason.
Chapter Five
His. His his his.
A refrain. A scream. Screeching discordance, claws raking over him any time her skin wasn’t under his hands, his mouth.
Everything burned, raged, but she was peace. Warm and soft, slick and welcoming. Pale skin on sheets, silken hair wrapped around his fist.
Slender throat.
Swollen lips.
She arched as he pressed into her, deep deep falling drowning beautiful , how her body sheathed him, took him, clasped at him as she shuddered and came and came and came—
Peace. For a moment, a heartbeat, then the fire flared, more demanding than ever.
Under the madness, a man struggled to remember his name. Struggled to remember what names were, why words were important. They tumbled from his mouth beyond his control, sleek and seductive, crude and cunning.
Commands: lick, suck, scream, touch, beg, come.
He was still hard. Always hard, always aching, even when she stroked and touched, when she swallowed him and drove sounds from his throat, moans and guttural cries and the snarls and growls of a monster, a beast, a bloodhound.
When he snarled Ophelia he meant mate .
Release without respite, until her trembling body could take no more. Panic gripped the man, fear that he’d fall on her. Ravage instead of ravish, hurt the woman whose name he fought to whisper.
The beast hissed in outraged fury and gathered their treasure close. Soft touches, soothing and gentle, lulling her into sleep, watching over her even as fire raged. So hard, so hot, arousal a painful pulse as he covered her body with his own. A bloodhound for a blanket, protecting her from the night chill and the heat of their own lust.
Watching, waiting, the beast guarded his mate. Counted her breaths and stroked her hair, and the man struggled to understand gentleness in the midst of unrelenting need.
Fear fractured. Pieces fell away, and the beast slipped into the man as the man slipped into the beast.
Truce. For now.
Ophelia dropped the ignored strawberry back to the silver tray and sighed as Hunter licked her chin. “You have to eat, honey, to keep up your strength.”
“You taste better.” His teeth scraped her jaw, and he chuckled hoarsely. “All over.”
“So do you.” She craned her head and drew her tongue up the side of his throat. “Delicious.”
Hunter
His first thrust was hard, unyielding. The second drove her a few inches across the bed, and he gripped her hips and dragged her into the third. Every thrust came harder, faster, threatening to overwhelm her.
Through it all, he watched her in the mirror. His gaze never left her, roaming over her face and body, his eyes flashing satisfaction at every noise he drove from her, every whimper and gasp and sigh.
It was far too intense to last long. Ophelia twisted the covers and bucked, anything to ease the knot inside her. It tightened and built so quickly she wondered if she had come down at all, or if the steady thrust of his body into hers had kept her hovering near another peak all along.
Still watching her, he stroked his hand beneath her body, demanding fingers slicking over her clit as he drove into her again. And again.
Another breathtaking pulse of pleasure rocked her, and she shook beneath him. She’d be sobbing soon, insensible and utterly at his mercy as he spun her higher and higher.
And he’d love it. Thrive on it. Wallow in her pleasure and demand more, all she could give, all he could wrench from her trembling body before he soothed her with soft touches only to start all over.
It was there in his eyes, his hungry blue eyes, fixed on their reflection as he rode her through another throbbing wave of bliss, growling encouragement as her body tightened helplessly around his still-hard cock.
He was a man too long denied, and he wanted everything she had.
Everything she was .
As if he’d heard the thought, his possessive grip on her hips tightened. “Mine,” he rasped, and fucked her over the edge of reason.
Chapter Five
His. His his his.
A refrain. A scream. Screeching discordance, claws raking over him any time her skin wasn’t under his hands, his mouth.
Everything burned, raged, but she was peace. Warm and soft, slick and welcoming. Pale skin on sheets, silken hair wrapped around his fist.
Slender throat.
Swollen lips.
She arched as he pressed into her, deep deep falling drowning beautiful , how her body sheathed him, took him, clasped at him as she shuddered and came and came and came—
Peace. For a moment, a heartbeat, then the fire flared, more demanding than ever.
Under the madness, a man struggled to remember his name. Struggled to remember what names were, why words were important. They tumbled from his mouth beyond his control, sleek and seductive, crude and cunning.
Commands: lick, suck, scream, touch, beg, come.
He was still hard. Always hard, always aching, even when she stroked and touched, when she swallowed him and drove sounds from his throat, moans and guttural cries and the snarls and growls of a monster, a beast, a bloodhound.
When he snarled Ophelia he meant mate .
Release without respite, until her trembling body could take no more. Panic gripped the man, fear that he’d fall on her. Ravage instead of ravish, hurt the woman whose name he fought to whisper.
The beast hissed in outraged fury and gathered their treasure close. Soft touches, soothing and gentle, lulling her into sleep, watching over her even as fire raged. So hard, so hot, arousal a painful pulse as he covered her body with his own. A bloodhound for a blanket, protecting her from the night chill and the heat of their own lust.
Watching, waiting, the beast guarded his mate. Counted her breaths and stroked her hair, and the man struggled to understand gentleness in the midst of unrelenting need.
Fear fractured. Pieces fell away, and the beast slipped into the man as the man slipped into the beast.
Truce. For now.
Ophelia dropped the ignored strawberry back to the silver tray and sighed as Hunter licked her chin. “You have to eat, honey, to keep up your strength.”
“You taste better.” His teeth scraped her jaw, and he chuckled hoarsely. “All over.”
“So do you.” She craned her head and drew her tongue up the side of his throat. “Delicious.”
Hunter
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