Run Little Fawn (Hunter’s Mark #1)

Chapter 22

THE FAWN

The moment my eyes meet Lucian's from the stage, I know my plan was a success.

Technically, he's the one who won this hunt, but the look on his face makes it clear I won the game.

The adrenaline pumps through my veins as I move sensually to the music's primal beat, my hips swaying, hands caressing my own curves. I'm acutely aware of every inch of exposed skin, every hungry pair of eyes devouring me, but only one gaze matters.

Lucian's.

His stormy eyes pierce through me, a mixture of raw desire and seething fury.

I can practically feel the heat of his stare singeing my flesh. He's always so controlled, so unflappable, but not tonight. Not with me up here, baring my body and soul under the stage lights.

I arch my back, letting my hair cascade down like a waterfall of golden silk. The move elicits a chorus of appreciative whistles and catcalls from the crowd, but I don't spare them a glance.

My focus remains locked on Lucian as he rises from his seat at the bar, his powerful body coiled tight with barely restrained aggression.

He prowls closer, each step deliberate, predatory, pacing the stage. A lion stalking his prey. But I refuse to be caught, to submit.

Not yet.

I meet his gaze head-on, my lips curving into a defiant smirk. He mouths something, his gaze unflinching and his expression dead. I can make out the words on his lips.

"Get. Down."

I merely quirk an eyebrow in challenge.

Twirling around the pole, I slide to the floor in a split, my fingertips skimming along my inner thighs. The bawdy move earns me a shower of bills fluttering onto the stage like confetti. Lucian's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath the surface.

He's close now. Close enough for me to see the storm brewing in those mesmerizing eyes.

That's when I notice it—the glint of metal at his waist as he shifts his suit jacket aside.

A gun.

My breath hitches, a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through me. He wouldn't use it on me—at least, not until our game is over—but the others? The men leering and lusting after what he considers his?

In that moment, I realize the extent of Lucian's possessiveness. The dark, all-consuming need to claim me, body and soul. It's terrifying and electrifying, knowing the lengths he'd go to keep me as his own. A shiver races down my spine, my skin prickling with heightened awareness.

Slowly, deliberately, I rise to my feet, never breaking eye contact. I trail my hands up my sides, over the swell of my breasts, the column of my throat. His gaze follows the path of my fingers, hot and heavy, branding me with its intensity.

I'm playing with fire, I know, dancing on the edge of his control.

But I can't stop. Won't stop. Because beneath the fear, beneath the unease, there's a dark thrill in pushing him to the brink. In being the one to shatter that ironclad composure.

As the music builds to a crescendo, I spin around the pole one last time before dropping into a low crouch, my thighs spread, back arched.

Lucian looms over me at the front of the stage, his presence overwhelming, consuming. The air between us crackles with tension, with the promise of retribution and pleasure intertwined.

Slowly, I rise to my full height, my body brushing against his in a whisper of a touch. His hand flexes at his side, inches from the gun, and I know I've pushed him to the limit.

Leaning in close, my lips grazing the shell of his ear, I breathe out a single word.

"Checkmate."

Then, with a final smirk, I turn and saunter off the stage, feeling the weight of his gaze on my back like a physical caress.

I've won this round, but the game is far from over.

The moment I step backstage, my heart pounds in my chest, the exhilaration making me lightheaded. I can still feel the heat of the stage lights on my skin, the weight of Lucian's gaze burning into me. It's a high unlike any other, knowing I've pushed him to the brink, shattered that ironclad control.

I barely make it halfway down the dimly lit hallway before a strong hand grips my arm, spinning me around and pinning me against the wall.

Lucian's body presses against mine, hard planes of muscle trapping me in place. His eyes blaze with a storm of emotions—anger, desire, possessiveness—as they bore into mine.

"Well played, little fawn," he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

I tilt my head back, meeting his gaze with a defiant smirk. "Did you enjoy the performance?" I purr, rolling my hips against his in a deliberate, provocative motion.

After all, he did catch me.

A groan rumbles deep in his chest, his grip on my arms tightening. "Give me one reason not to kill every man who just had his eyes on you."

I trail my hand down his body, feeling the coiled tension beneath his suit. My fingers dance along the waistband of his slacks, teasing, tempting. "I can think of one right now," I breathe, my lips grazing the edge of his jaw.

Lucian's control snaps.

With a growl, he hauls me flush against him, his mouth claiming mine in a bruising kiss. It's all teeth and tongue, a clash of wills and desire.

I melt into him, my hands fisting in his hair, giving as good as I get.

"Dressing room. Now." His command leaves no room for argument, his voice rough with need.

Not want. Need.

I lead him down the hall, my heart racing, skin tingling with anticipation. The moment we step inside the private room, Lucian kicks the door shut and pushes me up against it, his body caging me in.

His hands roam over my curves, possessive, demanding, as if he's staking his claim on every inch of my flesh.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he rasps against my ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Flaunting yourself up there, teasing me, pushing me to the edge."

I arch into his touch, a breathy moan escaping my lips. "That's the point, isn't it? To make you lose control, to shatter that perfect composure."

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes dark with hunger. "Careful what you wish for, little fawn. You might just get it."

With that, he captures my mouth again, his kiss searing, consuming. I surrender to the onslaught of sensation, the heat of his touch, the press of his body against mine. It's a dance of dominance and submission, push and pull, a game we both crave.

His hands skim along my thighs, hiking up the flimsy material of my costume. I wrap my legs around his waist, grinding against the hard evidence of his desire. A groan tears from his throat, his hips rocking into mine, seeking friction, relief.

"You're mine," he growls against my skin, his teeth scraping along my collarbone. "Only mine."

"Prove it," I challenge, my nails raking down his back, urging him closer.

A shiver runs through me at his commanding tone, but it's not fear that makes my skin prickle.

It's need.

Desire.

I want him to claim me, mark me as his with his hands and his teeth. I lean into him, my breath coming in short gasps as his teeth scrape along my sensitive skin.

"Yours," I whisper, my eyes closing at the feel of his lips on my throat.

I tilt my head back, baring my neck to him, an invitation, a surrender. His hands are everywhere, leaving no inch of my body untouched, unmarked by his passionate exploration.

I relish the feel of his hands gripping my thighs, his fingers digging into my skin as he lifts me, pressing me back against the door.

The hard wood bites into my back, but I don't care. I'm beyond sensation, lost in the feel of his body moving against mine, his kisses, his hands.

His mouth trails down, leaving a scorching path along my collarbone, my shoulders, my breasts.

A moan escapes my lips, turning into a gasp as he rips off my bra and takes one peaked bud into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, his teeth.

I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him to me, wanting more, needing it.

Then, as quickly as it started, he pulls away, his eyes dark and hooded as they bore into mine. "You're driving me insane." He growls, his voice hoarse with restrained need.

I smile, a mischievous, triumphant smile, even as I feel his arousal against my thigh. "Good. I believe that was the plan."

My back meets the wood of the door again, and I feel him, hot and hard, pressing against me. His hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back, exposing the line of my throat.

I can feel his breath as he moves closer, a soft touch of his lips as he kisses the sensitive skin there.

My skin tingles, alive with sensation, as his kisses travel along my jaw, down my neck, toward the pulse point where I can feel his mouth on me.

His hands tighten on my thighs, and I know what he's about to do. That delicious anticipation curls in my belly, as his fingers hook into the thin material of my panties, tearing it away with a sharp movement. There's a flash of cool air and then he frees himself from his slacks and boxers.

I can feel his arousal, hard and insistent, as it presses against my belly, seeking that sweet spot that will drive us both wild. His hands are everywhere, branding me, claiming me, and I'm ready to be consumed.

As I feel him tear away the last barrier save for my garter belt, his mouth finds mine, and the kiss is fierce, possessing.

I submit to his touch, his taste, my hands on his shoulders, his chest, exploring, needing to feel the hard planes of his body under my fingertips.

He takes me with a fierceness that steals my breath away, claiming me as his. His thrust is forceful, pressing me back against the door with the weight of his body.

For a moment, the world narrows to the feel of him filling me, possessing me, brandishing his own brand of dominance. I feel his power, his raw, unyielding need, and it ignites something primal within me.

A strangled moan escapes my throat as the fullness of him stretches and claims me. He sets a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward with each relentless thrust.

The force of it reverberates through me, slamming me back against the unforgiving wood. The impact jolts through my body, sending sparks of pleasure and pain flaring along my nerve endings.

I'm aware of the bite of the door at my back, the heat of his breath on my skin, the harsh rasp of his jeans against my inner thighs.

Sensations collide and merge, blurring the lines between pleasure and pain. It's a heady mix, pushing me to the precipice of something wild and untamed.

My fingers dig into his shoulders, feeling the bunch and roll of his hard muscles as he moves within me. The sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the room, accompanied by the raw music of our staggered breathing and broken moans.

There's no gentleness here, no soft words or tender caresses. This is about possession and domination, about fulfilling the dark, unspoken needs that haunt us both.

I revel in the bite of his teeth on my shoulder, the bruising grip of his hands on my hips, holding me in place as he moves with ruthless precision. A primal display of the underlying tension that has existed between us since the beginning.

I knew he had this in him. Something in me called to that untamed part of him, urged him to lay claim to me in a way that was raw and real and undeniable.

And now, here we are.

I raise my legs, wrapping them tighter around his waist, taking him deeper still. His eyes, blazing with a feral light, hold mine captive as he pushes relentlessly forward, my name a hoarse, husky mantra on his lips.

My nails scrape down his back, a silent demand for more, for everything he can give me. Our bodies shine with sweat, our movements becoming frenzied as we hurtle toward the precipice. His fingers bite into my skin, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

He reaches between us, his thumb rubbing fast, expert circles around my clit as his cock finds my spot time and again with each thrust. I'm so close, so deliciously enraptured by all the sensations he's unleashing on me, I can hardly even remember where I am.

And then, with one final thrust, we free-fall.

Our release comes in a rush, a cataclysmic explosion of sensation that leaves us both breathless and spent. He slumps against me, his forehead resting on mine, our hearts pounding a wild rhythm against each other's rib cages.

In the quiet that follows, I feel him stir, his breath warm against my skin as he plants a soft, possessive kiss on my shoulder.

"Mine," he whispers, his tone leaving no room for argument. I can't find the words to respond, my body still thrumming with the aftershocks of our climax. "You're fucking mine, and if another man even looks at you, I'll gouge out his eyes."

Those words should disgust me. Horrify me. They definitely shouldn't stoke the embers of lust in my belly.

"And if he touches me?" I challenge.

I shouldn't be encouraging this, let alone taunting him, and yet when I see the rage flare in his eyes, it's worth it.

"If he touches you," he continues, cupping his hand beneath the curve of my jaw with a gentleness that belies the brutality in his words, "I'll cut his fucking hand off and shove it down his throat."

He thrusts into me as if to punish me, even if the ecstasy that unfurls in me is anything but a deterrent for future recklessness.

"And what about the Order?" I ask.

Lucian stills against me, his body tensing. Slowly, he pulls back, his stormy eyes meeting mine.

The heat of passion is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but there's something else now.

A flicker of unease, of uncertainty.

If I didn't know better, I'd think there was hesitation.

"There's no point in thinking about that right now," he mutters.

There's an edge to his voice, a hint of desperation that makes my heart clench. I've always seen Lucian as an unstoppable force, a predator without weakness. But in this moment, I catch a glimpse of the man beneath the monster.

"No," I murmur. "Guess not."

As we slowly disentangle, I feel the loss of his warmth immediately, a chill creeping over my sweat-slicked skin.

My legs tremble slightly as my feet touch the ground, and I have to brace myself against the door for a moment to regain my balance. Lucian steps back, his eyes never leaving mine as he tucks himself back into his slacks with deft, efficient movements.

I bend to retrieve my discarded costume, wincing slightly at the soreness between my thighs. A delicious ache that serves as a reminder of what just transpired.

As I slip back into the flimsy material, at least what's left of it, I can feel Lucian's gaze on me, heavy and intense, tracking my every movement.

"So," I say, my voice still a bit breathless. "Does this mean I won this round?"

Lucian's lips quirk, a ghost of a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Depends on your definition of winning, little fawn."

I pause, considering his words.

In a way, he's right. If my goal was to push him to the brink, to shatter that ironclad control, then yes, I've won.

But there's more to it than that, isn't there? Beneath the games, beneath the push and pull of our twisted desires, there's something else. Something deeper, more profound.

I think back to that flicker of hesitation I saw in his eyes, that brief glimpse of some humanity within him. It's there, buried deep, but not entirely lost.

And that, more than anything, feels like a victory.

I finish dressing and turn to face him fully, a smirk playing on my lips. "By my definition? Yeah, I'd say I won."

His eyes narrow, a flash of something dark and dangerous in their depths. "And what exactly is your definition, Aria?"

The use of my name sends a shiver down my spine. It's rare for him to use it, to acknowledge me as anything more than a plaything, a pawn in his twisted games. But there's a weight to it now, a significance that hangs heavy from my shoulders.

I step closer, my hand coming up to rest on his chest. I can feel the steady thump of his heart beneath my palm, a reminder that despite everything, he's still human. Still flesh and blood and bone.

"My definition," I murmur, my eyes locked on his, "would be you coming back to the hotel with me tight."

Lucian goes still beneath my touch, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he simply stares at me, those stormy eyes searching mine for something I can't quite name.

Then, slowly, he raises his hand to cover mine, his fingers curling around my wrist in a grip that's both gentle and unyielding.

His silence stretches on, heavy and thick, as he considers my words. I search his face for any hint of what he's thinking, any flicker of emotion, but his expression remains inscrutable.

The weight of his gaze bears down on me, intense and penetrating, as if he's trying to see into the very depths of my soul. My heart pounds in my chest, a dizzying mix of anticipation and uncertainty coursing through my veins.

What is he thinking?

Does he see this as a weakness, a crack in my armor?

Or does he understand the unspoken plea beneath my bold invitation? That there's a part of me that craves more. Craves him.

The seconds tick by, each one feeling like an eternity as I wait for his response.

His hand is still wrapped around my wrist, his touch searing my skin like a brand. I'm acutely aware of every point of contact between us, the heat of his body seeping into mine, the subtle shift of his muscles beneath his suit.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, he speaks.

"Lead the way, little fawn."

The words are low, almost a growl, but there's a hint of something else beneath the gruffness. Something that sounds almost like acquiescence. Like surrender.

I release a breath, my lips curving into a small, triumphant smile. It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

I step back, my hand slipping from beneath his as I turn toward the door. I can feel his presence behind me, looming and powerful, as I lead him out of the dressing room and down the dimly lit hallway.

The click of my heels against the floor echoes in the silence between us. I can't help but think it sounds an awful lot like the ticking of the clock that's been running since the moment we met.

As we step out into the cool night air, I'm struck by a sense of unreality. Is this really happening? Am I really leading Lucian Voss, the Hunter, the monster, back to my hotel room? It feels like a dream, a fantasy born of too many late nights and too much pent-up desire.

But the weight of his hand on the small of my back as he guides me toward his car is real. The heat of his gaze on my skin as he opens the passenger door for me is real. The tension that crackles between us, electric and alive, is real.

I slide into the leather seat, the door closing with a soft thud behind me. Lucian climbs into the driver's side, the engine purring to life beneath his touch. As we pull out onto the empty streets, I let my head fall back against the headrest, my eyes drifting closed.

What am I doing? What am I getting myself into? These questions swirl through my mind, but I push them aside. For now, in this moment, I don't want to think. I don't want to analyze or strategize or second-guess.

I just want to feel. To lose myself in the heat and the hunger.

Because beneath the fear, beneath the unease, there's a dark thrill in this. In pushing him, challenging him, drawing him closer to the edge. It's a dangerous game, one that could consume me if I'm not careful. But I can't seem to stop. Won't stop.

As the city lights blur past the window, I let myself sink into the moment. Into the anticipation, the excitement, the delicious ache of wanting. Whatever happens next, whatever consequences the Hunt brings… I'll face them.

But for now, for tonight, I'm exactly where I want to be.