Chapter 5 Hangry #3
I half sit, pushing him away in the motion.
He watches with hungry eyes as I rip off my shirt, followed by my bra.
I take his shirt off next and am instantly obsessed with the perfection of his chest. The clean outline of muscle beneath warm skin, the scattered soft curl of chest hair.
He’s male in a way that makes something deep in my belly clench.
I pull him back down on top of me. This time, when his hand comes to my breast, it’s skin on skin and absolutely sinful. His thumb brushes my nipple, and I cry out, arching into him. He circles one nipple, then the other, and I grind against his thigh to the rhythm of his hands.
I’m wet between my legs already, ready and aching. His mouth lowers and glides along my jaw, my neck, and down to my breast. He pulls my nipple into his mouth, hot and wet, and flicks the tip with his tongue. I practically levitate off the mattress.
“Oh, yes,” I tell him, beg him. “More.”
He rumbles against my skin and repeats the motion.
This time it’s harder. His teeth tighten, and that strike of his tongue against my sensitive nipple is almost punishing.
I love it. I moan louder, wrap both legs around his pelvis and pull until he settles between my legs, his erection between us, perfectly aligned with my core.
He thrusts into me, instinctive and sharp, a quick motion, and we both groan. The sound is a mixture of desire and frustration.
Why does clothing separate us? Why is he not already inside me?
Logic has fled my mind. I’m working on pure instinct, and I can tell Sorren is too. He works my breast as his hand comes down to slip under the waistband of my pants. I shift to give him better access, wanting nothing more than to have him touch me there. Right there.
This is going fast, and I couldn’t care less.
I want it all. Right now. With him.
His fingers find my clit immediately, like they knew exactly where to go. He circles fingers and tongue at the same time. I gasp and dig my fingers into his back so hard I probably draw blood.
Sorren lifts his head, eyes glazed. They’ve shifted again. Pupils elongating. Inhuman. He brushes his thumb against me, watching my reaction. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I pant, jerking my hips so he’s stimulating me even if he holds still. “Give me. More.” My eyes snap to his, the thought occurring to me that I’m not the only one here, that he may need reassurance, a check-in, too. “Are you okay?”
His gaze clears a little at that, and he chuckles, lighter than I’ve heard before. “I have your breast in my mouth and your sex at my fingertips.” He raises a wiry brow. “I assure you, I am not suffering.”
I smile at that, relieved. That smile dissolves into a throaty groan as his head drops back to my chest. His mouth and his fingers resume their relentless motion.
Stroking, circling, flicking. My attention drifts from one sensation to another.
I’m so aroused, so wet, that when he slides his fingers into me there’s no resistance.
My body opens up, welcomes him, like it’s always known he should be here.
A part of me. He adds one finger, then two, and I buck beneath him to drive them deeper.
He sets a fast pace, pumping his fingers into me with his thumb out, hitting my clit with each motion. I’m drenched and pulsing within seconds.
“Oh, yes. Sorren,” moaning his name as my head whips from side to side like it can’t contain all this pleasure. We’re not even having sex yet, I haven’t even come yet, and this is already better than anything I’ve felt before.
He moves faster. Fingers flexing in me and I can feel it, an orgasm building deep inside me. It comes closer in waves that wash over me, higher and brighter with each one. Behind them a thought forms, relentless. A memory. It burns, like I’ll never reach my peak until I voice it.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. “Bite me,” I beg, fully hearing the whine in my voice and not caring, “Please I want, need, you to bite me.”
Sorren freezes, and I almost break into a sob. I’m raw, unfiltered, teetering on the edge of an orgasm. If he gives up on me now, I might actually die.
His eyes fly to mine, and I don’t miss the twitch of his nose. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice high and thin. His body vibrates against mine, a storm barely restrained. I can see it then; he wants it just as much as I do. He needs the bite too. The binding it does to the both of us.
“Yes,” I answer, clutching his shoulder. “Do it. Bite me now.”
His eyes slide closed, and with something that sounds exactly like a whimper he drops his mouth to my breast. Not my nipple this time, but the smooth skin right above it.
His teeth hit at the same time as his fingers, and I’m lost. Drowning in it.
The twin sensations of his mouth gently drawing on my skin.
The sink of his fingers deep inside of me.
My back bows so hard off the bed that I fear it might break as a shout of ecstasy rips from my throat.
I come shuddering against him, wave after wave of pleasure.
Each muscle screaming as it clenches and relaxes.
It’s not just my body breaking, but my mind as well. It untethers, frees itself from my consciousness. It floats through the darkness, seeking a light ahead.
Something, someone, I recognize.
Sorren.
My mind finds his as my body writhes beneath him, but here in the dark it’s calm. Peaceful. I wind my consciousness around his. Words unspoken but recognized anyway.
You. Me. Us.
I say to him. Emotion builds behind each thought.
Mine.
He answers back. The word final. Irrevocable. Binding.
Two become one as I slowly return to my body, softening beneath him. I fall boneless and breathless onto the bed.
My mind reforms. Comes back to full consciousness.
For one fragile second, everything is still.
Then Sorren goes rigid beside me.
The warmth between us vanishes.
His head lifts, nostrils flaring. His eyes, wide and fear-stricken, meet mine.
“The hunters,” he whispers, his voice strained. “They’re here.”
***
Nora
My pulse has just begun to settle from the orgasm, but now it spikes with fear.
“Now? Here?” I search the room frantically, like they’re already with us. Hunters. Intent on destroying us.
Me and the man I now realize is my mate.
I can feel him, a constant awareness, a pressure humming deep behind my ribs like he’s part of me now. I nudge at that sensation and find fear, which only amplifies my own terror.
Sorren is huge, strong, smart.
A warrior. A leader.
Who would have the power to make him want to run? How frightening must they be?
“Listen,” he says, tilting his head.
And I do.
Not with my ears.
With my mind.
Through Sorren, through our bond, I sense it.
A distant awareness. Foreign. Cold. Moving through the edges of my thoughts like frost creeping over glass.
They’re searching.
My fingers curl instinctively into his shoulders. “How close?”
His head turns slightly, like he’s listening to something I can’t hear. His pupils are still blown wide, that inhuman slit barely visible.
“Too close.”
The words drop between us like a stone.
Adrenaline slams into me, washing away the languid heaviness in my limbs. The room that felt too warm seconds ago now seems cavernous and exposed.
“They can feel us back? The same way we sense them?” I whisper.
His gaze snaps to mine.
“They can feel me,” he corrects. “And now—”
A flicker of something like guilt passes over his face.
“—they can feel you through me, though more faintly.” He grabs my shoulders and squeezes. “I must shift. You take me and run. They do not know what you look like. You may be able to pass them before they scent you.”
I don’t have a chance to respond.
Sorren kisses me, fast and hard. Then he puts his mouth to my neck and bites. A single, quick pinch of his teeth, but still I feel it rush through me like pleasure, like the tightening of a knot. My head drops back, my vision blurring at the corners.
Focus.
We don’t have time.
A small white bunny hops between my legs, his stare urgent. I can almost hear him pleading.
Hurry up. Hurry up.
The bond between us pulses.
I jump from the bed and yank on my bra and shirt, then the rest of my outfit.
I learned my lesson getting him out of my school. Sorren’s clothes go into the duffel bag. The last thing I need is to drag a naked man through the Easter egg hunt full of children and end up on the six o’clock news.
I scoop the bunny from the bed, kiss his furry little head, and drop him into the bag with a murmured, “Sorry.”
Hopefully he can breathe in there. Pretty sure the hunters will get suspicious if they catch me speedwalking through a crowd clutching a rabbit like it’s my emotional support animal.
That’s the kind of thing that gets you followed.
And tackled by hotel security.
And tased. Definitely tased.
I’m out the door in two seconds flat.
I choose the stairs over the elevator. They empty into the hotel lobby. The manager I argued with earlier is still there, but he’s not alone.
Three men stand before him.
They’re eerily similar. Same height. Same bland, nondescript features.
Like someone took the same man and stamped him out three times.
The only thing that stands out is their clothing.
Fussy. Old-fashioned. Tweed coats with leather elbow patches.
Brown slacks and matching loafers. One wears a bow tie.
Another a cap like those old newsboys used to wear, the ones who called out Extra! Extra! Read all about it!
I notice a final, more terrifying detail as I stride behind them, hurrying as fast as I can without breaking into a full run.
One of them shifts, his coat gapes open. and I see it.
The shiny silver flash of a revolver.
My blood chills to ice.
These men might not be from my world, but it looks like they know exactly what it takes to kill here.