Chapter 26 A Hunter’s Dream
Now
Pale morning light filters through the cabin’s grimy windows, painting everything in soft grays and gold.
I wake to the sound of Max’s steady breathing, his arm heavy across my waist, our bodies still tangled beneath the musty blanket.
For a moment—just one perfect, suspended moment—I let myself believe we’re a normal couple in a normal cabin, waking up after a normal night of lovemaking.
Then reality crashes back. The surveillance photos. The threats. The symbol carved into Janet Wilson’s flesh. The knowledge that somewhere out there, powerful people are planning to finish what they started with me.
But looking at Max’s peaceful face, at the way the morning light catches the long lashes of his closed eyes, I feel something I haven’t experienced in months: hunger that has nothing to do with fear or survival.
Pure, uncomplicated desire for this man who’s chosen to stand with me against the darkness.
I ease myself out of his embrace, moving with the silent grace I learned during years of sneaking through my family’s mansion. He stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, his breathing remaining deep and even. Perfect.
I position myself carefully, my thighs bracketing his head as I lower myself toward his sleeping face. The first touch of my center against his lips makes him wake with a start, his hands immediately flying to my hips.
“Belle?” His voice is thick with sleep and confusion, but I can feel his smile against my most intimate flesh.
“Good morning,” I breathe, rolling my hips slightly. “I thought I’d give you a proper wake-up call.”
His response is a low groan that vibrates through me, followed by the wet heat of his tongue as he explores my folds with eager precision. This is what I need—not gentle morning affection, but raw hunger, the proof that he wants me as desperately as I want him.
I move faster, steadying myself on the uneven floorboards, grinding myself against his open mouth, and his grip on my hips tightens as he pulls me closer. He lifts his head, tongue darting between my lips, swirling around the aching center of my need.
“Fucking delicious,” he murmurs, and the words send a shudder of pleasure through me.
I try to move, but his hold on me tightens, his pace accelerating until everything else fades.
There’s only heat and movement and sensation, building within me in a wave I can’t outrun, then breaking against the hungry mouth exploring my cunt.
I’m aware, in a distant way, that I’m moaning, my voice loud in the cavernous space as I rock my clit against his seeking tongue, but all that matters is the mounting bliss between my legs and the fact that I’m not in control. Not this time.
“Yes, baby, that’s it,” he growls, guiding me through the movements, his lips vibrating against my neediest spot. “Claim your pleasure. Let me taste you when you break apart.”
And I shatter, bucking against his hungry mouth, his name escaping in a moan that’s more scream than whisper. The orgasm rolls through me, leaving me gasping, then every muscle turns to liquid, and I collapse forward.
His warm arms catch me, stroking my hair as I lie boneless and sated on his chest. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m aware of his pulse hammering beneath my ear, the ragged edge to his breathing, the iron-hard press of his erection against my thigh.
I’m helpless to act on it, though, my body temporarily numb. If not for the warmth of his hands on my back, the steady beat of his heart, I might have fallen away completely, sinking into the sense of pleasure and peace this moment evokes.
“Good morning,” he whispers. “Welcome back, Belle.”
“Mmm.” I can’t form words, so I rest my head on his chest and let myself drift as the cold floor beneath my knees creaks and wavers.
Max runs his hands through my hair, tugging at the roots with enough force to cause discomfort, but in that sharp little bite, there’s an offer, a chance for connection outside of the realm of our fight for survival.
Yes, some part of me wants to cry. Take it. Take everything I have left. He holds the razor-sharp edge of control, the only thing keeping me safe, because I trust Max like I trust my own abilities. Not just to keep me safe, but to heal me.
To redeem me.
He always knows when enough is enough, when I need him to stop, but this morning, he seems content to draw out my pleasure. If I was in my normal frame of mind, I’d be furious at the teasing, but those orgasms have me thinking with the brain that sits at the center of my torso.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, pausing in his caresses to give my hair another tug.
“Fuck,” I sigh, stretching my arms above my head. “I’ve never done that before. Rode a guy’s face like that, I mean. I like it. How about you? You okay down there?”
“Fine.” A smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “Great, actually. You seem a bit more relaxed. Care to share with the class what’s going on inside that brilliant head of yours?”
“What’s going on is I’ve had a lot of emotions lately, mostly fear and sadness, and I just really needed some pleasure,” I whisper, nuzzling against his chest and reveling in the tiny tremor that passes through him.
“It doesn’t mean I’m going to turn my back on this hunt.
It doesn’t mean I’m letting the threats go.
But I needed a moment of this being just us. ”
Max brushes my hair back from my face, his expression open and contemplative. “Of course, baby. That’s why I asked. We both needed a reminder of why we’re fighting.” He releases a slow breath and pulls me up to straddle his lap. “Is it good for us to sit here wrapped up in each other like this?”
“Right now, for me, it’s great,” I reply with a wicked smile. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get to the good part too.”
My gaze wanders to his thick length, and I smirk. I wrap a hand around his cock and squeeze gently, his throat releasing a soft moan.
Max’s eyes slide closed. “Keep doing that and you’re going to make me come right now.”
“Would that make you happy?” I keep my voice low, pumping him once. “To come into my hand while I watch you?”
Max moans again, and I take it as a yes, squeezing a bit harder, rotating my wrist on the downstroke. We don’t break eye contact until his neck snaps back and his eyes roll back in his head and his breath stalls.
He comes with a grunt, pleasure, and something else—something unnamable and profoundly moving—etched across his handsome features, and his cum paints his chest, marking his skin as surely as the bruises and teeth marks I left last night. It’s a sight I’ll remember forever.
As soon as he’s still, his chest heaving, a laugh escapes. It’s not my usual quiet or polite chuckle. This one is deep and warm, and fills the cold, drafty space.
“Holy fuck,” Max breathes, shaking his head as his hand goes to his chin, his smile wide. “Did you plan that? Because damn, woman, that’s some next-level game.”
“Not sure if I’d call it a plan.” I roll off him, taking the blanket with me, and sweep a finger through the mess on his chest.
“We need a shower,” Max says, stretching his long body in a way that makes my mouth water. “You. Me. Hot water. Get that grin off your face, Belle. Shower only. Then we need to get some food in our bellies. Breakfast is my jam.”
“Good,” I say, climbing up off the floor. “Because I am a fucking mess. A happy mess, but a mess, nonetheless.”
The bathroom is surprisingly modern, if not terribly cozy, and with the help of the cabin’s ancient boiler, the hot water runs fast and steaming. Max steps into the stall first and pokes his head around the curtain. “Hop in, firecracker.”
When I step inside, the hot water eases the ache in my muscles, and it feels like falling away from a version of myself I no longer recognize. Maybe this is what I needed all along—the promise of something clean, even in the midst of all the blood and terror.
Or maybe I’m just rambling nonsense to try and fill this space that’s growing between us. It’s not the absence of violence—Max’s arms come around me, his heartbeat strong and steady against my back—but the absence of certainty. The fact that I still can’t decide whether I’m more terrified or angry.
But here, now, surrounded by a steam that fogs out the harsh morning light and swallows the rest of the world, I have the illusion of certainty. As Max slides his hands across my damp skin and his lips brush my shoulder, it doesn’t matter where or how we’re standing.
All that matters is right now.
“We need to feed you.” His breath is warm against the nape of my neck. “And caffeinate the fuck out of you.”
I twist toward him, fighting a wave of sadness that rises out of nowhere. A few hours of stolen paradise don’t make the reality go away. “Is there coffee here?”
“Real shit, in a bag, and a French press.” He gives me a rueful smile. “It’s terrible but drinkable, and there’s a bottle of brandy with our names on it.”
“Let’s do it,” I reply. Then, because this world of illusions can’t stretch to erasing the truth, “I really needed that, but now we have work to do.”
“Belle.”
“Yeah?”
“That,” Max says, his voice still rough, “was an excellent way to start the day.”
“I aim to please.” I press a kiss to his collarbone, tasting salt and satisfaction on his skin. “Though I have to admit, I had ulterior motives.”
“Oh?”
“I needed to feel powerful. In control. After yesterday, after those photos and threats…” I trail off, searching for the right words. “I needed to remember that I’m not just a victim waiting to be sacrificed. I’m someone who takes what she wants.”
His arms tighten around me. “And what do you want, Belle?”
The question hangs in the morning air, loaded with possibilities. What do I want? Not just for today, but for the future we’re fighting to claim?