Chapter 22 Sacred Vows #4
All she had to do was breathe the word ‘stop’ and the game would be over, but what fun would that be? Dear God, she was as twisted as him, as unhinged as every name on the stacks of applications in his office.
His hand closed around her neck, forcing her wild eyes to focus. Hunter would never accept less than her full attention.
“Whose pussy is this?” His other hand clamped between her legs, massaging firmly.
“Tvoya,” she gasped, the Russian word for yours causing him to growl and tighten his grip another degree.
“Fucking right, it is. Moya. All mine.”
“Yes,” she breathed, the word synonymous for her surrender and his invitation all at once.
His kiss was brutal, claiming, all teeth and tongue and dominance.
He devoured her mouth like a starving man presented with a feast, like he could consume her entirely and still not have enough.
One hand remained tangled in her hair while the other roamed her body with rough possession, squeezing her breast hard enough to make her gasp, then softer, thumbing her nipple through the fabric until it peaked painfully.
When Hunter touched her, he demanded her full focus. To him, when they were alone, she belonged solely to him. It seemed to be a requirement they all accepted and no one dared to challenge.
“My lisichka,” he growled, his voice thick with absolute possession.
The primal taste of his desire caused her to moan into his mouth. His scent surrounded her, overwhelmed her—cedar and sweat and raw masculine hunger that was more intoxicating than any drug they’d forced down her throat at Whitmore.
“Pants off,” he commanded against her lips, the words vibrating through her. “Now.”
Her hands shook as she fumbled with the button, fingers clumsy with need and adrenaline.
She shoved the fabric down her legs, the air against her bare skin feeling cool despite the tropical heat.
He didn’t wait for her to step out of them completely before spinning her around with bruising force, pressing her front against the trunk.
The bark abraded her breasts, her belly, her thighs, intensifying every sensation until each nerve ending sung with awareness.
“Don’t move.” He pushed her hands to the trunk, silently commanding her to stay.
She gripped the tree, her nails biting into the bark. Behind her, something snapped and she turned. Hunter fisted the stem from a nearby aloe plant.
“What are you doing with that?”
He bit into the green branch, peeling open the leaf to expose the gel-like flesh on the inside. “Don’t you worry.” Scraping the natural liquid out of the plant with one hand, he tugged down his zipper with the other, that metallic rasp impossibly loud in the humid space.
Her eyes went wide as he fisted his swollen cock, stroking the aloe gel up and down his shaft until he was slick and fully coated. The heat of his hard body pressed against hers, his now lubricated cock hard and demanding.
“Hunter, wait!” Fear spiked through the arousal, sharp and clarifying.
“Nyet. You want me to stop, say the word.”
She bit down on her lips, knowing if she even mouthed the word stop he’d let go in a heartbeat. But the truth was, she lived for his wild domination. “Just…be gentle.”
“I’d slit my own throat before causing you pain.
” His voice gentled fractionally, his hand stroking down her spine with surprising tenderness.
“But you’re going to take it for me. You’re going to let me claim every part of you, mark you inside and out.
” His fingers found her center, stroking through her slickness, finding her swollen and soaked, ready despite her protests.
“And you’re going to love it. Aren’t you, Lisichka? ”
“Yes,” she whimpered, the word torn from somewhere deep inside.
“That’s my good girl.” He worked her carefully, his fingers sliding through her wetness before moving to that forbidden place, circling, pressing, preparing.
One finger breached her and she gasped at the foreign sensation—the burn, the stretch, the overwhelming fullness.
He added a second finger and she whimpered, torn between wanting more and wanting mercy.
The aloe definitely helped. Despite his rough words, his touch was measured, patient. He worked her open slowly, thoroughly, his other hand reaching around to stroke her clit in maddening circles that made her hips buck against the tree trunk.
When he finally withdrew his fingers and positioned himself—the broad head of his cock pressing against that tight ring of muscle—she could taste copper in her mouth where she’d bitten her lip, could smell the rich earth scent of the solarium mixed with their combined arousal, could feel every atom of her body focused on that single point of contact.
“Breathe,” he commanded, one hand reaching around to stroke her where she needed it most, fingers slipping through her wetness with obscene ease. “Breathe and relax for me. Let me in.”
She did, pulling air into her lungs, air that tasted of orchids and sweat and sex. And, as she exhaled, he pressed forward. The burn was immediate, intense, stealing her breath. Her body fought the intrusion even as her mind screamed yes, yes, more.
“That’s it.” His voice was ragged now, control fracturing with each inch he gained. “Fuck, you feel incredible. So tight. So perfect. Moya.”
Inch by torturous inch, he filled her. The pain transformed into something else, something darker and sweeter that made her moan against the tree bark, the rough texture scraping her lips, her cheek. She felt split open, impaled, claimed in the most primal way possible.
When he was fully seated, they both stilled.
Her pulse throbbed through every inch of her body.
In her throat, her wrists, her core, around his cock buried so deep inside her she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.
The humid air coated their joined bodies, making every movement slick, making her skin hypersensitive to every sensation.
“Say my name,” Hunter growled, his hips drawing back slowly before pressing forward again, establishing a rhythm that was both punishment and pleasure. “Make them jealous.”
“Hunter!” It tore from her throat, half scream, half prayer.
“Louder.” He slammed into her harder, his fingers working cruel magic between her thighs, rubbing her clit with just enough pressure to keep her on the edge.
“Hunter!” His name echoed off the glass walls, bounced through the tropical foliage, carried through the lodge like a declaration.
He pistoned into her with increasing urgency, each thrust driving her against the tree, the bark scraping her sensitized skin in a way that added to the overwhelming sensation.
She could hear the wet sounds of their coupling, smell the musk of sex beyond the floral sweetness of the orchids, taste blood from her bitten lip and feel… God, she felt everything.
Her orgasm built like a tidal wave, pressure mounting at the base of her spine, in her core, throbbing between her thighs. When it finally crashed over her, she shattered, splintering into a thousand ruined pieces that might never come back together the same way.
“That’s it, come on my hand,” Hunter snarled, his control disintegrating. “Come while I fuck this tight little ass. Soak my fucking fingers.”
She did, her whole body convulsing with the force of it, clenching around him so hard he roared, an actual roar that echoed through the solarium like a bear claiming its territory. He followed her over the edge moments later, his release pouring into her, marking her from the inside out.
They collapsed against the tree, both trembling, their bodies slick with sweat and condensation, their breathing ragged and synchronized. Hunter’s weight pressed into her, grounding her, keeping her tethered to earth when she felt like she might float away.
She closed her eyes, saving her strength to catch her breath as he held her upright.
“How do you feel about hunts now?” he murmured against her hair, his voice rough as gravel but threaded with amusement.
She laughed breathlessly, the sound turning into a moan when he shifted inside her. “It all depends on who’s chasing me, I suppose.”
He slapped her clit and she gasped, the sharp shock bordering on tight pleasure that nearly had her sliding over the edge again. “Greedy little fox.”
He pulled out slowly, his gentle care a complete contrast from the way he’d handled her moments ago, and she whimpered at the sudden emptiness that came in his absence.
Turning her in his arms, he gathered her against his chest with surprising tenderness.
His heart thundered against her cheek, proof that he’d been as affected as her.
The solarium door crashed open with enough force to rattle the glass walls.
Stone stood in the doorway, Ash behind him, both wearing expressions of dark amusement and barely restrained hunger. Their eyes tracked over Marigold’s disheveled form—her sweat-dampened hair, her flushed skin, the marks blooming on her shoulders and breasts, the way she wilted in Hunter’s arms.
“You couldn’t wait your turn?” Stone asked, but there was no real anger in his voice, only anticipation.
Hunter grinned, holding Marigold possessively against his chest like a prize he’d won. “To the best hunter goes the spoils.”
“She’s not spoiled yet.” Ash’s hazel eyes burned as they traced over her, his gaze lingering on every mark, every sign of what had just happened.
Marigold met his gaze, then Stone’s. Both men watched her with shameless hunger banked in their eyes. “Boys?” Her voice trembled as her racing heart tripped out of beat. She whimpered, unsure if she could take much more so soon.
Ash came to cup her face delicately. “You’re shaking.” He kissed her gently, his love pouring over her as Hunter held her in his arms.
“I’m cold.” She shivered, the sheen of sweat now chilling on her body despite the heat.
Stone stepped forward and pulled Marigold from Hunter’s arms. “I’ll warm you up.”