Hunter
HUNTER
T he door slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing through the vaulted ceilings of our bedroom like a gunshot. Meetings with the other bosses always left a sour taste in my mouth. They were so fucking weak. This time, it had been Kai who called, wanting my loyalty. Wanting me to get on my knees to form alliances. No , that's not how it works. They suck MY dick if they want an alliance. Not the other way around. I didn't do what I had to do and become the largest crew in New Mexico by getting fucking carpet burn. I was done with it, done with the day, just fucking done.
Gia was so Goddamn concerned with taking Kai down that she was letting everything go to shit and quite frankly, I couldn’t be happier. They deserved each other. Maybe I’ll be invited to their wedding. Kai did not enjoy me telling him to suck my dick and throwing him the finger as I rolled out, but really, what the fuck was he gunna do about it?
" Rosalind ," I barked out. " Whiskey . Now ."
Without a word, she slipped away quietly. The Thorn girl had a way about her, silent as a whisper, but I knew beneath that calm surface churned a storm, a tempest waiting to be unleashed. She was no delicate flower, not anymore. This life, my world, was shaping her, molding her into something formidable. She was beautiful before, but... something changed. And now she was fucking divine. Like watching a tsunami building far out, gathering steam to destroy a city. Her eyes... something in them had changed. Stripping off my clothes, I stepped into the shower. Burning hot to wash away the fuckery of that meeting.
She returned, a crystal glass in her hand, the golden liquid catching the dim light as she moved. Rosalind set down the whiskey on the nightstand with a soft clink, her obedience making my cock hard. Her eyes lingered, taking in the sight of me through the clear glass of the shower door, her gaze burning over the expanse of ink and muscle.
I could feel her watching, her eyes roaming my skin, stopping on my hard cock. I smiled in satisfaction. Yeah , I'll split her open, make her fucking compliant. It's just a matter of time. My body responded instinctively, muscles tensing, skin prickling with awareness. There was power in being watched, in knowing that I commanded her attention without so much as lifting a finger. It was a game of dominance, one I played well and intended to win.
The water sluiced over me, washing away the grime of the day but not the darkness. That was a part of me rooted deep within my soul. I stepped from the shower, the cool air of the room wrapping around my wet skin.
She sat on the bed, poised like a statue, her dark eyes never leaving me. The tension between us was a live wire, charged and ready to spark. I didn't need to say a word; she knew what I wanted, what I needed after a day like today.
Rosalind's innocence had been a cloak she shed long ago. She'd given herself to someone else. Someone who would receive their retribution very fucking soon. If she could be a little slut for him, she could be a good little whore for me.
The whiskey waited, ignored, for now, its amber depths holding the promise of a different kind of burn. But first, there was another thirst to quench, one far more primal. With each passing second, the anticipation grew, thickening the air until it was almost suffocating.
" Knees ," I growled, the word slicing through the tension-charged silence. It wasn’t a request; it was an order—one she'd learned to obey without question. Power thrummed in my veins. God , to see those dark eyes looking up at me. I'd fucking kill just about anyone to have her want to suck my dick. But for now... forcing her to do it would do.
She moved, her feet quiet, her body a Goddamn masterpiece of curves and shadows as she sank down before me. This was what I lived for—the control, the dominance, owning every fucking inch of her submission.
" Good girl." The words were gravel, raw pride mixed with the basest desire. She was mine, to use, to take, to mark, and no one else's. Her obedience was my absolution, her surrender, my goddamn crown. And I wore it like the ruthless king I was, unrepentant and insatiable.
In the kingdom of the damned, we were sovereigns of sin, rulers of ruin. And she was about to revel in how deep my darkness went.
My hand knotted in her curls, black spirals twisted around fingers that commanded life and death in equal measure.
" Open ," I barked, voice laced with the kind of darkness that made men's souls flinch. Her lips parted, an invitation to corruption, and I didn't fuck around with pleasantries. I thrust forward, burying myself in the warmth of her mouth, the wet, welcoming heat that she offered up so willingly .
Rosalind —sunshine turned to sin, innocence warped by my hands. She took me whole, her throat a velvet vise that clenched around every inch I gave her. And fuck, I gave it all, no mercy, just the brutal rhythm of need and power.
My breaths were ragged, jagged edges of a man who lived on the brink of violence. The sound filled the room, mixed with the obscene wetness of her compliance. I watched her eyes, those dark pools of desire that once sparkled with naivety, now glazed with the sheen of submission. Tears spilled from the corners as her face reddened, my grip firm as I held her on my cock a second too long, causing her to choke as she pulled away. Still , she didn't say anything. She just gasped, spit streaming from her mouth, wetting her shirt as I pushed her back onto me.
I owned her. Every fucking part of her, from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. But here, on her knees, she was the mouth that served, the body that bent, the willing canvas to my relentless craving.
The build-up clawed at my spine as I bucked forward, tipping my head back as I held her flush against my skin. I was close, teetering on the edge of release, riding the high of total control. With one final savage thrust, I held her head still, my grip punishing as I poured my release down her throat, claiming her once more in the most primal way a man could.
Pleasure ripped through me, raw and uncut, a blaze that seared everything in its wake. I rode it out, every last shudder and pulse until there was nothing left before pulling my cock out.
" Swallow ." It wasn't a request; it never was. She did, muscles working beneath the skin of her elegant neck, and satisfaction curled in my gut like smoke. She was mine, utterly and completely, even as I pulled away, leaving her on her knees, marked by my touch, my taste.
I stood over her, the rush of authority flooding my veins—a king in a kingdom of shadows, with Rosalind , my queen of darkness, bowing to my rule.
" Thank you, sir," she breathed out, her voice a sultry echo. Submission laced her words, a sweet serenade to my ears. That voice, like velvet wrapped around steel, fed the beast within me, somehow bringing it to life while also taming it.
" That's a good girl."
A twinge of something flickered across her face — defiance or acceptance, it didn't matter. She was in my world now, a plaything at my mercy. The thought alone sent a surge of possessiveness coursing through me, my blood a rush of liquid fire .
" You are mine. Your body’s mine. You'll be my fuck puppet — awake, asleep, it doesn’t matter. Always ready for me."
Her lips parted, almost as if she wanted to protest. There was no escaping the truth etched into every fiber of her being. I owned her pleasure, her pain, every goddamn scream, and whisper that poured from her mouth.
" Understand ?" I demanded, my voice a low growl vibrating against the walls of our dark sanctuary.
" Sir ," she breathed, and the word was a caress against my dominance, a binding tie that shackled her to me in ways chains never could. A smirk curled my lips as I watched the realization settle over her — my darkness was now hers to bear, my shadows cast permanently over the light she once carried so effortlessly.
There she was, kneeling before me, the light of her previous defiance flickering out like a snuffed candle. " Yes , sir," she murmured, and every syllable dripped with surrender, music to my twisted ears.
" Good girl." I stepped back from her, the heat of her submission lingering on my skin like a brand. She watched, those deep eyes of hers wide and unblinking, as I slid into a pair of boxers, the black fabric snapping against my hips. Her on her knees was new. I didn't expect her to break quite so soon. Maybe her father was right. She'd be a pretty little doll with just a bit of encouragement.
I strode over to the nightstand where the whiskey waited, amber liquid promising oblivion. My fingers wrapped around the glass. I tipped it back, the burn of the liquor searing down my throat, a fuckin' reminder that I was alive — alive and ruling with an iron fist. Looking down, Rosalind was still on her knees, waiting expectantly.
" Up ," I commanded, and she rose, her knee clicking as she straightened.
She stood there, tall and willowy, the curve of her spine a challenge I'd already conquered. The sight of her, marked by my hands, my mouth, my desire, it was a fuckin' masterpiece, one I'd paint over and over with my lust.
" Remember this," I said, my voice a jagged edge cutting through the silence. " You're mine, every inch, every scream, every goddamn tear."
The grip I had on her was more than just flesh; it was her soul bending—no, breaking—to my will. I felt that power surge through me. My chest was heavy, the brand of the Cinder Crew searing hotter than ever, a mark of ownership, of unchallenged rule.
I glanced at her, those dark eyes that once held the light now reflecting only me, her captor, her keeper, her fucking husband. Her reverence was intoxicating, like the finest drug, and I was hooked, addicted to the sway I held over her. My crew feared me and respected me, but her? She was a different beast altogether, one I'd tame but would never break—fuck no, I loved the fight too much. She thought I wanted her to snap, but the truth was, what good is a broken doll? No , I wanted her to submit because she feared her punishment if she didn't. Maybe one day, she'd come to crave the power exchange. But fuck if it wasn't something I'd needed all my life.
" Fuck ," I muttered under my breath, the word coming out like a prayer in the dark sanctuary of our room.
I strode across the room, every step harsh. I stopped at the foot of the bed, glancing at her, seeing the way she watched me with that mix of fear and heat. Shit , it did things to me, made me want to consume her all over again.
" Mine ," I growled, not for her, but for the walls, for the night, for the whole goddamn world to know. The word hung heavy in the air, a decree, an unspoken promise of more—more darkness, more control, more of this fucked-up game we played.
The bed creaked as I sat down, the sound a reminder of the violence of our union, the sheets still tangled from our thrashing bodies. I leaned back, muscles relaxing as my mind raced, plotting the takedown of the next mafia that tried to fuck with me and mine .
" Sleep ," I commanded. She moved, obedient as ever, her form slipping beneath the covers, the shadows swallowing her whole.
And as I lay there, something struck me. We were a match made in hell, burning bright, destined to either set the world on fire or be consumed by our own flames. But fuck it, either way, I'd have her by my side—my queen, my captive, my fuckin' catalyst. She was the air I didn't know I needed. Someone to challenge me when all the fuckin' men had run scared. But not this little bitch. No , she stood before me, bare, and took it. More men than the ones I gutted today.
So I closed my eyes, the image of her burned behind my lids, and I welcomed the darkness, knowing it was mine to command, just like the woman who shared my bed.