Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Marigold bit down on her knuckle, teeth stabbing into skin, the sharp pain grounding her as she fought to keep silent. Through the ferns, she caught a glimpse of him—shirtless now, all brutal muscle and scarred skin, moving through the garden like violence barely leashed, like a bear prowling through forest undergrowth.
His shirt was gone, broad chest already slick with sweat. The humid air beaded on his shoulders, his arms, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every old wound that decorated his skin like a roadmap of survival. He moved with surprising grace for such a massive man, each step deliberate, controlled.
“Found your footprints in the condensation.” His laugh was dark amusement wrapped in threat, the sound vibrating through the humid air. “You went left at the orchids. Smart. But not smart enough.” He flicked loose the top button of his jeans, drawing her attention to the massive bulge in his pants. “You should know by now, that I’d track you to the end of the earth. You’ll never escape me.”
He was getting closer. She could feel his nearness in her bones, in her blood, the way prey senses a predator closing in. Her body tensed, muscles coiling like springs ready to release.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to stay silent and small. Every survival instinct screamed at her to run, to bolt, to move, but her body refused to obey, frozen in that terrible space between terror and anticipation. Knowing he’d lunge at the first sound.
“There are rules to a good hunt,” Hunter said, voice closer.
Maybe twenty feet away, maybe less.
“The prey always runs. First, they freeze. That’s the fear. But eventually, survival instincts kick in and that same terror makes them bolt. The predator chases. And when the predator inevitably catches the prey…” His shadow spread across the damp stone, just by her feet. He parted the ferns with one massive hand. “The predator gets to feast.”
She couldn’t help it. A small sound escaped her throat, half whimper, half moan. Hunter’s head snapped in her direction.
Need and fear tangled so completely in her belly she swayed.
Those obsidian eyes locked on her hiding place, and his mouth curved into a slow wicked grin. “Poymal tebya.”
She exploded from behind the ferns, pure instinct overriding logic. The second her feet pushed off the wet stone, she launched into a dead run, sprinting toward the far side of the solarium where another door promised escape until his arm banded around her waist, yanking her back to his chest and knocking the wind from her lungs.
“No!”
He was faster. Always faster.
His hand closed around her wrist like a manacle, pinning her flailing arms down with enough force to startle a cry from her throat. His other hand covered her mouth, the arm around her waist tightening like an iron bar, like a bear trap snapping shut.
“Caught you,” he growled directly into her ear, his breath hot against her sweat-dampened skin.
“Hunter, please,” The words came out breathy, desperate.
“Please what?” He spun her around, backing her against the thick trunk of a palm tree. The bark bit into her shoulders, rough and textured, grounding her through the delicious bite of pain. His body caged hers completely, his chest heaving, eyes wild with triumph and lust. The darkness radiating from him made her core clench. “Please let you go? Please be gentle?” His hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back until her throat was exposed, vulnerable. “That’s not how this works, Lisichka. I hunted you. I caught you. Now you’re mine to do with as I please.”
Unhinged desire swirled in her belly like a tornado of mixed sensations she couldn’t rationalize. It was a game. Only a game. But he’d triggered her adrenaline in a way that heightened ever pulsing response her body was having in that moment.
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.