Page 40 of Hunt for You

Gripping the rail of the rack on top of the car, I dropped my forehead against the glass window, then reached back with one hand to bury fingers in his hair as he groaned and growled, pressing, sliding, teasing until it was little more than a parody of what I really wanted.

“Cain… please—”

Face still buried in my neck, his lips and tongue dancing just below my ear, he reached around with one hand, between my legs, and pressed himself hard against me, still rocking, sliding, promising what was to come.

My body came alive, pleasure zinging from my slick flesh where he played and pressed, through my body, all the way out to my limbs. My skin sang in time with the rhythm of his toying.

Then he passed over my core and almost took me.

I sucked in, dropping my head back. “Oh, god…”

Cain brought his other hand up to cup my throat, holding my head back, as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin under my ear.

The jolts from where he pressed against me crackled through my bloodstream to meet the waves of pleasure washing down my back from his lips.

I was trembling, arching, begging for him. And Cain was shaking with me, guttural groans bitten off, his teeth scraping on my skin, his hands grasping, body jerking and twitching as he tried to hold himself back.

Then with a muttered curse he straightened. Before I could complain, he grasped both my hips and pulled me back half a step, nudging my knees wider.

“Are you ready for me, Bridget?” His rasp echoed in the garage.

“Yes!”

With a low rumble of need, he slipped two fingers into me and when I tightened on him, gave a husky chuckle that sent goosebumps up my spine. “Yes, you are.”

Then, without any further warning, he planted a hand at my lower back and pressed down as he plunged into me in a single thrust from behind. He filled me so quickly and so perfectly, I felt it all the way to the soles of my feet.

Cain bellowed and snapped forward over me, his hand clamping over mine on the roof rack, his chest hard and hot against my back. His fingers clawed between mine, gripping my hand and locking it in place—and then, with his other hand on my hip to control me, he dragged himself slowly out so that I felt every slow inch, my body humming and shaking with sheer, animal delight.

He dropped his chin, opening his mouth and biting down where my shoulder met my neck. The sounds that ripped from his throat belonged in a national geographic documentary—animalistic, brutal—those low snarls vibrating in his chest against my back.

As he picked up the pace and all I could do was brace to meet him, I reached back with my free hand, fisting his hair and holding him to me as he began a punishing rhythm that tore a cry from me with every pounding thrust. The pressurebuilding deep inside me, and a growing promising pleasure that glowed on the horizon like the rising sun.

“Cain… Cain!” I gasped, struggling to keep my feet as my knees began to shake.

He growled and let go of my hand and shoulder as he snapped upright again, grasped my hips and began pulling me back onto him with each thrust, so hard that the sound of our bodies smacking echoed in the garage.

“Fuck, Bridget.”

“Don’t stop, I’m going to co—”

He snarled and pulled out of me so fast I blinked, then grabbed my shoulders and turned me around to face him. I had to grab for his broad shoulders so I wouldn’t fall, but he’d already lifted me and plunged back into me, slamming me back against the car, grabbing that rack and pinning me as my back arched against the cold door and braced one hand on his chest, as he began to pound again.

I was pinned, utterly at his mercy. I hooked my ankles behind his back, gripped his shoulder and planted a palm on his chest, and focused on bracing to meet him. And in seconds he was grunting and that wave of promised pleasure was glimmering at the edge of my blackened vision again.

But that blindfold over my eyes was suddenly an unacceptable barrier. I needed to see the way his muscles corded, the tendons on his neck, the shaking of his shoulders when he came.

“I have to s-see you,” I gasped, needing his eyes on mine when I reached that peak.

“Fuck, Bridget, no.”

“I have to,” I breathed. “Have to. Cain… please.”

Bridget—” he hissed.

Still braced on his chest with one hand, I grabbed for the blindfold and started pulling it down, just as he roared.

All I saw was the flashing blade, the dim garage light catching on it in his fist as it descended in an arc. I screamed as it plunged into my chest—