Page 152 of Hunter's Revenge
His eyes bore into me, bathing me in fascination and hope.
Malik touches my face and feels over my cheek the way a blind person would if they were trying to commit something to memory with their fingertips, then he lowers his mouth to my lips and gives me a soft kiss that sends spirals of ecstasy through me.
His kiss becomes slow and exploratory, the opposite of the ravishing, possessive ones we’re used to. Then he lifts me onto his lap and kisses me harder, more demanding this time, like he’s trying to take all of me.
I kiss him with the same eager need.
It’s me who pulls at his shirt first to feel the hard muscle pressing against my body, then he whips off my jacket and top in one swoop.
The coldness I felt is replaced with the heat of our lust and his greedy touch.
Those slow passionate kisses become the same, and soon we’re naked, our bodies pressed against each other with me bouncing up and down on his cock.
I ride him like I want to possess him, too, but he takes back control, thrusting up into my body to fuck me.
Every thrust and touch leave my body burning with imprints of him onto my soul in a way I know I’ll never forget. Not even after death.
It doesn’t take long for us to both come. As I do, he catches my face again and holds me even closer, lacing his fingers through my hair.
“You are life, Gwen.” His husky voice is filled with awe and compassion. “You fill my dead soul with life.”
And he feels like home.
“You make me feel like I could try.” He sounds like he means trying for everything. Trying to live. Trying forus.
“Then try.”
He nods, and my heart sparks with hope, then he kisses me again. And consumes me again.
In my world, under the stars and the aligning planets, the only thing that exists is my husband.
Malik Volkova.
* * *
I flip through the files again, this time taking my time.
This would be my third attempt to go over these invoices. Every time I reach the middle of the stack, I get stuck and have to start all over again because I can’t get my head out of the clouds.
Last week, Dru and I set up this filing system so we could keep a check of all our paperwork. As Invoices are the worst for us, I was supposed to sort them by due date so we could keep a track of everything.
Normally, I can do things like this with my eyes closed, but my mind is stuck on the wild night I had with Malik. Like a teenage girl who’s just gone on her first date with the popular boy she’s crushed on all year, I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind for longer than two minutes to concentrate.
Today, it’s become clearer to me than ever that I’m a woman who’s falling deeper in love with her husband. I’m falling for the man who stole me away from my home and forced me to marry him.
That’s crazy, right?
Under normal circumstances, the down-to-earth level-headed version of myself would think it was absolutely ludicrous. Like one of these whacked stories you’d hear in the tabloid news.
Yet here I am, thinking of all the ways I can find to stay with my captor.
I don’t think I can call it Stockholm Syndrome. How can it be if I wanted him before he took me, and I want to be with him even more now?
Jeanne walks up to the door and gives it a little tap although it’s wide open and I’m looking at her.
“Almost done?” she asks.
“Nearly. I think maybe another hour.”