Scandalize Me

He simply...took her. He kissed her, hard and intense through the lace of her boy shorts. He used his teeth, his tough jaw, that perfect mouth of his. She rocked against him, away from him, not sure what she wanted or what to do with the sensations that swept through her, each more overpowering than the last—

“Stop fighting me,” he ordered her at one point, and her blood was rocketing so hard through her body, singing or screaming in her veins and she couldn’t tell which, that she wasn’t sure she heard him right.

“I don’t know how,” she gritted out. But she relaxed against him anyway.

Then he pressed his mouth against her again, harder, a gift and a discipline, and she splintered into a thousand pieces.

She was sobbing something incoherent, and he still didn’t stop. She lost his mouth, but felt his hands at her hips again, and then a rush of cool air against all that heat, and it took her long moments to realize he’d stripped her panties from her without her noticing.

It occurred to her that even if the world was still spinning, even if she wasn’t sure she knew her name or if she’d ever breath normally again, she should do something. Because somewhere beneath all of that shuddering, confounding pleasure that still stormed in her would be a price to pay. She knew that.

Too well.

Zoe struggled to move, to sit up, but found her limbs were far too heavy. As if they were his to command, not hers. She could only lie there, flushed and open and utterly destroyed, and watch him as he drew her legs back up over his shoulders, his blue gaze brilliant like diamonds, hot and hard on hers, and that look of sheer, male delight and satisfaction that made her chest hurt and her core ignite.

“I want...” It was too hard to speak, and that dangerous lassitude that had made her legs and arms feel so leaded was everywhere now, as if a great hand pressed her down into the bed from above, forcing her to lie there before him with such wanton abandon. “Let me...”

“I don’t want to let you do anything,” he told her. “I want to drown in you. I told you.”

Then he slid his hands beneath her, propping her up before him like an offering, and she understood with a distant part of her brain—the only part that was still functioning—that the strange keening sound she heard was coming from her. But it didn’t make sense, and he was looking at her, up over the length of her torso, his breath an intimate caress against the part of her that was the slickest and most sensitive, and she couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

And there was too much calm certainty in that blue gaze of his, too much triumph in the crook of his mouth, and everything seemed to contract around them, inside her, until she thought they’d both gone electric.

Only then did he bend his head and lick into her.

And everything dimmed. Then exploded.

It was like being struck by lightning. Hit by it, torn wide open, then set afire again and again.

He teased her and taunted her. He used her own fire against her, growling into the molten core of her as he tasted her, so she could feel that wolf in him, feel it echo in every part of her. He pushed her and he adored her, worshipped her and taunted her, holding her right where he wanted her so there was no possibility of escape, as if he was prepared to force pleasure upon her if necessary.

And Zoe simply...surrendered to the storm.

To him. To Hunter.

As if she trusted him.

And when she flew apart this time, she could hear the dark sound of his laughter, the erotic triumph and the sensual delight, as if she was bathing in it.

Drowning, and she didn’t care.

She was still fighting for breath when he moved, that terrible, wonderful mouth of his making its way over her hip, her belly. Lazy and knowing, building the fire in her all over again even as she still shook with the leftover flames of the previous blaze. He licked his way across her navel, climbing his way up her body as if he was committing every inch and every curve of her to memory, shifting her as he climbed, rolling them both toward the center of that massive bed.

He lifted her again, stripping her bra away and then worshipping her breasts, taking one hard nipple between his teeth, then sucking it hard into his mouth, shocking her with the intense shot of need that stormed through her all over again.

Impossible, she thought, and realized she’d moaned it aloud only when she felt laughter rumble through his big body.

“Not only possible,” he said, insufferable and delicious at once, “but necessary.”

“I’m very bored,” she replied when she could form words, arching into him. “Will this take long?”