devil has to be attractive,” he says, softly scraping his fingernails over the sensitive skin below the curve of my breast. “How else is he to lure people in and make them trust him enough to wager their souls?”
“Is that what happened?” I ask, swallowing hard. I’ve never had a man touch me like this, never mind the only man I’ve ever wanted to touch me like this. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he is the devil, and I’ve died and found myself smack dab in the center of my own hell.
“Is that what you did?” I ask. “Lure me in with your looks and snatch me away so you could take control? It makes sense. You know my stepmother will be too stupid and full of herself to notice what you’re doing, but you knew I would. That’s it isn’t it?”
He shakes his head slowly from side to side. “No. That’s not it. That’s far from it. And as far as the act of luring you here went…let’s just say I put a call out from my black soul to yours…and you answered.”
I’m growing more and more frustrated, both with the slow musings of his fingers roaming all over my body and his inability to tell me the truth other than to talk in riddles.
“I need more than that.”
“I’ll give you more. In time. Right now. You need to sleep.” He stands.
“Why? Especially since you say that it’s not what I think? Why not clarify you aren’t the monster I’ve made you out to be?”
“Because, I have to know you can accept me for that monster, as the Hunter, before I tell you anything that might skew your view of who I really am, because this is it. I don’t just hunt. I kill. Sometimes for sport. Sometimes for money. It thrills me the same way seeing you tied up in my bed thrills me.” He steps closer, hovering over me. My lips quiver. My thighs tremble, and not just in fear. With need. A force stronger than I’ve ever felt before. “Tell me, Nevie, what do you see when you look at me? What do you feel?”
“You’re…a monster,” I say on a breathy exhale, because it’s the truth.
He’s so close now, the zipper of his pants is above my eyeline and I can’t help but notice the straining bulge beneath.
“Something there you want?” he asks.
I blush and turn my head away. I hear the unmistakable sound of a zipper and fabric hitting the floor. I turn back around to find him in his black boxer briefs with a thick outline of his erection beneath the stretchy fabric. It pulses, and my lips part.
“I know that look,” he remarks, flattening his palm he strokes himself over the fabric. “That desire burning in your eyes. The dampness of your skin. You’re in pain with it, aren’t you, princess?”
My mouth waters.
“You want to taste it,” he says, and it’s not a question, it’s an observation. He’s right. I’m curious as to how it feels. In my hands, in my mouth. How it tastes on my tongue.
He groans and pushes the waistband down to his feet. When he stands back up, I gasp. It’s even larger than it appeared to be trapped within the confines of his clothes. It’s thick and curved and throbbing with a glistening wetness beading at the deep purple tip.
I suck in a deep breath, and he takes himself at the base, moving closer so that he’s only inches away from my face. “You want me to show you how to please me?”
I nod, because I can’t think of anything else, including all of the reasons why this is the worst idea in the world. Because right now there’s only me, him, my curiosity, and the lust surging through my body.
“I’ll need something from you first,” he says, reaching between my legs. I see stars as he parts my folds and rubs two fingers along the seam. I arch off the bed at the new and shocking sensation.
“I knew it. I knew you’d be fucking wet for me,” he rasps, his neck chording with restraint.
His fingers are gone all too soon. He uses his wet, shining fingers to stroke himself slowly from base to tip. He never takes his eyes from me, watching me watch him, glancing at my hardened nipples and the valley between my thighs.
I watch in wide-eyed wonder as he starts slow, turning his fist ever so slightly when he gets to the top before coming