She squirmed between his thighs, drawing back, then taking him deep.
“Savannah, baby, I’m going to come.” His fingers tightened in her hair.
She sucked him deeper.
Hunt shuddered, throwing his head back. Hot, molten pleasure rushed through him. He shot into her mouth, and she swallowed, her hands digging into his thighs.
Shit. Fuck.
His body was a mass of pleasure, relief, and violent satisfaction.
She smiled up at him, her face open and flushed. Then he noted the way she rubbed her thighs together.
He didn’t stop to think or warn her.
He yanked her up, then tossed her on the couch.
“Hunter—” Her voice was breathless.
“Quiet.” He yanked her shorts and panties off. He pushed her legs apart, spreading her wide. He was desperate for a taste of her.
He kissed her thigh, scraped his teeth over the delicate skin. She shuddered.
Then he put his mouth on her pretty pussy.
She reared up. With long swipes of his tongue, he explored and tasted. He groaned, using his tongue to torment her. She let out a sharp cry.
Hunt found her clit. He scraped it with his teeth, and sucked.
She turned her head into the couch cushion and screamed as she came.
He felt pleasure ripple through her before she collapsed under him, panting.
Yes, Savannah Cole was his.
He wouldn’t let her stalker have her, wouldn’t let her run from him, and he’d fight anyone who tried to hurt her or take her away.
Chapter Ten
Savannah whistled in the shower.
Why the hell not?
She smiled as she washed her hair. She’d had the best orgasm of her life, made even better because it wasn’t self-induced. She’d gotten to touch and taste Hunter, and give him pleasure.
She’d slept tucked up against Hunt’s hard body. The man liked full contact when they slept. He’d kept his body pressed to hers, an arm tight around her waist.
After shutting off the water, she stepped out. She dried her hair and wrapped herself in a towel. Despite the shitty circumstances of her life and the ugly bruises around her neck, she felt good. She was going to enjoy the moment.
Movement in the mirror caught her eye. Hunt stepped into the bathroom. He’d already dressed in dark suit pants, a white shirt, and tie.
Mmm. She absorbed the shot of desire. She wanted to mess the detective up a little.
He set the coffee mug down on the vanity, then snaked an arm around her and kissed her.
Oh. She clung to him. He tasted like coffee and Hunt.
He bit her bottom lip. “If we had time, I’d get rid of this towel, and bend you over the vanity until you scream.”
She groaned. “Seriously, you’re hot enough without the sexy, dirty talk.”
He smiled at her, then squeezed her ass through the towel. “I remember exactly how sweet you taste. Unfortunately, I have meetings, and I need to get you to Norcross.”
“Norcross?”
He nodded. “Vander’s going to keep an eye on you today. Take your art stuff. You can work at his office.”
She hated the idea that she needed bodyguards, but if she was safe, she knew that Hunt would be less distracted and could focus on finding Walkson.
“Here.” Hunt handed her the coffee.
She sipped her coffee and moaned. “Careful, I could get used to this.”
He met her gaze in the mirror. “Good.”
Then he was gone.
Her chest tightened to a hard, sharp point. She wanted this. Wanted this happiness to last. She pressed a hand to the sink, and her chin dropped to her chest. She knew life could kick you in the teeth and snatch everything you loved most away in the blink of an eye.
She looked into the mirror.
No. She’d told Hunt that she’d stay, and that they’d face Walkson together.
She dressed in fitted, three-quarter, navy-blue pants, some beaded, flat sandals, and her favorite gray T-shirt. She put on the black choker necklace she loved, and it covered the bruising a little. She piled her loose curls up on top of her head.
Hunt herded her and her art bag into his now working Charger. They prowled out of the neighborhood.
“Busy day?” she asked.
“Hell, yeah. I’m juggling a bunch of cases. I just got a message that there’s been a follow-up on one, so I need to chase that down. We might finally arrest the perp responsible today.”
“You love your job.”
He glanced at her. “Sometimes. It has its ups and downs. It helps to know I’m making a difference. That I’m there when it counts.”
There was something in his voice.
There when it counts. Her belly clenched. Like he felt he hadn’t been for his Delta Force men.
“Hunt, being a cop, it’s important. You don’t need to be making up for the Delta brothers you lost.”
“It’s not that,” he snapped.
Savannah watched his hands flex on the wheel, his knuckles white. She felt a funny sensation. “I can’t bring Amelia back.”
He growled. “Her death is not your fault.”
“And neither were the deaths of your friends after you left the military.”
“Drop it.”
“Hunt—”
“I said, drop it.”
She folded her arms. “Right, I bare all my secrets, but yours are off-limits.”
He was silent, a muscle in his jaw ticked.
She felt a sense of sadness. She looked out the side window. “Maybe I’m just another case for you to solve. Another person for you to save as you make amends for your lost friends.”
“No.” He blew out a breath. Then he yanked on the wheel and pulled over on a side street.
He reached out and took her hand.
“I’m sorry. I… Haven’t talked about Eric, Mitchell, and Manny much.”
“Oh.” He’d never shared with anyone?
“I talk a little bit with Ryder. I do feel guilt. Survivor guilt. I know it. Those men all had families, kids, and Manny had a baby on the way. I was single. Maybe a part of me thought it would be better if I had died.”
“Hunter, no.” She touched his cheek. “Life sucks sometimes. Sometimes there is no good explanation for why things happen. You just have to accept them and move on.”
He kissed her, thorough but quick. “I’ll try not to snap your head off in the future.”
“That’ll be appreciated, but I do get it, Hunt.”
He kissed her hand, then pulled the car back out onto the road.
It wasn’t long before he pulled up in front of an amazing, renovated warehouse. Wow. A large door slid open, and they drove into the parking area. Rows of BMW SUVs were parked on one side.
“Nice digs.”
“Private security pays well,” Hunt said. “And Vander’s brother is a billionaire.”
“Wait. Easton Norcross?”
“That’s him. He helps us all invest.”
She knew that the billionaire owned the Hutton Museum. It was one of her favorite places to visit in San Francisco. The art collections there were amazing.
“Really? Are you loaded, Detective?” She bumped her hip against his as he slung her art bag on his shoulder.
“Well, I’m not a billionaire.” He led her up some stairs.