She moaned, kissing him back.
His other hand gripped her ass. He pulled her flush against him, his big, hard cock pressing against her belly.
God. She wanted his cock inside her. Wanted to feel the flex of his muscles as he thrust into her.
“You’re sure?” she asked. “I don’t want you in pain.”
“I’m sure.” He covered her mouth with his again and backed her up.
“Please,” she said.
“Please, what?” His voice was deep, guttural.
“Please fuck me.”
He growled, then gripped her waist and lifted her effortlessly onto the long, shiny dining table.
Savannah glanced over her shoulder. The windows gave amazing views of the city. Then she felt Hunt working to open her pants, and all she saw was the stark, hungry need on his rugged face.
She gripped his arms, narrowly avoiding his gunshot wound.
Oh, boy. She loved his strong arms. Her fingers traced over the ink on his forearm. It was intricate and a fascinating piece of art. It looked like a kraken—wild and powerful—with its tentacles wrapped around his muscular arm. There was writing as well, but she didn’t get a chance to read it.
Hunt yanked her pants free, then his mouth was back on hers.
The next kiss was hard and hungry. There was no gentleness or wooing—just a possessive claim, and pure need.
She pressed into him, frantic for more. She felt like she’d waited her entire life for this man.
He pushed her legs apart. His fingers stroked over her lace panties.
“I need to taste that sweet pussy again,” he growled.
Her belly contracted. He gripped her panties, then, with a flick of his wrist, tore them off her.
She gasped, pulling his head back to hers. Their tongues clashed, as his fingers stroked between her legs.
Then he broke the kiss, and dropped to his knees.
Oh God. Oh God.
His big hands spread her farther, then his mouth was on her.
Oh.
Savannah clamped her hands on his head. Her legs spasmed, and Hunt gripped her thighs, and pulled her hard against his marauding mouth.
His tongue licked and stabbed, and Savannah’s cries bounced off the windows. She tugged on his hair. “Hunt. I need you inside me. Now!”
He surged up. She attacked his scrub shirt, shoving it up. He ripped it over his head.
She leaned forward and kissed his chest. She made a promise to herself to take the time to explore every inch of him. Later.
With a short grunt, he opened his pants and freed his straining cock.
Oh, yes. The head of him was leaking with need. He pulled something from his pocket and ripped the condom package open.
Clearly, he’d sorted out the condom problem. Belly tight and hot, she watched him roll the latex on his thick cock.
Then he looked up.
The heat and hunger in his green eyes made her chest hitch.
Hunt pulled her to the edge of the table, and she tucked her legs tight to his sides. His thick cock brushed her damp folds, making her gasp.
Then he thrust inside her.
“Hunter.” She threw her head back, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
He groaned against her neck. “Right where I needed to be.”
He pulled back, then drove deep. He started a hard, powering rhythm.
He felt so good inside her. He felt so right. She clung to him as he thrust into her.
“Tight. Perfect.” He groaned. “You fit me just right, baby.”
“I’m going to come,” she panted.
“Good. I can’t wait to feel you clench down on my cock.”
Pleasure—hot and violent—hit her, washing over her in waves. She screamed his name, drowning in ecstasy. She gripped him tight as he thrust deep and found his own release. His big body shuddered over hers.
She pressed her face against his neck. She couldn’t think, let alone speak.
Breathing heavily, Hunt lifted his head. Their gazes met, electric, then he looked down.
“Fuck, baby, I love seeing how you take me.” He stroked where she was stretched around his still-hard cock. Her body jolted.
A smile tilted his lips as he pulled out.
She moaned at the sensation, fighting the sense of loss.
He took a second to deal with the condom, tossing it in the trashcan near the sideboard. Then he was back. Clearly, he didn’t care that he was naked.
“I hope no one has a telescope.” She nodded at the windows.
Hunt smiled. “I bet they’d enjoy the show. It’s unlikely they can see through these windows, though. They’re treated with a privacy film.”
“Handy.” She reached out and touched two puckered scars on his chest. She gently ran her fingers over them.
“Took two bullets,” he said. “Afghanistan.”
She leaned forward and kissed them. She hated the idea that he’d been hurt, could’ve died.
“This one’s from a knife wound.” He pointed to his side.
It was a jagged scar and she caressed it gently.
“Knee’s a mess. Had a bunch of surgeries.”
He shifted his leg and she saw his left knee was covered in scar tissue.
He met her gaze, then gripped the hem of her T-shirt and pushed it up.
Panic flooded like butterflies in her belly.
No. This was Hunt. She was safe, and he’d just fucked her brains out. He clearly liked her, even if she had a few scars.
He bared her belly. She felt like the long, silvery scars were so glaring in the light. She swallowed.
Hunt bent over and kissed them.
As his mouth traced each one, she was shocked as her desire rekindled.
He took his time before he lifted his head. “You’re fucking beautiful, Savannah.”
Then he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
“Hunter!”
He smacked her butt lightly.
“Your arm,” she said.
“Is still fine.”
“Put me down.”
“No.” He strode through the magnificent living area.
“What about your knee?” she tried.
“That’s fine, too.” He started up the spiral stairs. “I’m not putting you down. I want you spread under me on the bed, next. And I’m warning you, Savannah, that’s just for starters.”
Chapter Twelve
Hunt woke, his arm throbbing.
Wincing, he sat up, and checked his bandaged wound. He’d need some more pills soon to combat the ache.
The bed was wrecked. He’d barely paid any attention to the luxurious room done in soothing, pale grays and blues. The sheet was covering half of one of his legs. There was no sign of Savannah.
He grabbed his phone, feeling a flicker of panic in his gut. He checked the security system. Nothing had been triggered, no doors opened, since Cam had stopped by the night before and dropped off their bags.
Hunt pulled on his shorts and stopped for a second. He’d gorged himself on Savannah last night. He’d barely let her sleep. After their first frenzied fuck on the dining table, he’d had her over and over.
Damn, the sounds she made, the look she got when he was moving inside her…
Even at the memories, his cock lengthened.
He wanted her again. She was a damn addiction; one he was happy to keep indulging. He grabbed a condom packet off the bedside table and slipped it into his pocket.