Hunter's Need (11 page)

Edging around him, she took the empty bowl and gathered up the rest of the dishes.

He ran his tongue along his teeth, watching her as she dumped the dishes in the sink.

Whatever in the hell you need
—she told him to do whatever in the hell he needed. Bad words to say to a man, he figured. He stared at the back of her head as she ran some water over the dishes. The smell of apple-scented soap filled the air; a few stray bubbles drifting upward as she washed the bowls.

Her hair had gotten longer, hanging halfway down her back. She’d braided it. Closing the distance between them, he reached out and tugged the band from the end. He tossed it onto the counter and started to comb his hands through her hair. She went still under his touch.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice shaking.

He rested his hands on her waist, held her steady as he leaned into her, nestling his cock against her denim-covered backside. “You told me to do whatever I need. I think I need to do you.”

She stood stiff, straight, unyielding as he reached around and sought out the buttons of her shirt, freeing one then another, then another until the simple white cloth parted, revealing a slim strip of pale flesh.

“I’m not going to sleep with a man who can’t stand me,” she said.

“We’ve already covered this, baby. If I couldn’t stand you, I wouldn’t get hard just hearing your voice.” Leaving the shirt hanging on her, unbuttoned down the front, he rested his hands on her shoulders and listened to her breath catch in her throat. “I get hard when I hear your voice, when I think about you, when I see you, when I walk through a room and smell you. Hell, even watching you trying not to laugh about me and planes is enough to make me hard.”

He slid his hands around her and reached up, cupping her small, silk-covered breasts in his hands. “And I don’t plan on doing much sleeping just yet.” No, the only thing he planned on doing in the next couple of hours was fucking her. He had to.

Whatever Ana sensed wrong around here, it wasn’t so choking, so pressing that it had his skin crawling. He couldn’t really feel much of anything, beyond her.

So that meant it could wait.

She couldn’t.

Just then, he wasn’t aware of anything but his need to have her. Finally have her, finally give in to the urge he’d been fighting for too damn long. This obsession he had with her, it wasn’t going to get better until he dealt with it and dealing with it meant having her. Taking what she’d promised him years earlier.

“You didn’t come here for this,” she whispered.

Actually, Duke suspected he had. No, not entirely. He had a job to do, and he’d do it. But if that was all that mattered, he wouldn’t have felt so drawn to make his way to her house and sit outside while he waited for her to arrive. He could have left, at any time, and just prowled around until something in his gut woke and called him to action.

But he’d come here. To her.

And for this.

“I did come for this,” he said gruffly, plumping her breasts together and staring down, fascinated by the sight of his hands on her body.

Duke’s skin was gold, naturally so. By contrast, Ana’s breasts looked snowy white against his hands, creamy and warm, the scent of lavender rising stronger on the air. “I came for this and if I had half a brain, I would have done this years ago. You’re inside my skin, Ana, and that’s not going to change until I have what it is you promised me five years ago. What you promised
us
.”

A sigh shuddered out of her. “Duke, this isn’t a good idea.”

“Yes. It is.” He let go of her, rested his hands on the counter beside her. He wanted her, and he had every intention of having her—but he wouldn’t force it on her. Gripping the counter, he dipped his head and whispered, “You wanted me five years ago, didn’t you?”

He had to know, had to hear the answer from her, even though his body already knew.

Her answer, when it came, was soft and hesitant. “Yes.”

Duke flexed his hands and just barely managed to swallow a pleased growl. “You wanted me, the same as I wanted you. You want me now . . . the same as I want you now. It’s not going away, Ana, and you know it. We might as well deal with it. But if you can’t handle that, then you tell me now. Tell me, and I’ll give you some room, give you a little more time.”

Hell, no, she couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t handle
him
. She’d never been able to handle him, not even when she’d spied him across the crowded bar five years earlier and known what she had to do.

She’d chosen him—on purpose, because she’d recognized what he was. If one of his kind went missing, it would be noticed. Somebody would come looking for him, and maybe, just maybe, it would be somebody who could handle Cat.

It had been a calculated, cold decision—one she’d made for a couple of reasons. She couldn’t keep doing what Cat wanted of her and stay sane. She couldn’t become the monster that Cat was. And she had to get her brother away from Cat before it was too late. It had been a desperate gamble, a desperate plan.

It had worked, all too well.

“Ana?” His breath was warm against her neck, his mouth hot and silken as it glided over her skin. “You going to run away, princess?”

She wanted to. This was a bad, bad,
bad
idea and she knew it. Duke wanted to fuck her, because he hadn’t been able to do it that night. That was his way of “dealing” with it. It wasn’t the way she needed to do it, though, and if she gave in, it was going to leave a scar on her.

What was one more?

Taking a deep breath, she reached up and freed the front clasp of her bra.

Behind her, Duke blew out a harsh breath, a sound that was low and rough and sexy. It had her knees weak. But then he went to draw her shirt away and she stiffened, reaching up and holding it in place.

“Ana?”

“The shirt . . . I . . . I want to leave it on.”

He dipped his head and nuzzled her neck. “Shy, princess?”

“Yes . . . no.” Geez, how did she tell him that she had enough scars on her back to rival the ones on his chest? Not exactly titillating talk. “Can I just keep the shirt on?”

He kissed her, an openmouthed, hot kiss that she felt clear down to her toes. “For now.” He toyed with the waistband of her jeans and murmured, “What about these? Because, Ana, we really need to lose these.”

“I—uh—okay.” It was about the best she could do without whimpering.

Another hot, soft kiss, this one on her shoulder, his heat scalding her even through the white cotton of her shirt. “Put your hands on the counter.”

She did, locking her knees in an attempt to keep her legs from shaking under her. Blood roared in her ears, pounded and pulsed in tandem with the ache in her sex. She was hot, embarrassingly wet already and when he stripped her jeans and panties away, she gasped as cool air kissed the hot flesh between her thighs.

“You’re wet for me,” he whispered. “I smell it. Spread your legs for me.”

She whimpered, her breath catching in her throat when he reached down between her thighs, stroking her slick folds with his fingertips.

“You’re tight.” His voice had dropped to a low growl, so rough it was almost unintelligible. He pushed one finger inside her and Ana’s knees buckled under her, her breath caught in her throat—couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. He stroked deeper, his rough fingertip rasping over swollen tissues. Shaking, she sagged forward, letting the counter take more of her weight. Duke growled, stroking his other hand down her hip.

He said something, but Ana couldn’t understand his words. Nothing made sense, nothing connected—nothing even existed except for his hands on her body, the slow, easy glide of his finger in, out of her sex—nothing—

She came, harsh and sudden, sagging against the counter. She whimpered, letting the counter take all of her weight, pressing her flaming face to the cool surface. Her breasts pressed flat against it, her shirt and bra clung to her damp body, and her sweaty hair lay in a tangle over her shoulders and face, blocking the world out.

Unable to think past the roar of blood in her ears, she drifted, half caught in a daze, only dimly aware that Duke was no longer touching her. A harsh, rasping sound, oddly loud. The whisper of cloth, a dull thud. Lifting her lashes, she tried to look behind her, but her hair was in the way. She went to brush it out of the way and Duke caught her wrist. “Be still,” he muttered, pressing her wrist to the counter, holding it there.

He nudged her thighs apart and she gulped as something pressed against her buttocks. He was naked—naked, and oh . . . oh, shit—

The head of his cock, thick, full and hard, nudged against her entrance. Panicking, she tried to close her thighs but he shifted, using his knees to keep her open. She cried out as he pressed against her, forcing her to yield. Thick—burning hot, scorching—stretching.

Ana keened as he filled her, driving deep, deeper. Pain flared, sharp and bright and she twisted, trying to escape. Tears welled in her eyes and she squeezed them shut, tried to muffle her sob against the counter.

But he heard. Half lost, the soft, panicked cry penetrated Duke’s lust-fogged brain, slapping against him like an icy wave. His nostrils flared, catching the scent of pain, fear—
Ana
. Fuck, was he . . . ? He was—he was hurting her.

Damn it, damn it, damn it—he made himself stop, half of his aching length buried inside her snug heat. Sucking in a deep breath, he gathered her hair in his hand and pushed it aside, trying to see her face. She hid from him, shifting so that he could barely see her profile.

But she couldn’t keep him from seeing the tears.

“Ana?”

The silken wet sheath convulsed around him and Duke shuddered against the need to thrust, to ride that soft body and empty himself, but just fucking her—was that all he really wanted? No—hell, no, that wasn’t all he wanted. He wanted her to moan, to whisper his name and come for him. But he was moving too quick. She wasn’t ready—although, damn it to hell, she fucking
felt
ready, hot and soft as butter, melting all around him, sweet, tight and slick.

Too tight—somewhere in the back of his mind, an alarm sounded, but he blocked it out. Bending over her, he braced his elbows on the counter on either side of her body, careful to keep from moving his lower body. He skimmed his lips over her cheek and whispered her name.

She didn’t respond.

Laying his hand on her hip, he stroked upward, brushing her shirt away so he could caress the outer curve of her breast. He tried to tug the offending material away but she gasped and hunched her shoulders. “Shh . . . okay. It’s okay,” he whispered. Even though he wanted that damned shirt off, he let go. Gathering her hair, he pushed it over her other shoulder and lowered his lips, kissing, biting her neck gently. She shuddered . . . and then oh so slightly tilted her head to the side. That small encouragement was all he needed. Duke set his teeth in the curve where neck and shoulder joined and bit her, lightly. Ana gasped and shifted under him, raising her upper body a scant inch off the counter. He slid a hand under her, shoved the shirt away so he could palm her breasts, tug on her small, stiff nipples. She arched against him and moaned under her breath.

Slowly, he moved his hips, nudging another inch of his length inside her. Instantly, she tensed. Tight—

Too fucking tight—
That alarm in the back of his head was screaming now. He gritted his teeth as her sweet pussy clenched around him and then he made himself step away. It was sheer agony, leaving the slick, wet glove of her pussy and his body was raging at him. She whimpered, her body shuddering. He crowded up against her, cuddling his cock against the soft curve of her ass.

“Ana.”

She darted a quick look at him over her shoulder and when she would have looked away, he caught her face, craning her neck around until their gazes locked. “How long?” he demanded as he wrapped his free arm around her waist.

Her lashes lowered, shielding her gaze. A growl slipped past his lips before he could stop it.

“How long?” he asked again, sliding his hand down and cupping her heat in his hand.

She didn’t answer.

Duke swore and let go, but only long enough to make her turn and face him. She tried to go around him, but he brought an arm up, caging her in. He tangled his hand in her hair, tugging her head back and forcing her to look at him. “How long, Ana? A few months? A few years . . .
ever
?”

She stared at him, her dark purple eyes all but black in her face. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and Duke groaned, dipped his head and kissing her until she opened, until she stopped biting her lip and kissed him back. Then he caught that lower lip between his teeth, shuddering as he bit down.

“Tell me, damn it,” he rasped against her mouth. “How long?”

He wasn’t sure she’d answer. He started to think it might be better if she didn’t. But then she sighed, a shaky, unsteady sound. “Never.”

Never
—

For him, yeah, he was damned glad she’d answered. But maybe not the best thing for her.

Cupping her chin in his hand, he stared into her eyes, fighting the animal that lurked just under his skin. “Do I stop? This is your one chance, Ana. Tell me to stop and then get the hell away from me before I lose it.”

She gulped and stared at him, a look on her face that was caught between terror and fascination.

“Do I stop?” he demanded again.

Ana licked her lips and then whispered, “No.” It was quiet, all but soundless.

His control fell away in broken shards and he turned her back around, bent his knees and reached between them, aligning the head of his cock to the mouth of her pussy. “This will hurt . . . I’m sorry,” he rasped.

Was he lying? He didn’t know—
liar
!