Page 60 of Hunting Gianna

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Page 60 of Hunting Gianna

I nod. “Yes.”

He grins, that slow, mean smile. “Then take it.”

I do. I yank his boxers down, and his cock springs free, heavy and beautiful, veins standing out. I wrap my hands around, one stacked above the other and work him slowly up and down. The tip is already wet, a droplet running down the side. I lap it up, tasting the salt. His eyes darken as he stares down at me, his hand working through my hair, ever so gently. My mouth waters, a primal response to being wanted this much.

I start slow, licking up the underside, tracing every vein, every ridge. He tastes like sweat and salt and something darker. I hollow my cheeks, sucking just the head, letting my tongue swirl around the crown. His breath catches, just a hitch, but I hear it and it’s enough to make my whole body go hot.

I go deeper, taking more of him in, working my hand in time with my mouth. I gag when he hits the back of my throat, but I don’t stop. I want to choke on him. I want to taste him for days. My other hand drifts down between my legs, fingers slipping through my folds, finding myself wet and swollen. I circle my clit in slow, messy circles, matching the rhythm of my mouth.

He threads his fingers through my hair, not rough, just possessive. The touch is electric. I moan around his cock, the vibration making him hiss between his teeth. He holds my head steady, watching as I bob up and down, spit leaking from thecorners of my mouth, tears already stinging my eyes. I love the way it feels—messy, obscene, real.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he says, voice gone ragged. “You were born for this.”

I want to argue, make a joke, but my mouth is full and my throat is burning. I swallow him down, again and again, until I can’t breathe, until my mascara is running in black streaks and my jaw aches. He starts to thrust, slow at first, then harder, fucking my face with a desperation that makes me whimper. He grunts, hips snapping, and I let him. I want to be ruined. I want to be nothing but a hole for him to fill.

He holds me down, cock deep in my throat, and I fight not to panic, not to claw at his thighs. I relax, let myself go soft, and the rush of power is almost as good as the pain. He shudders, and I feel the pulse, the first hot spurt of come flooding my mouth. I swallow it greedily, the taste sharp and sour, and he groans, the sound animal.

When he’s done, he pulls out slow, a string of spit connecting us. I gasp for air, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My face is a disaster, streaked with tears and snot and smeared come. I’ve never felt more alive.

He yanks me up by the shoulders and kisses me, hard, tasting himself on my tongue. The move is so sudden it knocks the wind out of me, but I don’t resist. I kiss him back, biting at his lip, digging my nails into his arms. His hand pushes down, pulling up his boxers before coming up to wipe the tears that are dryingon my cheeks. He laughs, the sound vibrating in my chest, then pulls away and hoists me into his arms.

“What are you—” I start, but he’s already moving, carrying me toward the door, one hand under my ass, the other braced around my shoulders.

He doesn’t answer, just kicks the door open with his foot and steps into the cold.

The night air is brutal, sharp enough to make my lungs ache. The world outside the cabin is blue-black, the sky a sheet of ice, eerie, but beautiful nonetheless. He carries me down the steps, not slowing, not speaking, just walking for a while. I wrap my arms around his neck, fingers digging into the muscle, trying to figure out if I’m scared or excited or both.

He sets me on my feet in the middle of the yard, the cold biting through my bare skin, my nipples going hard in an instant. He stands behind me, wrapping both arms around my waist, pinning me in place.

I shiver, not just from the cold. “What are we doing?” I ask, voice small.

He leans in, lips against my ear, breath hot. “Burning everything down,” he says. “So we can start again.”

He turns me to face him, and for a moment, his eyes catch the last light from the cabin. They look gold, inhuman. I don’t know if I want to run or fall to my knees again.

“Burning what?” I whisper.

He smiles, and it’s the saddest, wildest thing I’ve ever seen. “Whatever’s left of the old world,” he says. “Yours, mine, all of it. You ready?”

I nod, because what else is there to do? I came here to survive, but what I really want is to be transformed. If he needs to set me on fire to do it, I’ll fucking light the match myself.

He drags me deeper into the woods, feet crunching over brittle needles and old snow. My skin goes numb from the cold, but I barely notice. All I can feel is his hand, warm and sure, pulling me through the dark.

We walk until the cabin is a dim memory behind us, and the sky above is a riot of stars. He stops in a small clearing, ringed by birch and pine, the ground dead and silent. He lets go of my hand and turns in a slow circle, surveying the space like a general before a battle.

“This is where I found you. Watched you. Destroyed your ability to escape. I’m not sorry. I’d do it all again. But this… I want to burn this spot so we can watch the flames devour any trace of life before you were mine.”

“I should hate you,” I say, but my voice breaks on the words.

He moves closer, hands on my hips. “You don’t,” he says, and I know he’s right.

I reach for him, pulling him down to my level, kissing him with everything I have left. He responds in kind, grinding his mouth over mine, teeth and tongue and shared blood. I want to crawl inside him, tear my way through skin and bone until I’m safe in the hollow of his chest.

He breaks away, searching my face. “You ready?” he asks again.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He kisses me again, gentler this time, then steps back and lets the cold swallow me whole.


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