Page 9 of Hunting Gianna
Knox
Herbodyislimpas I pull her in, the door slamming shut against the violence outside. She passed right out, exhaustion etched into her skin. Dark lashes brush pale skin, and she shivers slightly in her unconscious state. Rain drenches her clothes, her hair, but I know what to do. I’ve been waiting for this. I lay her by the fire, watch the glow of flames on her still, soft lips as I grab a towel and begin peeling her from her clothes.
The thought of this happening was a fevered fantasy, but her collapsing in front of me was even more perfect than I could have imagined. So perfectly fucking easy that I almost felt insulted. This little bird sure made my life easy.
Not that I’m complaining.
It’s about time that the universe aligns and works in my favor.
She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, almost a moan, as I strip her wet shirt off, then her sports bra. Each layer removed, revealing pale skin, breath moving in small shallow bursts from the rush of warmth. I want to catch it with my mouth, to make it my own, but instead I hold back, the smallest act of restraint.
The fire builds fast, heat already warming her skin as I cradle her in my arms. Flickers of light catch the curve of her shoulder, the perfect bow of her lips, and I follow each shadow with my hands as I move them down, pulling the clinging clothes off, off, off. Her shorts slide from her hips, the soft lines of her underwear a temptation I almost let win, but I leave them. For now
A single word calls in the back of my skull, relentless. Mine. Mine. Mine.
My fingers curl, my resolve tenses, my chest tightens, but I leave them on.
I am carving my own intention. I want her to know who I am as she feels me mark her. Claim her. Infect her.
Her nipples harden against the change in temperature and I can’t stop staring, at the soft rise and fall of her chest, the sigh that follows. Her oblivion works on me, turning me intoa fucking pile of mush. But it’s not just oblivion this time. She came here. Sought shelter here.
My shirt is soaked, the knees of my jeans drenched, but I don’t care. I don’t want to put her down. She is beauty wrapped in a sinfully delicious package and there’s this urge inside me to actually get to know her. That’s the part that’s both confusing and frustrating. I could take her right now, bury myself inside her, leave marks on her skin.
My focus stays on her, a careful attention I haven’t felt before. More of her slips from the fabric, and I wrap the towel around her skin, before working it through her hair, let it soak the drops before letting it fall away, her breasts catching the dim light with their perfection. My hands move over them, my breath is uneven, my restraint unsteady, but I stop myself from pinning her down and taking her now, how she is, fucking unaware.
I am more patient than I want to be.
And there’s a moment. An awful, unbearable moment that feels like tenderness.
It hits me in the chest, a surprise, a crack, an indecent clarity that makes me see her as something besides prey. I move past it. I move fast. If I linger in the space between true want and desire, I might fall for her, and if I fall for her, there’s nothing I won’t do for her.
In my wildest imagination, I couldn’t have conjured up this situation any better than it played out.
I don’t understand the softness. But I don’t have to.
Finally, she’s dry. Her skin smooth and warm, her body still blissfully oblivious. Her head lolls, but I hold her carefully. That hike must have fucked her up for her to still be so unaware. I get it though. She probably tried to escape the storm in her car and realized she was soaked and needed warmth.Oops.She doesn't know, not a thing, as I finally lift her and pull my shirt off, tugging it over her head, finally clench my jaw at how beautiful she looks wrapped in me.
I pull her close again and put her on the couch, wrapping the blanket over her delicate shoulders, her curvy body that is so fucking mine I almost lose it. The restraint, the small gift, almost a disappointment but it’s too satisfying for that. This tension is so thick, I might come just from the feeling of waiting.
Sitting across from her, I wait. No sense in freaking her the fuck out before she’s even had a moment to acquaint herself with her new boyfriend.
The blanket slips from her, and I want to let it. I do let it. But then I don’t. Then I fix it, put it back where it belongs, telling myself that I’ll be the one to take it away again.
I touch her mouth with my fingers, trailing the perfect planes of her lips, aching to cover them with mine. I want to crush the line between us. I want it now. But I let it breathe, I let it take shape, knowing how sweet it will be to crush when the moment finally arrives.
She stirs again, almost an hour later, a slow soft stirring that makes my breath as shaky as the fucking fool I’ve let myself become. It’s fucking ridiculous. Fawning over this woman. Someone I hadn’t paid mind to before.
What a fool I’d been to sleep on this beauty. But perhaps it’s not me that was the problem. She is different. She wears her smile differently. More… carefree.
She moves on the couch, her breath uneven, and I wait, breathing to match hers until it becomes my own. Then her eyes start to open. She’s startled at first. She’s confused, but I’m ready.
“You’re safe,” I say. My voice as steady as I knew it would be. “You’re safe now.”
She tenses, then relaxes. “Where am I?”
“You’re inside.” The hesitation in her body gives way, just a little. Just enough. “Your clothes were soaked. I was afraid you’d get hypothermia.” Her mouth shapes a cautious smile, and the sweetness of it runs through me, addicting and immediate.
“I changed your clothes,” I add, before the first sign of concern sets in. “It was the only way to get you warm again.”
