Free Night Hunter by Vonna Harper Page A

trembling inch, she did so. Arching her neck, she glanced at herself, relieved to discover that her shorts still covered her crotch and were absorbing her juices. At least that was what she thought until he leaned forward and sniffed. His mouth twitched and his eyes narrowed.
    “I thought so,” he said with what she took to be a superior tone. Then, almost tenderly, he added, “It’s the way it has to be, Mala.”
    “I don’t want—”
    “Yes, you do. We both do. Wider. Open yourself to me.”
    Watching his expression, more than a little scared, she spread her legs as far as she could. She didn’t know what to do with her hands and wound up gripping grass. Despite the thick foliage, the sun hurt her eyes, forcing her to close them to slits. She felt locked inside herself, unwilling to fully acknowledge how vulnerable she was. She heard birds, insects, herself breathing.
    He was touching her, weighted thumbprints on the sensitive sides of her thighs. He’d begun at her knees, but had quickly marched toward her clitoris until maybe half of the journey had been completed. Then he slowed and painstakingly explored her soft and sensitive flesh.
    Her legs trembled. She couldn’t regulate her breathing. He caressed and pressed, pinched and painted. It was all she could do not to try to slap his hand away. At the same time, she felt her clit swell even more. She smelled her arousal.
    Her nails dug into the earth. Pulling up handfuls of weeds, she brushed them aside only to snag more clumps. She dimly realized what she was doing mirrored the way he was handling her. Her breasts swelled within their prison until the tips felt as if they’d rip through the fabric, but, much as she needed him to work them, he wasn’t done with her thighs.
    Slow, so slow, he came closer to her core. As he did, her sex ached to meet his fingertips.
    “Tell me,” he demanded. “What do you want?”
    “You, damn it.”
    “That doesn’t tell me enough.”
    “Stop it!” She sounded hysterical, but couldn’t do anything about it. “You haven’t touched—why won’t you—”
    “Your shorts are in the way.” Although he could have worked his fingers past the fabric, he teased her to distraction by running his nails over the flesh at the hem. Over and over again he traced the same area of skin. With each pass, he applied more pressure until she wondered if he’d draw blood.
    “I’ll take—them—off,” she stammered.
    “No, not yet.”
    For maybe three heartbeats she had all she could do to deal with his refusal. Only then did she realize he no longer had his hands on her.
    “What are you doing?” she demanded. Frustration turned her voice ragged.
    “Making you wait. Making both of us wait. Now…” Without warning, he ran two fingers under her shorts and panties. They slipped over her flooded cunt, making her sob.
    “Wet,” he said, “good.”
    “Wet doesn’t begin to describe what’s happening to me, damn it!” Before she could continue, disbelief snagged her breath. He’d removed his hand, robbed her of the reason to go on breathing.
    “Don’t do this to me!” she demanded, hating him. “Don’t you damn toy with—”
    “Mala! Shut up.”
    He backed away, grabbed her ankles and forced her legs together. “I’m running this right now. That’s the way it’s going to be.” As if to punctuate his words, he pressed her thighs so tightly together that her swollen and sensitive cunt felt as if it was being pinched—deliciously so.
    “If I let you come now,” he said, “you won’t remember enough of the journey. It’s the trip that’ll keep you with me.”
    “I don’t care.” Liar.
    “I don’t believe you. Now.” He gave her thighs a final shove. “Stay like that.”
    Once he had her where he wanted her, Laird slowly lowered himself to a crouching position with his legs on either side of her waist—pinning and imprisoning her. She was impressed by the muscle control it had taken to accomplish that,