Free Night Hunter by Vonna Harper Page B

but the feat wasn’t nearly as impressive as the feel of his engorged cock brushing against her breastbone.
    “What—what are you going to do?” Had she asked that before? And what made her think she needed to?
    His response was to take hold of the hem of her top and pull it up to her armpits. The sudden rush of air along her ribcage brought a bit of sanity with it. He might have his way with her, but not without a fight. Determined to put her vow into action, she planted her elbows on the ground and pushed herself upward. He rocked back slightly as if willing to let her up, then grabbed her arms just above her elbows and yanked her supports out from under her. Then he dropped her onto her back again.
    “You didn’t have to—”
    Before she could think how she should finish the sentence, he again grabbed her top and slid it up and over her breasts. She noted he was staring at them—or rather what he could see of them under the flesh colored bra. When he slid his hands over the insides of her upper arms and repositioned them over her head, she didn’t try to resist. And when he again yanked at her top, she helped by lifting her back as much as possible. The garment came off. Fortunately, the groundcover felt nearly as comfortable as carpet against her back.
    He leaned forward until all she could see of him was a blur, brought her hands together over her head, and held her wrists one across the other. If she put everything into it, she might have been able to wriggle out from under him, but she didn’t try—not with the memory of how her earlier attempt at resistance had played out still strong.
    She fought to keep her breathing regular, but it came in quick, shallow gasps. Maybe she should be afraid of him, but she wasn’t…probably because she’d never felt more alive, more primitive.
    Eager to feel more of him, she lifted her hips. She couldn’t hold that position more than a couple of seconds, not that he gave her the chance because he lowered himself onto her, bringing her trapped wrists down and then under her breasts. He pinioned them there with his left hand which left his right free to slide under the top of her bra. He cupped first one breast and then the other, all the time staring at her so intently that she closed her eyes to escape his intensity.
    From inside her self-imposed prison, she took stock. His weight pinned her from her hips down, and his left hand was so large that it easily handcuffed her wrists. In addition, he’d leveraged his weight so she could barely move her upper body. She could, as if it made any difference, move her head from side to side and bend her knees. She didn’t try.
    She was his prisoner, plain and simple. If he wanted to massage her breasts and mold them into contours of his choosing, he’d do it. If he chose to clamp his fingers around her throat and squeeze the life out of her, she wouldn’t have been able to stop him.
    For reasons she wasn’t about to explore, that excited her.
    Still holding her in place, he slipped his hand out from under her bra, then around behind her where he deftly unhooked it. He couldn’t yank it off without releasing her wrists, but obviously that didn’t matter to him.
    With her eyes still shut, she imagined him staring at her breasts and taking their measure. They weren’t half bad, not as magnificent as those that had been artificially enhanced, but genetics had been kind to her. Maybe he agreed, because this time when he laid claim to them, it was with a new tenderness—or if not tenderness, a certain consideration.
    Consideration for her response.
    He touched and tasted, took a nipple between thumb and forefinger much as she’d recently claimed his. He had more to play with than she’d had. And was better at it.
    Once again moisture flooded her cunt and added to what was already there. Her nipples hardened, and she sucked in humid air through flared nostrils. He spread his fingers over the outside of her breast and pushed