“Feel that?” he growled against my ear. “That’s what your letter did to me. What you did, asking to be hunted like prey. You think I’ll let you walk away after one night when you’ve made me this fucking hard just standing near you?”
I tried to push back against him, desperate for more pressure, but his grip on my throat tightened fractionally—enough to still me.
“No,” he said firmly. “You don’t move unless I allow it. You don’t take unless I give.”
His hips rolled once—slow, deliberate—dragging the length of him along the cleft of my ass through our clothes. The friction sent sparks straight to my clit, making me soaked in seconds. I could feel how wet I was, the slick heat pulsing with every heartbeat.
“Please,” I whispered, hating how needy it sounded. How true.
His hand on my hip slid forward, fingers tracing the waistband of my trousers before slipping beneath it entirely. No barrier. Nothing at all. Just bare, slick skin waiting for him, exactly as he’d commanded.
He paused for the briefest moment—his breath catching in a way that told me he’d felt the absence immediately—then a low, rough sound of pure male satisfaction rumbled from his chest.
“Good girl,” he murmured against my ear, the words dark and deliberate, laced with something dangerously close to pride. “You obeyed. Traveled hundreds of miles with nothing under these trousers because I told you to. Sitting on that plane, knowing your cunt was bare and waiting for me the entire time.”
His wide palm cupped my naked pussy completely, fingers parting my folds with devastating certainty. My arousal slicked his skin instantly—hot, undeniable proof of how long I’d been wet, how the simple act of following his instruction had kept me aching and empty since the moment I’d left Charleston.
He didn’t stroke. Didn’t circle my swollen clit or slide inside where I desperately needed him. He simply held me there, owning every inch of my exposed, dripping heat, letting me pulse helplessly against his unmoving hand while the thick ridge of his cock throbbed against my ass.
“This greedy little cunt is mine now,” he said, voice lethally calm even as I felt him grow impossibly harder behind me. “Soaked and bare because you did exactly what I told you—no panties, no hesitation. You hate how easily you submitted to a man like me, don’t you? And you’re dripping down my fingers because of it.”
I nodded—or tried to—his hand at my throat limiting the motion.
He pressed his palm harder, just enough to make me throb against it. My hips jerked involuntarily.
“Still,” he commanded.
I froze, breath coming in shallow pants.
He held me like that—pinned by his hands, his body, his will—for what felt like eternity. Every second stretched the tension tighter, my arousal building to a cruel edge without relief.
Then, abruptly, he released me. Stepped back.
The loss of him was a physical pain.
“Tomorrow,” he said, voice steady again, as if he hadn’t just unraveled me. “When you’re ready to beg properly.”
He left the room then, footsteps silent on the stone.
Later, alone in the bedroom—a massive space of dark wood and thick linens—I lay awake listening to the wind move through the trees.
My body still burned—nipples tight against the silk nightgown he’d left folded on the bed, clit swollen and slick, every shift of the sheets a torment. I replayed the evening in my mind, the way his words had peeled back layers I'd hidden even from myself.
The anonymity made it worse—or better. Without a name, he was every forbidden desire incarnate, a shadow I couldn't pin down or dismiss.
What had I unleashed by sending that letter? The summit loomed in the morning, a thin veil of normalcy, but I knew already it was futile. He'd woven himself into my thoughts, his promises echoing like threats in the quiet night.
This was not one night.
Alpha Mail had lied—or maybe women had lied to themselves.
Because I hadn’t been sent a man.
I’d been placed inside a system.
And somewhere downstairs, a hunter was deciding exactly how long I would be allowed to remain myself.
7
