Page 127 of Huntress

She kicked off her boots and dug to the bottom of her bag for the only outfit she hadn’t worn yet. Pulling the clothes out, she dipped into the bathroom and shut the door harder than necessary. She stripped while the water streamed, waiting for it to reach her favorite temperature of liquid hellfire. As Elsie untied her hair and loosened her braid, she gasped.

Saint’s lust slammed into her through the bond, raw and unfiltered; he wasn’t even trying to hide it. The force of his need rolled through her like a storm, turning her insides to molten lava. Elsie pressed a hand hard over her lower stomach, right over the core of need that had been building for weeks. Fuck, months.

Stepping into the water, she raised her face to the stream, letting it scald her. She held herself there for several seconds, breathing through the burn in an attempt to master herself. It didn’t work. If she didn’t take the edge off, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from showing up at his door.

Reaching between her thighs, she went straight for her clit, rolling and teasing it between her fingers. The contact made her knees shake with weakness. Sliding further until her clit rested in the webbing of the last knuckle, the tips of her fingers slipped deeper and pressed against the sweet, aching spot inside her. Elsie closed her eyes and let herself imagine it was Saint’s hand instead of her own, his thicker, rougher fingers exploring and claiming her.

Her hips jerked as she ground against her hand, squeezing her clit with every shallow thrust. The bond sang between them, vibrating with shared urgency. She could feel him on the other side, restless and hard, barely holding himself back. Every second of his restraint only made her need worse.

Elsie’s fingers moved faster. A broken little cry escaped as she curled under the water, chasing release. She reached for him without meaning to, and Saint answered. His presence settled over her mind like a physical weight, and for one dizzying moment, she could have sworn she felt his mouth on her stomach, phantom kisses trailing lower, hot and deliberate.

Her breath hitched and crashed to a halt as her body seized. The tension shattered in a violent wave, and she came hard around her fingers, a sob tearing from her throat.

It wasn’t enough. Her skin was hypersensitive, and even the water beating down teased her into wanting more.

She shoved the curtain open and stared at the closed bathroom door, half expecting–and half hoping–he’d come to break it down. The ache had barreled past wanting and edged into the realm of pain. Nothing would ever be enough until it was Saint inside of her. His hands. His lips. His weight pinning her down while he took everything she had to give.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered, voice cracking. “How do we endure this?”

She washed quickly, dried off, and left her hair loose for the first time in ages. The simple act of getting dressed felt wrong, like she was putting on layers of armor when all she wanted was to bare herself to him. By the time the sharpest edge of her desire had dulled, she slowly eased the door open and peeked out.

The room was empty, but their bond wasn’t. It still hummed between them, heavy with everything they weren’t allowed to take. Elsie pouted, though the rational part of her brain insisted that space was a good thing.

Her room was spacious, and though it didn’t have a window, it had a decent closet, and the bed… She stared at it, face flaming, then turned away. Best not to think about the bed, or the promises it held.

Saint tapped at the door, and her brain malfunctioned. Stuck between opening it and hiding, Elsie stood frozen. He came in anyway, and true to his word, he’d brought his bag. The man had every intention of staying in her room, even if it meant sleeping on the glazed cement floor.

“Mistress,” he rumbled. They stared at each other for far too long; the heat in his gaze stopped her breath entirely, until he took a step toward her and the spell was broken.

“L-laundry!” Elsie stuttered, snatching up her own bag. Careful not to bump into him, she scooted out the door, knowing he’d follow.

Three doors down was a communal washroom. She dumped her clothes into one of the machines, picked a soap, and got it started, waiting for Saint to do the same.

“Dinner?” she asked. He nodded his answer, trying to make things easier for her, even stepping out of the way as she walked by.

They only found one place that was still open. A greasy joint filled with large, soot and sweat-stained men. It was the metalworkers' favorite bar after closing up shop for the night. A moodier group sat brooding in the high-top seats around the bar, while the rowdier bunch roved between tables, swapping stories with their neighbors.

Saint took her hand and threaded through the crowd, bringing her to an open two-person table against the far wall. It took a while for a harried waiter to come by for their order. He dropped a pair of beers on the table and looked them both over.

“Hunters!” he said in a cheery voice, though neither of them were dressed in uniform. The guy couldn’t imagine any other reason a woman with bold blue hair and an absurdly beautiful man would appear here. “You guys have the coolest jobs. What can I get yah?”

“Veggie burgers?” Elsie asked. There was a distinct lack of menus.

“No. You don’t want meat?”

“Right.”

“I can get you a salad.”

“I’ll take the same. No dairy or eggs, either,” Saint added.

“Okaaay,” the waiter said and hurried away.

The inequity between nests never ceased to amaze. Some didn’t have meat that didn’t come out of a can, let alone restaurants. Elsie glanced around, noting there were steaks or burgers on every plate in the bar.

Elsie picked up her beer and chugged half of it down. Saint gave her an amused smile and leaned over the table to be heard over the crowd.

“I’m sorry that I lost control back there, I should have shut down my end of the bond so it wouldn’t affect you. Are you mad at me?”