Hunted for Halloween

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

AURORA

A fter my call, I huff, tearing off a page of my sketchpad. I squeeze the page into a ball, tossing it aside.

My charcoal pencil hovers on the blank page but every time I try to sketch the design in my head, the intrusive thoughts and images in my head rear their heads to the surface.

I chew on my lips absentmindedly, looking up from my sketchpad. The sunset pours into the room through the glass walls that shield the living area. It gives my living room a vibrant orangish glow, most especially the Halloween decorations that I still have around.

Halloween only happens once a year, but it never stops me from obsessing over twisting the appearance of my home.

My living room is usually a color blend of beige, brown and orange. But, I have swapped my throw pillows for pumpkin faced throw pillows. The abstract minimalist paintings have been taken down into grotesque skulls, skeletons and ghost paintings. The black vintage lanterns on the side stools and center table are off. Skull strings adorn my fireplace, lined up perfectly and a skeleton sits on a stool beside it, donning a cute skull inscribed hat.

Today could have also been one of those when I stare at my handiwork then grin and giggle like a little girl, but I just feel exhausted.

I can't think without imagining him. Those whiskey eyes, large veiny arms, intoxicating cedar wood and musk scent, long, veiny fingers pumping in and out of me, curling inside me and those fucking flame tattoos.

Fuck.

I inhale sharply, feeling the space between my legs grow heated. I tilt my head backwards, wanting to ease the tingling in my core. All I have to do is stroke myself through the tight lace booty shorts I'm wearing and I'll get some release.

But it's not going to be enough. It never is.

The sound of my doorbell causes me to flinch. I hiss through my teeth, whipping my head towards the door with a frown. I'm not expecting anyone today, but that doesn't stop me from rising to my feet to get the door.

It rings again.

“I'm coming!” I groan.

I yank the door open, my breath dying in my lungs when those whiskey eyes clash with mine. My palm grows sweaty against the doorknob, my throat working harshly as my eyes devour his tall, imposing frame.

He's clad in a crisp black shirt for the evening. It's almost as if he just got off work, judging by how the sleeves are stylishly rolled up to his elbows, revealing those veiny large arms. His top buttons are undone, giving me a sinful peek of his broad chest.

My gaze trails up his face and my breath catches in my lungs. I’m finally alone with him. I can fully assess how he looks and by God, he looks like some seductive viking sculpted by Greek gods to specifically seduce and destroy me. His face is drawn into thick dark brows, those fucking whiskey eyes, an aristocratic nose and thick sensual lips that said dirty things to me the other night. His squared jawline is kissed with perfectly tamed stubble that I want to feel tickling my skin while he pins me against a surface and fucks my brains out.

Shit where did that come from?

“Hello, Pumpkin.”

His husky voice melts against my skin like sin, causing me to inhale sharply and take a step backwards. The cold, edgy look in his amber eyes doesn't falter, stiffening my spine to a point of ache.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I spit out venomously, trying to control my raging heartbeat.

He stares at me, his eyes dead, yet searing every corner it touches on my body. My toes curl against the marble tiles, digging into it, and I'm tempted to rub my thighs together to control the heat gathering between them.

“How did you know where I live? Did my Dad tell you?” I bombard him with questions, my voice shaky with fear.

He stalks forward like a predator. “I didn't have to ask Jonathan. I run a security company. I can find anyone I want to find.” He says with an audacity that makes me want to smack him hard across the face.

My eyes widen in horror. “What? So you are stalking me now?” I exclaimed, taking slow steps backwards.

He lets himself into my house and clicks the door shut. My heart beats violently, threatening to punch a hole right through my chest.

“It's not stalking when I'm trying to keep tabs on what's mine, Pumpkin.” He turns to me swiftly when he's done looking around the living room. He nods at his own words but when his eyes sensually peruse my body, hardening my nipples, they darken with hunger.

“I'm not yours, you psycho!” I yell, clenching my hands in fists.

“Is that so?” he cocks his head to the side, stopping by the fireplace. I breathe heavily. “Coming on my fingers like a very good little girl would prove otherwise. I can still taste you in my mouth, you know?” he says, his voice raspy.

I shake my head. “Look, you are my Dad's best friend. If I knew who you were, I'd never have let you touch me, so let's just…consider that night a mistake.” I suggest shakily.

“A mistake?” he scoffs, snatching one of the skull strings off the fireplace. My heartbeat quickens, shivers running down my spine.

“Yes,” I whisper, staggering backwards. I'm not prepared for my legs hitting the edge of the sofa, dropping onto its surface with a thud.

“You came all over my fingers like a slut. You called me Daddy. You moaned and screamed for more. Most of all, when I asked you to run, you stayed because you wanted me to fuck you, to do the dirty things that you have always fantasized about to you.” Christian eats up the distance between us with every word, twirling the string in his hands.

I gasp, arousal coating my shorts. My breasts feel so heavy as my chest heaves, my lashes fluttering rapidly as I take in his controlled, predatory steps. My breath shortens when he crouches before me. I want to snap my legs shut to hide the wet patch on my shorts but his eyes follow the movement, darkening with anger.

“I don't want you.” I lie smoothly.

My pussy throbs, my buds pucker against my oversized tee, my veins are pumping with neediness and my booty shorts are drenched. If that's not me wanting him, then I don't know what it is.

“Really?” he snorts sarcastically, the edges of his lips tilting in an amused smirk.

I nod. His jaw clenches sharply.

“Yes,” I quickly correct myself.

“Spread your legs, let's see if you are telling the truth.” He commands me, still clinging to his calm, controlled facade.

I'm supposed to shake my head and tell him to go to hell, but I find myself spreading my legs wide. Maybe if I let him ease this throbbing sensation between my legs, I'll forget all about him and move on.

Just once. Just this once.

He rises sharply to his feet. His tall, muscular frame dwarfs me where I'm seated on the sofa like his hungry kitten, my shorts drenched and my boobs heavy. I part my lips greedily when he leans in, his darkened whiskey eyes peering into mine, his intoxicating scent and dark aura swallowing me whole. Christian grabs both of my hands, tying them above my head with the skull strings. They click against one another when I try to move them.

“Christian, what are you doing?” I blink, confused.

“Hands above your head, Pumpkin. You won't call me anything aside from Daddy while I eat you out until you faint, understood?” My cheeks flare with heat and I bite down on my lips.

“Yes, Daddy.” I gulp, my eyes landing on his huge cock straining through his pants. The thought of it fitting into me both scares and excites me.

Why am I even thinking about that when this is supposed to be some one time thing.

“Good girl,” he crouches again, his hands skimming up my legs, leaving heat in their wake as he pulls off my booty shorts.

He pulls my pussy towards his face, tugging me to him by my legs. “Look at you, dripping wet and making a mess on this beautiful sofa. That night was a mistake, huh?” he clicks his tongue.

Christian’s tongue meets my inner thigh, eliciting a shiver from me. My back arches off the sofa, and I want to thrust my pussy in his face, but there's only so much movement I can make with my hands bound. I whimper, frustrated.

“Please, daddy.” I'm not past begging to get what I want now.

My pussy oozes with more of my arousal, and it's smearing the sofa with every thrashing movement I'm making. He throws my legs over his shoulders, nipping on my inner thigh.

“What do you want?” His husky voice is taunting, its heat searing an imprint against my thigh.

“I want your mouth on me,” I pant, staring at his mane of dark hair that I badly want to tug on.

“Beg for it like my whore.” He roughly demands, nibbling on my thigh, hard enough to leave his mark.

“Please, daddy. Please, I want you to fuck me with your mouth.” My voice trembles with need and frustration.

His tongue connects with my glistening folds, teasing them with tentative licks that make me squirm. He chuckles against my dripping cunt, the sexy vibrating sound piercing through my skin, and leaving a tingling sensation in my veins. It gives me a heady rush.

“So needy,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue through my inner folds.

“Ugh, fuck.”

“You love that, Pumpkin?”

“Yes, daddy.”

Christian sucks on my swollen clit at my approval, eliciting a long, throaty moan from me. He teases the sensitive bundle of nerves with his tongue, grazing his teeth on it before his tongue laps against the edges of my entrance, right where I need. I push my body off the sofa, wanting to shove my cunt into his mouth.

“There,” I whimper with teary eyes. His teasing touches are making me so needy and frustrated.

“Here?” he murmurs huskily, his fingers digging into the flesh of my thigh.

“Yes—oh, fuck!” I jerk when he thrusts his tongue into my hole.

As much as Christian is masculine and wears his dominance like an armor, he takes my needs into consideration, as though he simply exists to make my darkest and dirtiest desires come to pass. And fuck, the realization makes me drip even more for him as he plunges his sinful tongue in and out of me.

“You taste so fucking addictive,” he groans between thrusts and licks. “Like mine,” his voice is dark and possessive as his tongue strokes me to tears.

“Argh! It feels so fucking good,” my eyes roll back in their sockets, the pleasure teasing my vision with sweet black dots.

My abdomen churns with tension, my veins pulsating with a mix of need and hunger. Christian’s tongue strokes me needily. The way he alternates between sucking on my clit and tongue-fucking me make me so fucking thirsty and aggravated that all I want to do is to sink myself into the sofa.

“Oh, God. I can't take it.” I shake my head, my eyes blurring with tears when he begins to feast on me with a hunger like never before.

“Yes, you can,” he pauses and I almost lose it.

But that sweet, maddening sensation rushes back tenfold when he devours me even harder, like he's starved of me. He tongue-fucks me like he's taking out his frustration on me. His strokes and licks are ravishing, extracting loud and filthy noises from me. He eats me out until I start screaming and sobbing.

Even as he ruins me with his mouth, I'm torn between getting him to stop or to heighten the intensity. I can feel my insides and brain liquefying themselves. I curl my legs around his neck when the need to hold on to something gets overwhelming. He thrusts even harder, pushing in a finger and grabs onto my thigh harshly to keep me in place.

“Fuck!” I have never been tongue-fucked in a way that feels this good and makes me want to sink into nothingness because. The pleasure is bordering on insanity. “More, daddy, more!”

My legs begin to tremble with spasms, my insides clenching down on his fingers hard. I thrust my chest forward when I feel my impending climax, and my moan reaches a deafening crescendo when my release crashes through me.

He tongues me through my orgasm and I release a hoarse cry, writhing beneath him as I come all over his mouth.

My eyelids feel heavy, my breath crashing like angry sea waves. A whimper unfurls from me when he laps up all my juices without leaving a single drop. He grunts with satisfaction, like he can't get enough of my taste.

He looks up from the space between my legs, his lips glistening with my cum. But the dark, possessive look engraved in his eyes is what grabs my attention the most.

“Do you still think that night was a mistake? Or are you ready to come to terms with the fact that you are mine?”