“Our eggs are getting cold,” I murmur, not making any move to leave his lap.
Victor glances at the abandoned plates, then back to me. “Let them.”
His fingers knead into my flesh, pulling me closer against him. The thin fabric of my thong does nothing to hold in my own cock pressing against his stomach.
“What about your meetings?” I remind him, even as I rock my hips slightly.
“They can wait,” he says, capturing my mouth in another hungry kiss.
His tongue pushes past my lips, exploring with deliberate slowness. One hand slides up my spine to cup the back of my neck, holding me in place as he deepens the kiss.
I moan into his mouth, rolling my hips more insistently. The invitation from the Blackwoods lies forgotten on the table beside us, though its presence lingers at the edges of my awareness. The Hunt, and all its complicated history, feels distant compared to the immediate heat of Victor’s body against mine.
Victor’s hand slides down my back, dipping between my ass cheeks. His finger circles my entrance before pushing inside with surprising ease. He pauses, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“Fuck, Theo. You’re already wet.”
I bite my lip, rolling my hips against his finger. “I may have prepped myself after my shower this morning. Just in case.”
“Just in case,” he echoes, adding another finger to test the stretch. “Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?”
His fingers withdraw, and he hooks his thumb under the thin string of my thong, pulling it aside. With his other arm wrapped securely around my waist, he lifts me. I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
“Take me in, baby,” he murmurs against my neck.
I sink down slowly, feeling him stretch me open. The burn is welcome—my body accepting his intrusion with practiced ease. When he’s fully seated inside me, we both groan. Neither of us moves. The stillness is electric, his cock throbbing inside me while I clench around him.
Victor reaches past me to grab my abandoned plate of breakfast. He cuts a piece of egg with the fork and lifts it to my lips.
“Eat,” he commands softly. “Don’t want it going to waste.”
I open my mouth, accepting the offering. The flavors burst on my tongue—butter, salt, a hint of pepper. I chew slowly, hyper-aware of every sensation: the fullness in my ass, the heat of Victor’s body beneath mine, the taste of food in my mouth.
I take the fork from him and return the favor, feeding him a bite. His lips close around the utensil, eyes never leaving mine as he chews.
We continue this dance—feeding each other breakfast while he stays buried inside me. Neither of us thrusts or moves forstimulation. It’s not about chasing orgasm but about connection, closeness, the intimate weight of him filling me completely.
“This is nice,” I murmur, shifting slightly to get more comfortable.
Victor inhales sharply at the movement. “Very nice,” he agrees, voice strained.
43
VICTOR
The VIP bar in Purgatory looks different tonight. Less predatory. Less hostile. The Hunt Anniversary gathering feels more like an exclusive cocktail party than the beginning of a depraved chase.
I adjust my tie, scanning the room while keeping Theo close to my side. My fingers press possessively into his hip, a silent claim that I don’t bother hiding anymore.
“It’s different this time,” I murmur, watching the couples scattered throughout the space.
Across the room, I spot Keira Valentino, who I remember from last year’s Hunt, standing between the Dexter twins. The dancer looks radiant in a shimmering dress, her hand resting comfortably on Ace’s forearm while Cyrus looms protectively behind her. The twins’ matching black-and-yellow masks from the Hunt hang loosely around their necks.
Marcus Reid and Jenson are here, considering they were also unsuccessful hunters in last year’s hunt.
My gaze shifts to Cora Pike, the mayor’s daughter, surrounded by three men who watch her every move with undisguised hunger. Dominic Vega stands closest to her, whispering something in her ear that makes her blush. LiamHayes observes with calculating eyes while Ryder Caldwell casually drapes his arm around Cora’s waist.
“So many caught their prey permanently,” I observe, sipping my whiskey.