Chapter 293: Tame the Hunter

I pulled back—just enough. My mouth withdrew from her nipple with a soft,

wet pop

that made her breath hitched. She gasped—a sharp, ragged sound, half protest, half plea—her body swaying toward me like a compass needle seeking north.

The slick trail of my saliva gleamed on her skin under the low light, glistening on the flushed, swollen peak.

My thumb dragged across the wet curve of her breast, slow and deliberate, feeling her pulse leap beneath the skin. Then both hands fell away completely. Depriving her.

"Not tonight," I murmured. Voice low, rough, layered with gritted control. "We’ll continue from here next time."

Ava’s eyes—dark, dilated, burning—locked onto mine. Shock flashed first, then outrage. Her lips parted, but no words came. Just a frustrated hiss as her body betrayed her—hips rolling forward slightly, seeking friction I refused to give.

For now...

I watched her throat work as she swallowed. Watched the tremor run through her shoulders. Watched her nipples tighten—aching, needy—under my relentless gaze. She brought her hands up, hovering near her breasts like she might touch them herself—a hungry, almost desperate move.

But she stopped. Fingers curled into fists at her sides.

I let the silence stretch, thick with unspoken promises. Heavy with anticipation.

Her chest heaved. Thighs pressed together. Dampness clung to her skin. The scent of her—sex, sweat, her—flooded my senses.

I didn’t move closer.

She didn’t move away.

She stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights painting her in shifting patterns of gold and shadow.

Her upper body was bare—utterly sublime. Breasts heavy, full, the dark peaks of her nipples still flushed and damp from my mouth, glistening under the low light. Her skin shimmered with a fine sheen of sweat, and as she breathed, the subtle lift and fall of her chest was sin exposed in every detail—every curve, every line, every forbidden inch laid bare.

Her hands hovered at her sides, fingers twitching with restraint. The city lights caressed her—liquid gold tracing her collarbones, silver highlights gliding down the sides of her ribs, shadow pooling in the valley between her breasts.

She watched my reflection in the glass, watched me watch her. Hunger burned in her eyes—dark, deep,

raging

.

I didn’t move toward her. Just stood back. Knowing.

A smile curved her lips—slow, dangerous. She

knew

what I was doing.

Knew

I was leaving her hanging. Deliberately.

"You’re a beautiful bastard," she murmured, voice husky, thick with unfulfilled lust. Her fingers flexed at her sides, nails biting into her palms. "You know exactly what I want. And you’re making me wait."

I let her see the satisfaction in my eyes. The control. The power of having her like this—naked, aching, waiting.

Her hips shifted. Just slightly. A subtle, restless movement that screamed

need

. "I should put my top back on," she said, but she didn’t move.

Defiance mixed with longing.

"You could," I agreed, my voice low. "You won’t."

Her lips parted. A soft, frustrated breath escaped. "You’re enjoying this."

"I am."

Ava’s head turned toward me, her eyes blazing—a predator recognizing the cage she’d walked into. "You’ll pay for this."

"Mmm." My smile widened. "Looking forward to it."

Her chest heaved as she drew a slow breath, the motion stirring the air between us. She was soaked—arousal clinging to her like perfume, glistening between her thighs. I could smell it—sweet, sharp, irresistible.

But I didn’t move.

"Next time," I said, my voice dropping to a low purr. "I’ll taste every inch of what I see tonight. Now..." I let the pause stretch. Let her anticipation build. "Now you wait."

A sharp breath hissed through her teeth. Her hands clenched into fists. Her nipples tightened—aching for my mouth again. The thrum in her body was palpable—a frustrated, hungry pulse begging for release.

But I didn’t give in.

I just let her stand there—wanting—craving—aching.

When she finally spoke, her voice was ragged, shaky with need: "You’re cruel."

I smiled. "And you love it."

A sharp, broken sound escaped her—half-growl, half-moan. Her hips rolled—instinctively—grinding toward nothing. Damp heat radiated off her skin.

"You’ll regret keeping me waiting," she warned.

"Doubt it."

She didn’t move. She stayed naked by the window, exposed, aching—completely at my mercy—as I walked away.

Alone.

Wanting.

Needing.

Perfectly frustrated

.

I loved this look on her!

And she knew it.

Ava stood frozen, I had left her hanging, her chest heaving, the slick evidence of my mouth still cooling on her breasts. Then her eyes sharpened—predatory, deliberate. She turned fully toward me, a slow, dangerous smile curving her lips.

"You’ll watch me undress, Eros," she commanded, voice thick with control. "And you won’t touch until I say so, even if you beg, and am gonna make sure you want me... crave me."

I arched a brow, leaning back against the doorframe. "Is that a challenge, Agent Voss?"

"It’s a promise."

Her hands moved to the heavy waistband of her tactical pants. Not hurried.

Slow. Deliberate.

Her fingers popped the button. Pulled the zipper. The coarse fabric slid over her hips—

slowly

, giving me a glimpse of the lacy black panties beneath before catching on her thighs.

She wiggled her hips, working the pants down—

teasingly slow

—until they pooled at her ankles. She stepped out of them, kicking them aside.

Her body was

sin

—long, lean muscle tapering to powerful thighs, glistering and daring me to come closer and taste them, faint scars tracing her legs, the dimples above her ass deepening as she moved.

Her fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties.

Black lace

. She dragged them down—just an inch—exposing the sharp V of her hips, the dark shadows beneath, but

not releasing them

.

Fuck... Ava~

"More?"

I stayed silent. She worked them lower—just enough to reveal the darker curls beneath, the glistening slickness already beading on her inner thighs. Then she stopped.

"Like what you see?"

I didn’t answer. My gaze burned into her. The control was all hers—for now.

Ava’s eyes darkened. She peeled the panties lower—

slowly

—exposing more skin, not all. She turned, bending at the waist—letting me see the lace stretched tight over the full curve of her ass she hadn’t released. She looked back over her shoulder, watching me watch her.

"Your turn," she said. "Undress for me."

I didn’t move. Just watched.

"Hmm." She stood up straight, facing me. One hand slid up her own stomach—

slow

—over the ridges of her ribs, between her breasts, cupping one heavy mound. Her head tilted back, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

Then her eyes met mine. Challenging.

"You’re not playing fair."

"I never play fair."

Her other hand slid down—tracing her hip, stopping just above her curls, fingertips brushing the damp skin. Her thighs trembled. She wanted my touch there. Desperately.

But I didn’t give it to her.

Instead, I let her tease herself. Torture herself while I watched.

She turned again, giving me her back, fingers sliding under her panties—almost touching—but stopping. Hips rolled in slow circles—a silent invitation. Frustration flickered in her eyes. Need. Heat.

"Tell me what you want, Ava."

"I want you to undress me whole."

"Keep going."

Her fingers tightened in the lace.

Biting

her lip. She slid the panties lower—just a fraction—exposing more, but

not all.

More slick glistened on her thighs.

"Eros..."

I stayed still.

Her thighs clenched. A sharp breath hissed through her teeth. She peeled the panties lower—slower, slower—torturing herself for me. Exposing more. Teasing. Dripping.

Then—finally—she pushed them down. They slid down her legs—clinging to her skin for a moment before hitting the floor.

She stood completely naked—bared—aching— dripping—quivering—before me.

Her eyes burned into mine. Demanding. Challenging.

"Touch me."

I smiled.

Still didn’t move.

A low growl tore from her throat. Frustration. Lust. Hunger.

Ava seeing me not responding walked in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, legs spread slightly, back arched, every muscle coiled with controlled tension.

Her entire body was a canvas of need—flushed skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, muscles defined shadows in the city lights filtering through the glass. Between her thighs, her pussy was

unforgivingly

exposed—a perfect, swollen

flower

of

drenched,

dark flesh.

Outer lips

—full, flushed a deep, furious pink, pouting open as if crying for the friction she was denying herself

. Inner folds

—

slick

,

glistening

with translucent wetness, already

dripping

down her inner thighs in thick,

sticky trails

.

Her clit was not just

erect

—it was a straining, aching

pearl,

throbbing visibly with each pulse, peeking from its hood like a forbidden secret.

Her juices

weren’t just wet—they were flooding, overflowing, leaking in damp strings that clung to her flesh, mats the dark curls at her thighs, and dripped onto the polished hardwood in slow, hypnotic rivulets.

The scent—thick, musky-sweet, undeniably feminine—hung in the air,

overpowering

the city’s distant hum.

Her thighs quivered with every breath, the muscles straining to keep still. I could hear the wet sounds—squelching softly as she clenched her pelvic floor, pulsing around nothing, begging for a touch she wouldn’t let herself have.

The heat radiating off her pussy was intense—like a furnace, warming the air between us, making my cock throb in time with her thudding pulse.

She knew I was watching.

She knew I could see—every, single, intimate detail.

It drove her mad.

Her hand slid down her own stomach, fingers pausing just above her slippery curls.

Hovering. Tempting. Torturing.

"You like this, Eros?" she murmured, voice thick like molasses. Spoken into the glass. Her hips rolled slightly—teasing—exposing the slick, glistening pink flesh even more. Another drop of arousal slid down her thigh—slow, deliberate.