Hunter and the Silent Wolf
His fingers traced over the last line of my letter:
And I would do it again… to climb out of Hell, if it would again lead me to you.
He said nothing after he finished, but the mist in his eyes told volumes, absorbing the vivid details of my last three years.
I slid close to him. The fireplace stroked sweltering heat against my back. My hands kneaded his thighs, strong and firm. I took his hand, kissing gently above the wraps covering his broken, shredded knuckles. I inched closer, just a heartbeat away from his mouth and I lingered, feeling his breath grow ragged. Hungry. But I avoided his lips and instead placed soft kisses on his cheeks, his eyes, his forehead.