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    Summary

    And oh once more when Hunter finally - and reluctantly - shed the remainder of his clothing. Yes, the lower half was exactly as those tight pants had promised; a curved, high ass, thighs hard enough to crack walnuts, and a good sized handful swinging between his legs. The reluctant frown merely added to the picture, the faintest hint of roughness that she preferred all her boys to have - after all, it was somewhat unsporting to pounce on those who had no chance to ‘defend’ themselves, no matter how much they believed they could handle it.

    And on his side was the wound, still oozing and raw, confirming what she already knew; the cut needed a lot more care than Hunter was planning to give it, and she snapped her fingers toward the water.

    “Move.”

    “Ever think about the word please?” Hunter snarled back again.

    “I’m allergic to it. Move.”

    When a vicious group of hunters force potential rivals to hide away or be potentially skinned alive, Fennec finds herself with both unanticipated downtime and a not-quite-friend, not-quite-foe companion who seems determined not to listen to reason.

    Language:
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