Page 59 of The Hunter’s Affection

Screaming, just a little, she allowed herself the most glorious of all releases, distantly hearing the sound of his own groans as she gripped and clawed her way back to reality.

It was only after her heartbeat returned to a somewhat normal pace that she realized Torr lay next to her.

“You’re not even remotely out of breath,” she noticed.

But that wasn’t all she noticed. Now that the urgency of their first coupling had abated—slightly—Charlotte had a chance to fully appreciate the man who lay beside her.

And there was a lot to appreciate.

“No, I’m not.”

He said it with the kind of arrogant self-assurance one could only develop after centuries of life. Even the most confident of people she’d met—and Charlotte knew many from her years as a Southern debutante—did not come close to Torr. Or his siblings, or Kenton for that matter. Now that she knew, Charlotte felt like a complete idiot for not having realized something was different about him earlier.

“In a lot of ways,” she said, turning on her side without a hint of embarrassment. “You’re really no different than most men.”

Replicating her position, Torr leaned his head on his hand.

“Is that so?”

He sounded almost . . . affronted. Smiling, Charlotte tried to explain. “Well, you are completely different in others, of course.”

“Such as?”

“Torr Derrickson, are you fishing for compliments?”

“I am.”

“And completely unrepentant!”

“That too.”

“Are you ever serious?”

Pulling her on top of him, he tried to make a straight face.

“I can be. In fact . . .” He kissed the side of her mouth, the other side, and then the very tip of her nose. “I can be whoever you want me to be, Charlotte Harris.”

She propped herself on his chest with her elbows.

“Honestly?” she asked.

“Honestly.”

“I want you to be yourself. Just. You. Whoever that is. Think you can do that?”

When he licked his lips, she could tell it was out of nerves. He’d long since retracted his fangs and looked pretty much like any regular mega-hot guy.

But he wasn’t. Not really. Alessandra was right—he’d had centuries to refine the games he played. But her friend had missed another essential truth about this man. He’d also had centuries to hide from himself.

“Well?” she pressed.

He pulled her down for the sweetest kiss she’d ever experienced. Slow. Soft. Full of emotion, although she wasn’t sure exactly what that emotion was at the moment. His tongue searched for hers, but sweetly, almost tentatively.

When he released her, he trained those liquid green eyes on her and said, “I don’t know if I can do that.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“To be honest, Charlotte. I’m no longer sure if I know who that person is.”

He was being serious.

“Well, then”—she kissed him back, just a quick peck on his lip, for now—“let’s see if we can find out.”