Page 18 of Willing Prey

FOURTEEN

Shane

Claire beat me.

I have an odd relationship with losing. Few things piss me off more, but at the same time, being bested fair and square always gives me a masochistic thrill.

Losing means there’s a challenge: a problem to fix, or a puzzle to solve.

I love puzzles. Judging from how my cock strains at my zipper, I also love—or am at the very least aroused by—Claire outsmarting me.

I didn’t think it could get better than her ferocity in fighting me off or her mischievousness when she stole my clothes.

But this? This was strategy .

We’ve been out here for hours, and at the end of it, she outlasted me. I hope I’m not developing a losing fetish. Looking at her face, though, I know I’m not. It’s seeing her give her all, her triumph in winning, that has me aroused beyond belief.

She’s saying she wants me to come on her tongue . As her prize. My face remains in its practiced neutral mask, but my brain is exploding, and my cock wants to. Need chokes my words. “You’re not a little deer today, are you?”

Claire looks confused, possibly concerned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“You’re a fucking fox. You outsmarted me.

Stalked me. Waited and watched.” Every second I grow harder.

My fingers reach up and knot in her hair, thrusting beneath her braid so I can grip close to her scalp.

A noise, soft, surprised, and so goddamn desperate I feel it in my chest, falls from her lips.

Pushing on the top of her head, I drive her to the ground. Her knees hit the soil. She’s panting harder than she was when she jumped out. I’m painfully hard, my cock aching to be released from my pants. Wide, ocean-dark eyes dart from my face to my crotch. She’s eager. Expectant.

And going to make me come in my pants.

If I’m not careful, I’m going to make a fool of myself. Paint my release across her face before she even takes me in her mouth.

“Hands behind your back.” If the edge in my voice bothers her, she doesn’t show it. “You’re sure this is what you want? For me to come on your tongue?”

A flash of fire in her eyes, chased by a smirk. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

She is dangerous. But I can match her, make her suffer.

Painstakingly slow, I undo my belt. Then the button of my pants.

Then the zipper. Step by step, pausing between each action.

No longer worried about my face, she stares at my crotch with a single-minded hunger I recognize.

It’s the same one I feel when I catch her.

When I’m pinning her and ripping her leggings down, and I’m a breath from getting what I want.

Hunger is greatest seconds before the first bite.

The last moments before she’s wholly mine are the most torturous.

I’m intimately aware of how bad the ache is, the need so all-consuming that nothing else exists.

Which is exactly why I make her wait. Even though my cock is doing its damnedest to rip through my boxer briefs. My zipper is undone, my pants open enough for her to see what’s waiting behind one last layer of fabric.

Her prize.

Her stare is possessive, claiming. It’s concerning how much my cock feels like it’s hers.

The caress of her eyes prompts a physical response that’s nearly as strong as if she stroked me.

A drop of arousal darkens fabric—further proof of how my body begs for her.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her voice fuck me breathy when she speaks, eyes finally returning to mine. “I want my prize.”

Trust me, you’ll get it.

I make no move to pull out my cock. A disgruntled sound leaves her lips, and a scowl that’s entirely too cute for this moment appears on her face.

Cute shouldn’t be in my vocabulary right now.

I’m getting ready to cover her in cum and enjoy every second.

But I can’t help it: Claire’s cute. If I told her that, she’d be pissed.

I’m positive. Fighting back a smile, I tug down the front of my boxer briefs at last. She huffs a whimper.

Gripping my cock, I spit on it. Her eyes go wider, they’re taking over her face.

Stroking myself, each drag of my hand agonizingly slow, I watch her.

Centimeter by centimeter, she’s creeping closer.

Keith’s words shove their way into my mind.

She’s a giver. I force them out. He doesn’t exist. Not out here.

Not with Claire kneeling before me, my cock in her face.

There’s only the way her breathing has picked up.

The way she tracks my every move as if she’s memorizing how I touch myself.

In the woods, with me, Claire doesn’t get to be a giver. She’s a taker, and I’m going to make sure she takes every single thing I have. I move closer, and she leans in, mouth opening to receive me. Somehow, I resist the urge to thrust into the warm, wet heaven behind her lips.

“No.” It’s a growl as much as a word. “You won, but you don’t call the shots. You want my cum on your tongue? You’ll get it, but it won’t be until I give it to you .”

Narrowing her eyes, she glares me down. Opening her mouth wide, she sticks out her tongue.

On her knees, with her face tilted toward me, the action shouldn’t be able to look this rebellious.

Defiance radiates from her, the way it always does.

Her soft whine almost ends me when the sound cuts off sharply, as if she’s surprised it escaped.

“Such a greedy little deer,” I groan. Saliva and arousal flick onto her tongue and cheeks as I work myself faster.

My cock’s right in her face, so close my knuckles almost brush her lips with each stroke.

I want this sight seared into my brain. The juxtaposition of depravity and beauty is hypnotic.

As badly as I need release, I don’t want this to be over.

My body rebels. I can’t hold out much longer.

“Do you want my cum?” Gravel rough, my voice gives away how close I am.

Claire’s needy sound is feral, almost inhuman.

Fuck.

All my self-control flees. My plan to stroke myself onto her tongue is abandoned.

Gripping her jaw with one hand, I hold her gaze. “Remember, you asked for this.”

I drive into her mouth. The first thrust hits the back of her throat, the constriction when she gags shooting stars through my vision.

Withdrawing all the way out, I give instructions.

“Hit my leg if it’s too much, otherwise hands behind your back.

” A strand of saliva reflects the sunlight, stretching from her lips to my cock.

A perverse tether, one I’m desperate to let guide me home.

Switching my grip to the back of her head, I thrust in again.

Claire’s ready this time, angling her jaw, though she still gags violently when I try to fit down her throat.

“You can take me.” I don’t want to push her too far, but my body has other ideas.

Hips snapping, my thrusts build in intensity as I fuck her face.

I’m losing my restraint. Fisting her hair tighter, I hold her head where I need it.

“Relax your jaw. Open for me.” Gaze locked on her face, I watch for signs that it’s too much, talking the whole time.

“You can do this. Give me your throat. You want to taste me? Then you have to open up for me.”

Her eyes water, but she’s staying strong, hands behind her back.

“Right there,” I groan as she takes me deep, gulping around me. Again and again, I thrust, and each time she meets me, her rough swallows forcing me toward release. She’s found her rhythm, regulating her breaths in time with my pumps.

“Look at you, taking everything.” I’m teetering on the edge, barely able to get the words out, but she needs to know how good she’s doing. “That’s it. Fuck, that’s it. Your mouth is magic, you know that?”

Every thrust feels better than the last, and then I can’t hold off any longer.

Her face is pressed to my body when I come buried deep in her throat.

Pleasure overwhelms me, and it’s all I can do to remember to ease my grip on her head, give her room to move if she needs it.

She doesn’t. Claire swallows me down, not releasing me until I’m spent and softening in her mouth.

Fuck.

I’ve lost cognitive function, so I silently wipe the moisture from her cheeks.

Cum clings to the corner of her mouth. I swipe it up with the pad of my thumb, offering it to her.

She wraps her lips around my thumb and sucks.

Her watery eyes watch me, and I see pride in them. It makes me smile. She should be proud.

“You did good.” It’s a hell of an understatement. “You did so good.”

After a smack of her lips, she smiles. “I know.” Her voice is rough. I went too hard.

“Is your throat okay?”

She looks surprised at the question, then gives me a wicked look. “It doesn’t count as throat fucking unless it hurts a little.”

Shaking my head at the Claire-ness of her answer, I help her to her feet, dusting grass and dirt off her knees. I tuck my cock back into my pants, and she looks around the woods as if double-checking to see which way is out.

Oh, little deer, you aren’t done yet.