Page 19 of Willing Prey

FIFTEEN

Shane

“Where do you think you’re going?” My question makes Claire’s head spin toward me.

“Back to the house.” Unplaiting her hair, she starts to fix the braid I destroyed. “Right?”

Distracted by her project, she doesn’t notice me reaching until I grab her.

Half dragging, half carrying, I haul her to the nearest oak tree, pressing her back to it.

She gapes at me, one hand clutching the partially completed braid.

There’s a branch above her, the right height for her to grip without stretching. Perfect.

“Grab the branch. Both hands. No matter what, don’t let go.”

She does, arching an eyebrow. I expect an argument, some sort of sass or pushback, but she’s waiting, watching.

“Are you wet?”

Taken aback at the question, she blinks at me.

I yank her leggings down her thighs in one rough movement. Shocked and indignant, her yelp shoots straight to my cock.

Not now.

“Are. You. Wet?” I ask again. “Did it turn you on when I fucked your face?”

Her arms flex, and I can tell she’s thinking about releasing the branch. “Don’t you dare let go.”

“Why not?” There’s the defiance I expected earlier.

Of course Claire would be braver with her pants off.

“Answer my question, then I’ll answer yours.”

Her grin returns, far too confident for someone with their pants around their knees. “Which one? You asked two.”

Don’t smile.

“Are you wet?”

“Touch me and see.” She delivers the sentence like she’s daring me to touch an electric fence and see if it’s live. As if it’s a great challenge.

Wordlessly, I hit my knees. Her sound of surprise is satisfying but not as satisfying as shouldering her legs open to see her drenched for me. I put a hand on her hip, shoving her back against the tree, and jerk one of her thighs over my shoulder. My mouth waters, my tongue eager for her.

Hips writhing before my mouth even touches her, Claire lets out a horrified squeak. This one sounds less surprised, and more genuinely displeased, tugging my attention from between her legs. I look up at her.

“We’ve been out here for hours,” she sputters. “What if I taste—”

Shoving my face forward, I take a long, lingering lick. She squeals, a new sound. I like it. I’d like to hear it again. Impatient, I pull back to look at her.

“You taste incredible.” I rub two fingers through her slickness, then thrust them into her, pleased at her gasp and how her hips buck toward me. Pumping them in and out of her, I savor the sound of her arousal.

“Can you hear what a mess you made?” I add a third finger, fucking her as loudly as possible. Claire’s pussy grows wetter by the second.

“Yes.” It’s an exhale of an answer.

“Good. Now are you going to let me clean it up?” I tilt my head toward her pussy.

“H-have at it,” she stammers, back to uncharacteristically shy.

I like that too. Like watching her get all flushed and bothered.

But I like my face between her legs more.

Hiking her leg higher up on my shoulder, I settle in.

Planting a kiss on her clit makes her squirm.

My tongue tracing the valleys and peaks of her lips makes her sigh.

Each response gets cataloged and placed in the How to Unravel Claire folder in my mental filing cabinet.

Before long she goes from stiff against the tree to riding my face.

She keeps her hands on the branch, hips rocking and bucking.

Gasps turn into whimpers, which turn into a hungry whine that does something to my soul.

Arousal trails down my jaw. She’s covering me, and I love it. Focusing my attention on her clit, alternating licking soft circles with vicious sucking, makes her squirm in that frantic way she does when she’s close to coming.

Not yet.

Easing my tongue away from her clit, I fight not to smile at the keening sound she makes.

Sliding three fingers into her, I work her convulsing pussy, stretching her as wide as her as body will let me.

On either side of my shoulders, her legs tremble.

She makes a sound like a sob as I add a fourth finger and begin thrusting.

I’m still teasing her with my tongue, lapping everywhere but the swollen clit that needs me so badly.

I want to toy with it again as desperately as she wants me to, but I don’t.

Continuing to fuck her hard and fast with my fingers, I force her to the edge of orgasm, her body ready to tumble over even without my lips on her clit. Before she can fall, I slow my rhythm.

“No, please,” she begs without being told, shameless with desperation.

“Please, Shane.” My name could be a prayer; the sound of her sobbing it makes me groan against her skin.

I reward her by shifting my lips over her clit.

She tries to ride my face and steal her climax, but I press her hips to the tree with the hand not inside her.

I lap viciously at her. Claire cries out, cresting her climax again.

She’s dangerously close, clenching and shuddering, soaking my hand.

I don’t suck her clit long enough for her to come, just long enough for her to think she might get to.

I want to hear my name again. I want her to scream it so loud it echoes off the trees.

Claire’s still begging, crying, “Please,” and “I need it,” and “Oh god,” but not my name.

So I keep playing with her, even as my jaw begins to tire. Kissing, and suckling, and nipping everywhere but where she wants me. Then she whimpers my name again, and again I sweep across her clit.

It clicks.

“Shane, please.” Her voice is softer than I want, but we’re headed in the right direction. I reward her with more attention. “Shane,” she pants, a little louder this time. I curve my fingers, making her writhe.

“Oh, Shane.” She’s louder, and I flick my tongue across her. “Please, Shane, please.” It’s a cry, not quite a yell, but close. Pumping my fingers, working her clit, we go to the edge again. My shoulders are holding her upright now, her legs shaking so hard they’re useless.

“Please, Sh—” My name is barely on her lips when I latch onto her clit, sucking as hard as I can while pressing my tongue against the swollen flesh. Curling my fingers, I pet her from the inside. Claire screams my name as if she’s falling off a cliff.

Convulsing around my fingers, delicious on my tongue, Claire comes.

Crying my name again and again, desperation turning to relief as she realizes that this time she’ll keep her pleasure.

Her trembling body writhes and rocks, and I realize she’s released the branch to tangle her fingers in my hair, as if she’s scared I’ll stop before she’s squeezed every drop of ecstasy from this orgasm.

“Keep going,” she pleads, grinding on me so hard my teeth graze her clit. She yips but doesn’t stop. “Please, Shane,” she adds quickly, as if to make sure her request is granted.

I oblige, feasting on her pussy, unable to tell if this is one unending orgasm or multiple shorter ones. When her grip on my hair loosens, and the needy rocking of her hips slows, I give her one final kiss and pull away.

Tugging my T-shirt up to wipe my face, I glance at Claire. Hair wild, face red, legs wobbling, she’s dazed.

Good.

Rising from my knees, I smack her hip lightly. “Look alive, little deer. We’ve got a long hike out.”

Coming back down to Earth, she shakes her head, eyes focusing on me at last. “You’re walking back with me?”

I almost say that she looks like she’d wander in circles for hours if I left her to her own devices. “It’s a long walk. It’ll go faster with company.”

“Right.” Straightening, she sorts herself out, pulling up her leggings. Once she’s ready, we start the journey back. It’s a good ten minutes or so before she speaks, her voice still slightly groggy.

“Can I ask a question?”

If it means she’s talking, I’ll answer anything. I was starting to wonder if I’d tongue-fucked her too thoroughly. Caused some kind of cognitive injury by edging her so many times. “Of course.”

“How did you learn to do that?”

On second thought, I will not answer anything.

I refuse to tell Claire the truth. After she agreed to the contract, I had a minor moment of panic that my existing sexual knowledge might be inadequate.

So I called the first professional I had hunted and hired her to give me a sex refresher course—making it clear that this would not be a “hands-on” teaching experience.

She showed up with a silicone vagina and a few books, and I took detailed notes.

While it’s nice to hear the crash course was a wise investment, there’s no good way to tell Claire that I fingered a fake pussy to build an arsenal of techniques to try on her.

“Um, same as everybody, I guess? Trial and error.”

“I don’t think everybody knows how to do that.” Moseying along, pausing every so often to poke at an interesting-looking rock with the toe of her sneaker, Claire is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen her. “I’ve never come that hard in my life, and my pussy’s pretty agreeable as far as orgasms go.”

Suck it, Keith.

I bite my lip to keep from smiling as she turns to me. “Are you pissed that I stalked you?” Her face has gone serious.

The change of topic startles me. “Of course not. Pissed at myself for not considering the possibility, but it was a good challenge.”

“It seemed like a great idea,” Claire says. “But then, when you turned around, I panicked. All I could think was that maybe you’d wanted to hunt but not ever lose a hunt.”

I bark a laugh. “I’m offended you think my ego is that fragile.”

“Keith didn’t deal with losing very well,” she says lightly. “So I made sure he didn’t.”

The easiness of her admission makes me bristle.

For what has to be the millionth time since she moved in, I find myself wondering how they lasted eleven years.

While the fresh divorce would obviously bring negative aspects to the front of her mind, I’m curious about what made their relationship work.

“Today also proved you aren’t tracking me with this .” She pulls me from my thoughts, wiggling her left wrist, the one with the smartwatch on it.

Scandalized, I stop hard. “You thought I was tracking you?”

“I wondered,” she admits, looking back at me over her shoulder. “This thing has GPS, right?”

“Why would I do that?” I sputter, taking three long strides to catch up with her. “It would ruin the experience.”

Claire groans playfully. “I was sort of hoping you did use it. Then I’d feel better about how quickly you find me. Now I can’t blame technology, I’m just that bad at hiding.”

“Or maybe I’m just that good at finding.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her in a move so uncharacteristic that I immediately regret it. Until it sends her into a fit of giggles so unlike her that I almost stop dead in my tracks again. That sound. I want more of it.

Wiping her eyes, Claire shakes her head. “How does one become good at finding?”

“Our dad took Caine and me hunting a lot when we were growing up.”

A rabbit darts out onto the trail in front of us, thinks better of it, and whirls to bolt back into the brush. “Rabbits?” she asks, tilting her head in the direction it went.

“Deer, mostly.” Thinking of my father is rapidly deflating the pleasure created by Claire’s giggles, but I don’t show it.

“Did you like it?”

“I liked being in the woods,” I admit. “Liked that it gave him something to be proud of me for. Shot a ten-point buck when I was a teenager; he was prouder of that than when I got into law school.” Realizing I’ve become more transparent than I intended, I hurry to add, “Really liked that Caine had to shut up while we did it. He could talk the bark off a tree.”

“Your dad sounds…interesting.” Her voice is softer, the verbal equivalent of tiptoeing across a floor that might give way.

“He had a very specific idea of what type of men his sons should be.”

Claire makes a knowing sound in response to my cryptic answer. I don’t elaborate.

The last thing I want to talk about is my father.

I rarely met his expectations, largely because they changed with his mood.

One thread ran through them all, though: don’t be weak.

It didn’t matter that I dual enrolled at the local college junior and senior year of high school, made honor roll, or was in debate club—he was unimpressed with me.

That I spent Friday nights studying disgusted him, that I never snuck out or came home drunk confused him, and that he couldn’t provoke me into a fight when he was in one of his moods infuriated him.

All in all, I was an enormous disappointment, failing to reach his standards for masculinity.

Dodging a fallen branch blocking part of the trail, Claire bumps me gently with her hip, knocking me out of my head. “I’m getting the sense your dad would be very proud if he knew how good a pussy hunter you turned out to be.”

My jaw drops; I slam to a stop.

Oh my god.

Claire does too, clamping her hand over her mouth.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I try to look serious.

Eyes wide, she sputters, “I’m so sorry, that was messed up. I don’t know why—”

A laugh almost breaks free. I try and fail to turn it into a cough.

Her eyes narrow. “Are you laughing?”

“No, I’m very upset right now.” I laugh-cough again.

“Are you sure?”

I lose it. Laughing feels good, but it’s better when she joins me, both of us cackling like fools.

The sound is a shield, keeping unpleasant memories at bay.

When we finally compose ourselves, Claire’s eyes sparkle and her cheeks are pink.

Side by side, we continue down the trail until the woods grow too dense, forcing us to go single file.