Page 44 of Willing Prey

Three Years Later

Shane

I wake to lips on my neck. Our room is dark. I can’t see my wife, but I feel her breasts pressed to my chest. Smell her shampoo.

“Are you awake?” she whispers.

“I am now.” My voice is a grumble, sounding far more irritated than I feel.

“Don’t get mad at me.” Claire trails her fingertips down my stomach. “This woke me up. You’re poking me in the back.”

She grasps the “this” in question, and I bite back a groan. Sleep clings to the edge of my mind, dulling everything but how good her touch feels. I reach for her, clumsy.

“I’m not sure you’re actually awake,” she teases, her grip loosening.

“I’m sure I’m awake enough to fuck you.”

“You’re so sleepy, though. Maybe I should fuck you.” She nibbles along my neck before capturing my mouth with hers. It’s a dominating kiss, one that makes me want more.

I pull away long enough to answer, “You should.”

Claire retakes control of the kiss, one hand cupping my jaw as the other grips my cock.

Her lips are soft, but she’s kissing me hard, her tongue stroking into my mouth.

I’m high off her taste, the way she’s shifting her body against me.

I want my hands and mouth everywhere, all at once, but she keeps me together, redirecting my hands where she wants them, controlling the speed of the kiss, and how much she lets me grind on her stomach.

I’m relieved when she pushes my hip, guiding me onto my back.

“Hands on the bed. Grab the sheets.” The order rolls off her tongue like she was born to give it.

I fist the fabric beneath me without hesitation. My wife is breathtaking when she submits. But when she takes control, using me for her pleasure and deciding when I’m allowed mine? Magnificent.

My eyes have adjusted to the darkness. I can see her silhouette in the moonlight as she straddles my hips.

She rises, positioning my cock at her entrance.

I ready myself for a rush of pleasure, but Claire sinks so slowly it almost hurts.

It’s a tease, having her on me but not riding.

I want it to happen now. Unlike her, I don’t switch roles effortlessly.

Being the fuckee instead of the fucker makes me impatient and needy, something she enjoys immensely.

I push up into her, releasing the bedding to grab her hips and move her body where I want it. I don’t think about her instructions. I don’t think about anything in my sleep-drunk, desperate state. It’s instinct driving me, a primal, feral craving that demands her.

It’s the wrong move. Claire dismounts, the loss of her warmth more agonizing than her slow descent. Kneeling beside my thigh as I whimper, she grabs my cock but doesn’t stroke it.

“Let’s get this straight.” Her voice is even, and she grips me tighter when my cock jerks in her hand. “Right now, I’m fucking you. So be a good boy and grab the sheets, okay?”

The voice that answers, “Okay,” doesn’t sound like me. It’s strangled, needy, and even after three years, I struggle to believe it’s mine. In my head, it’s Claire who should sound like this. She often does, but not when she takes control.

Right now, I’m the one gasping a ragged breath when she finally, mercifully, begins to stroke my cock.

I’m the one letting out a choked groan when she eases back onto me, a tortured “Fuck” when she begins to ride me.

I come as undone for her as she does for me.

I’m the one saying, “Don’t stop, for the love of god, don’t stop. ”

“That’s my good boy.” Her hips glide in a lazy circle. It’s good, but it isn’t enough. I want to drive into her. Or flip her onto her back. I can’t see her fingers, but I know when she starts touching her clit. She tightens around me, her movements growing more urgent.

There’s nothing but the sound of our bodies, slick and sliding in the dark.

Exhales growing more uneven as Claire takes us closer to the edge.

The buildup is intoxicating torture. I used to think of myself as self-controlled, but now I know I’m not, not when it comes to her.

I’m struggling to keep from grabbing her hips and moving her body in the way I know would set me off.

I grip the sheets tighter as every breath brings me toward release. Claire’s shuddering on me now, thighs spreading farther apart as she takes everything she needs. Her arousal runs down my shaft, dripping onto my balls. She’s quivering, so close.

“I’m going to come.” Her voice is breathy, making me harder. “And you aren’t.”

That clears some of the pleasure fog from my brain. “What?”

“Not until I say you can.” Her fingers dig into my chest the way mine are digging into the sheets. There’s a hard inhale, a gasp that sounds almost pained. Her pussy clamps on my cock, her orgasm sending wave after wave of pleasure through me.

I’m going to come; don’t think I can stop it. My balls tighten up, and my stomach tenses. There’s nothing in my mind except how fucking incredible she feels.

Oh fuck, this is i—

My cock smacks against my stomach, rock hard and straining. Claire’s silhouette writhes over my thighs, and I hear her gasping through the end of her orgasm. She got off me. I was about to come, and she got off me. I don’t think I’ve ever been so frustrated in my life.

“What the hell, Claire?” I groan.

“I said no,” she hisses, a wildcat in the night. “Not until you beg for it.”

This is new.

“I don’t beg,” I tell her. My voice doesn’t sound as sure as I’d like it to.

“Okay. I guess you’ll be taking care of this yourself, then.

” She leans forward, and her breath hits my tip a second before she presses a sloppy kiss on it.

I can’t keep myself from thrusting up, trying to slip my cock between her lips.

Pussy, mouth, ass, I don’t care. I need to be inside her.

There’s no using my hand after having her.

Looks like I’m about to learn how to beg.

First time for everything.

“Please?” I try.

Claire’s laugh is muffled as she runs her tongue down my length, licking her arousal off me. “Keep going.”

“I don’t know how to do this.” My voice is almost a whine. I’m horrified, but apprehension only lasts a moment. Then I’m too busy thinking about her mouth as she sucks my cockhead between her lips.

Yes.

The pleasure is gone too soon. I’m exposed again as she pulls her mouth away with a popping sound.

Her hand encircles the base of my shaft, and I can’t squirm myself into making her give me the friction I need.

She lets me try. When my hips are still, she drops her face over me again.

She’s close but not touching, breath tormenting me, teasing flesh that wants to be buried inside her.

“Tell me what you want.” She’s torturing me. I shouldn’t like it this much, but I do.

“I want to come,” I groan as the tip of her tongue swipes across my slit, hot and wet. “Please.”

“You can make yourself come. You don’t need me for that.” She ends the sentence with another lick, this one slower, as if I’m delicious. Then another. My eyes are rolling back in my head, my ability to form rational thought long gone.

“You,” I pant. “I want you to make me come.” The words are choked. I’m grateful for the darkness, how it hides the need that must be painted across my face. I wish it could hide the need in my voice.

“Good start,” she encourages, wrapping her lips around me and sucking. It’s incredible. I’m grasping the sheets so tight I can’t feel my fingers. She can’t stop. I will die if she stops. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do at this moment to make her keep going.

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. God, Claire, your mouth. Fuck.” I’m a mess—rambling, practically incoherent with pleasure.

She releases me from her mouth, but this time she strokes me, hand working up and down my straining cock. “That was good, so good.”

I’m forty-three years old and feel ridiculously proud because my wife said I did a good job begging her to make me come. Three years with Claire have shown me there’s nothing I won’t do if it earns me her praise. She asks a question that makes my head spin.

“Mouth or pussy? How do you want me to finish you?”

Finish me.

There’s never been a better choice of words.

“Pussy,” I instruct, hurrying to add, “please. Please use your pussy.” I’ve made it this far. There’s no way I’m losing my release now.

I can’t see her smile, but I can hear it. “That’s my good little deer. You’re a quick learner, aren’t you?”

My “Yes” turns into a groan as her heat consumes me. She rides me hard and fast. I can’t stay quiet. No amount of gritting my teeth can keep me from moaning as my orgasm builds. It’s the only thing I can do. I’m incapable of anything else. My brain is short-circuiting.

Her hips start to slow.

Nonononono.

“Please.” I don’t even recognize my voice anymore. “Please make me come.”

Her pace increases.

“You’re doing perfect.” That breathless sound is back in her voice.

A shiver runs through me.

“Not yet,” she pants, answering my unspoken question. “I want to come with you.”

My response isn’t even words. It’s something wild clawing its way out of my throat. I’m winding tighter than I ever thought possible, my body shuddering for release.

“Feels so good.” Claire’s struggling to get her words out. “Perfect.”

I’m right there. So close. Drawing on my last bit of cognitive function, I beg for what I’m desperate for.

“Please let me come. Please.”

She tightens around me. “Yes. Yes. Come, Shane, fu—” She cuts off into a yelp, her walls clamping on my cock, arousal surging down my shaft.

I don’t know what I’m saying, just that I’m growling it, unable to keep my hands on the sheets any longer.

Grabbing her thighs, I control her motion.

She’s still on top, but I’m fucking her.

My hips slam up into her with desperation that nearly unseats her.

That’s not happening. Not after all this.

I’m not coming anywhere except inside her pulsing, hungry cunt.

Holding her on me, I explode as she continues to writhe through her release.

Claire screams. My cock’s throbbing triggers another orgasm or maybe prolongs the current one.

I don’t know what’s happening beyond the fact that I’m coming, harder than I ever knew I could come.

Even harder than the first time I fucked her in the woods.

I don’t know how long it lasts, but when it’s over, I feel wrung out, a blissful exhaustion settling into my bones. She’s draped across my chest, our hearts racing each other. We stay there for a minute, or maybe five, then she breaks the silence. “Was that okay?”

Was that okay ?

Hot showers are okay. Baked potatoes are okay. That was drugs. I would burn down my life for that kind of soul-shaking pleasure.

“Shane?”

In my reckoning, I didn’t answer her. My voice comes gravelly and somehow fast.

“Yes. That was…” I don’t know what to say. I don’t have the words.

“Not too much?” There’s amusement in her voice, like she knows she just upended my world, the way she always does.

“No. It was perfect.” Again, I feel like I need to say more, but I’ve got nothing.

“Okay.” She kisses my chest, then untangles herself. “Let me get a washcloth to clean you up.”

“Yeah.”

My body feels like it’s sinking into a warm bath, relaxation sweeping through my muscles. I can’t keep my eyelids open. Don’t want to. I want to soak in this peacefulness. I drift off before she’s back from the bathroom, thinking about our plans for tomorrow.

Claire

“Did you pack the bear spray?” Shane asks. He begins to fuss with my pack as if he might unzip it and start rummaging. That’s not happening. Everything is situated how I want it. I spin away from him, laughing at his frustrated huff.

“We have everything we need to get to the first resupply point. Relax.” Hooking my fingers through his belt loops, I tug him toward me. He hugs me, backpack and all.

“Relaxing isn’t my thing,” he grumbles, but then his voice lightens. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“It’s going to be incredible.” I fight down the urge to bounce around like an overexcited golden retriever. We’re in our driveway, doing a final check on our backpacking gear. I’m taking a year off from teaching, and Shane’s on leave from work. Months of hiking with my husband lie before me.

On one of our belated dates, after I moved in, we discovered that we both had hiking the Appalachian Trail on our bucket lists.

Training and planning began immediately.

With every month that passed, we grew closer, fit together better, and realized that sex is just one of many ways we’re compatible.

A year later, Shane proposed. In the woods, of course.

Just thinking about it makes me feel like a flurry of confetti is swirling inside me.

I was hunting him and followed his tracks to the lake.

He was on one knee when I got there, the ring glittering in the sunlight the way it’s glittering on my hand right now.

“One last hunt before we hit the road?” Shane interrupts my reminiscing with a mischievous look as he releases me.

Just like that, I realize our start might be delayed.

I’m completely on board. Margot’s coming over—she’s house-sitting for us—but not until this evening. Right now, it’s just Shane and me.

“I thought I wore you out last night,” I say, unable to keep from grinning. “How are you still frisky, little deer?”

He captures my hand, moving it to his crotch. “ Huge deer.”

Heat flickers low in my stomach when he stirs beneath my hand. Unbuckling my backpack, I step closer to him. His throat bobs as he swallows.

“I’ll give you five minutes.” I lean in close to whisper, “You better run fast.”

He does.

But I’m faster.