Page 5 of Willing Prey

FOUR

Shane

It’s three in the morning, and I’m still awake, staring at a ceiling I can’t see in the dark.

My cock is aching and rock hard, even though I’ve jerked off twice since I left Claire on the lawn.

She’s right down the hall, a fantasy made flesh.

I can’t stop thinking about her. Ever since the work Christmas party two years ago, when her jackass of an ex-husband bragged about how they spent their holidays on erotic hunting trips, I’ve wanted this.

Wanted her.

Keith had been trying to impress the other partners and me.

As if we’d find out he was married to a gorgeous brunette who likes getting rutted in the woods and give him a promotion.

That didn’t happen. If anything, his lack of discretion solidified my belief that he is not partner material.

He’d been “secretly” fucking a paralegal for months at that point too.

I hate cheaters, but after hearing his story and meeting Claire, I realized Keith wasn’t just a cheater. He was also a fool.

Claire had been radiant that night, all smiles, sipping white wine while wearing what had to be the most hideous Christmas sweater ever created, though I liked the pun.

Meowy Christmas. Brilliant. Even the garish green-and-red-striped sweatshirt emblazoned with an iron-on patch of a cat in a Santa suit couldn’t hide how stunning she was.

If anything, the absurdity of the sweater made her more attractive.

A beautiful woman with a sense of humor who wants to be run down like a deer? My mind was blown.

His X-rated story sparked an interest I hadn’t known I had. I’d immediately wondered what hunting Claire would be like, what fucking Claire would be like. As I lurked at the edges of every conversation she had that night, I realized she was clearly wasted on Keith.

I’d tried to flirt with her—the cat sweater was a perfect conversation starter—to see if she dabbled outside the marriage the same way her husband did.

For a brief moment, I even hoped they had an open marriage.

No luck on either front. She was oblivious to my attempts at flirtation, polite and pleasant, ignoring every slightly provocative thing I’d said.

When I’d run out of feline double entendres, I hadn’t known where to go from there.

Couldn’t figure out how to say it without actually saying it.

I’d gone home and jerked off, picturing another man’s wife running from me, being pinned beneath me, taking my cock.

The next day, I’d begun my search for a woman who would let me hunt her. I tried hiring professional sex workers, but it was too depressing. They were willing, but they didn’t want it. Not the way I’d imagined Claire wanting it when I fantasized.

Fucking the first woman had felt like sacrilege, the most difficult orgasm of my life.

I knew it was nothing like how it was supposed to be, how it would be if I were fucking Claire.

After I couldn’t get hard with the second woman I hired, I accepted Margot’s offer, wondering if familiarity would make the experience more enjoyable.

It didn’t. I’d been relieved when she used the safe word almost immediately, saving me from having to end the hunt early.

That was the wake-up call I needed to quit trying to force other women to fit my Claire-sized fantasy.

I decided that I’d wait for Keith’s affair to come to light, then I’d strike.

Live out this fantasy and be able to move on from my obsession.

By the next Christmas party, Keith and Naomi, the paralegal, were officially together .

The divorce was underway. Once it was finalized, I began researching Claire.

Finding out she—like nearly every other local educator—frequented the Green Bean made it easy to be near her.

Beyond a smile and polite hello, she never seemed to question my presence.

Hearing her vent to friends that she was worried about money gave me the perfect in.

I wouldn’t have to woo her, fumble through an obligatory getting-to-know-each-other phase, and try to be charming on dates.

I could come right out with it. Make it a business arrangement.

Claire gets the money she needs; I get this urge out of my system once and for all. Scratch the itch. A true win-win.

Sitting in her room tonight, waiting for her to come out of the shower, I had wondered if my hunting fantasy wasn’t meant to be lived out. I’d terrified Margot, and she’s worked for me for years. As much as I’ve learned about Claire from my observations, she doesn’t know me.

So I waited for her in the dark like a ghoul, thinking if she wouldn’t be able to handle this, I might as well find out now.

I’d wanted to unnerve her, push the boundaries of the contract.

Give her an obvious out if she was looking for one.

See if she’d realized she didn’t want to do this after all.

Better to find out in the house than in the woods.

Some part of me thought she’d call it. That she’d walk out of the bathroom, see me waiting, and decide it wasn’t worth the money. But she didn’t.

Images of her in that moment fill my mind.

When the towel hit the floor, my jaw followed it.

I hadn’t known where to look first. Every inch of her was perfection.

Thick thighs I need to put my face between.

Wide hips I’m going to dig my fingers into while I take her from behind.

Dusky nipples I want to tease with my tongue.

She’s somehow solid and soft, substantial in a way that makes me want to sink my teeth into her.

Something in her eyes makes me wonder if she might bite back, and god, I want that.

Summon her.

As soon as the thought arrives, I dismiss it. It’s too early. I want a challenge. A true hunt, not her shuffling through the woods half asleep. I’ll be leaving for work later than usual, so I can wait for her to eat breakfast. Make sure she’s in peak condition to run. To fight.

My hand moves to my cock as I remember the rebellious look in her eyes when she ran back into the bathroom.

Her ass, that underwear. My cock throbs harder.

My grip tightens. Dragging my palm across my tip, I spread arousal down my length.

I pretend it’s Claire’s wetness slicking my shaft, not my own.

She’d been drenched. I’d almost lost control, taken her right there on the lawn.

When I went to her room, I thought, worst-case scenario, she’d leave; best-case scenario, she’d tell me to get out, to summon her per the contract terms. Then she ran.

Claire ran.

I shouldn’t be so surprised. It’s what she’s here to do. But the game hadn’t even started yet, and she was ready to play—and she liked it. I hear her voice in my head, desperate yet defiant: I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.

My cock jerks at the memory. I stroke myself faster, hips bucking into my hand. I should be driving into her, relishing the way her body writhes and thrashes beneath me.

The thought of her eager cunt convulsing around my fingers as she still fought me tooth and nail makes my balls tighten.

Pressure in my cock builds to an almost unbearable level.

I could have flipped her over. Fucked her into the ground until grass stains marked her skin and dirt matted her pretty brown hair.

Sunk my teeth into her neck and left a mark for her to remember me by when I’m done with her.

It’s the idea of her skin marred by my teeth—my claim visible for everyone to see—that makes me lose control. The bed rocks, squeaking the slightest bit as I thrust one last time and explode into my fist, cum coating my hand and smearing across the top sheet.

Fuck.

I needed that.

Rolling out of bed, I strip the sheet, using it to wipe off.

After tossing it in the hamper, I climb back into bed.

Tugging up the duvet, I’m relieved when the material feels comforting, not oppressive.

Need no longer has me desperate to crawl out of my skin.

I think I might be able to wait until after breakfast to summon her.

My last thought before drifting off is of how I’m going to bury my face in her cunt when I catch her.

The taste I had earlier wasn’t nearly enough.