Page 7 of Willing Prey

SIX

Claire

It’s a miracle I don’t piss myself in surprise when Shane appears from behind the tree. Still, the squeak I make is undignified. Spinning, I start to flee back down the trail.

“Oh no you don’t.” Shane’s voice is close, too close.

I barely have time to register what that means when he grabs one of my arms and jerks to a stop.

I expect my momentum to break his hold, but it spins me roughly instead, my arm feeling stretched an inch longer.

Before I can think, he tugs me to his chest, clamping my arms at my sides.

“A little doe taking the deer trail,” he says conversationally. “Fitting.”

I stomp on the top of his foot once and then again.

If it hurts, he doesn’t show it. He just starts walking backward into the clearing.

I’m pinned to his chest, but I kick at him, trying to make him trip.

When that doesn’t work, I collapse. He doesn’t expect that, but he recovers fast. I’m faster, diving off the trail, hoping that slows him.

My freedom is short-lived. A rough hand tangles in the hair at the base of my skull.

Damn the bobby pins. He pulls me thrashing from the brush.

I expect him to readjust his hold, grab an arm or ankle. He doesn’t.

“Motherfucker,” I spit as he hauls me down the trail by my hair. I dig my nails into his wrist and forearm, trying to make him let go. It hurts, it hurts so fucking bad, but I’m too angry to even think about using the safe word. This is absolute bullshit. I’ve lost way too quickly.

“Know your safe word?” Shane asks. We’re in the field again, and I’ve resorted to grabbing at his ankles.

“Yes” has barely left my lips when he releases me.

I flop on my back. Fighting the urge to rub my scalp, I start to rise.

He knocks my feet out from under me, dropping to his knees between my legs.

Propped up on my elbows, I take in the sight of him.

His hair’s mussed, hanging over his forehead.

A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his throat.

My gaze roams over his body, zeroing in on the bulge behind his zipper. Shane lets out a raspy chuckle.

Shit. I’m forgetting to play the game.

Scuttling backward in a crab crawl feels ridiculous, but it’s all I can do.

He pounces. Solid hips settle between my legs.

Brutal hands force my torso to the ground.

Bucking, I try to knock him off. Shane pushes harder, grinding his erection on me.

He’s rigid, pressing his body where mine wants him to be.

My fingers itch to rip my leggings off, tug him out of his pants, and get down to it.

I need him inside me, but I need to make it the full thirty days more.

Stay strong.

Sinking to his forearms, he dips his head to my throat.

His breath tickles my skin. It’s minty, almost like toothpaste.

The thought of Shane brushing his teeth before hunting me through the woods is endearing and, unfortunately, arousing.

I should drop my chin and block his access to my throat.

My body won’t listen. I’m rotating my head away from him, exposing my neck.

Arching my back, I graze my breasts along his chest. I’m rewarded with his sharp intake of breath and a jolt of pleasure as his hips jerk between my legs.

His teeth scrape down the side of my throat before he plants an unexpected, scalding kiss there.

Then he’s sucking, pulling the thin skin into his mouth with so much force I know there will be a bruise.

Electricity sparks where his cock grinds on me, and my legs wrap around him instinctively.

I’m squeezing, pulling his pelvis tighter to mine, writhing up, even as my brain screams at me to stop.

He releases my neck with a popping sound.

There’s a sting of pain where he ravaged my skin, but I forget when his deep voice fills my ears.

“Are you wet, little deer?” he rasps. “Dripping like you were last night?”

It hits me like lightning.

He hasn’t said it. Not yet. Hasn’t told me to yield.

I freeze, mouth dry, throat tight. Wondering if I’ve blown it.

“No.” The lie sounds like a question.

Shane’s eyes flash, pure predator. Before I can react, before I can breathe, he’s pressing off me.

Like last night, I’m ready to scream in frustration at the loss.

Unlike last night, Shane’s hands return almost immediately.

He flips me in a single smooth movement, ripping my leggings down.

A rough finger teases my entrance. Then he plunges it inside me, pumping in and out lewdly.

The sound of how wet I am makes my face burn.

I’m glad I’m on my stomach. I’m not sure I could meet his eyes right now.

“Sure you aren’t wet?” There’s the slightest bit of amusement in his voice.

I don’t get to respond. Pain explodes across my ass, the crack of palm on flesh piercing the stillness of the woods.

My gasp is choked. I try to crawl forward, away from the agony. Fisting the back of my shirt, he holds me in place before delivering another excruciating spank. I’m swallowing my yelp when he speaks again.

“Don’t you ever lie to me.” His reprimand is dominating, primal. I can’t reconcile it with the polite, awkward lawyer who enjoys cat puns. It doesn’t compute.

His breath hits my skin, then searing, wet heat engulfs my sex, and the only pussy I care about is the one between my legs. Hands press my thighs wider; fabric rips as my leggings tear. He runs his tongue along me, gentle, savoring strokes that make it hard to think.

Life or death.

Crawling away from his mouth feels like dying.

He swears under his breath. Then his hands are underneath me.

As he tugs me back, he lifts my hips higher and holds them, giving himself better access to my pussy.

Scorching breath hits my begging flesh. The thought of moving away makes me want to weep.

Shane takes a long, lingering lick and then another.

This feast isn’t for my benefit. It’s all for him.

The way his hands knead my thighs, fingers tightening each time he swirls his tongue inside me, gives him away.

So does the way he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses between my legs as if he’s making out with my pussy.

I’m not sure he means to make contented sounds while he enjoys me, but he does.

It doesn’t matter if he’s not doing it for me.

I’m melting anyway, dissolving into a puddle of desperation.

I don’t know how long it takes me to come to my senses, but I finally do.

He didn’t say it.

I surge forward, ripping at the grass as I try to pull myself away.

My leggings are tangled around my ankles, forcing me to crawl.

He must be as dazed as I feel, because I make it a few feet this time before he’s on me again.

The spell is broken. Three hard spanks in rapid succession make me shriek into the ground.

I’m catching my breath when I hear fabric moving, a zipper being tugged down.

Run.

I don’t even get to try. My thighs are shoved apart again, his legs brushing mine.

“Yield.” The command comes as he thrusts his cock into me.

I knew it was coming, but the force makes me cry out.

Shane’s big. I don’t know how big because I haven’t seen his cock, but there’s a sharp sting as my body yields to his.

The depth, the stretch, and the suddenness of the breach chill me, sending icy lightning bolts through my limbs.

He’s too thick, too hard, and there’s too much power behind the thrust. I’m face down, hands clawing the earth as my body tries to adjust.

Suddenly, I’m wondering if I should have had a gentler sexual encounter with someone postdivorce to prepare for this. Maybe going from a decade of monogamy to being railed by a near stranger in the woods is too drastic a change for my body.

Margot’s warning returns. He’s different in the woods.

She’s right.

He’s terrifying.