Page 34 of Willing Prey

“Loved it,” I interrupt. “But I think you could tell.”

“Just making sure.” She smiles but studies me like she isn’t sure she believes me. “I know being the one hunting is what you’re into.”

My chuckle surprises her, so I know what I say next will be a shock, “I was never into it until you.”

She sits up, and I stretch, trying to palm one of her breasts. Staying out of reach, she asks, “But what about the other women you hired? Or Margot? And what do you mean you were never into? You propositioned me.”

Admitting it is embarrassing, but if we’re doing this communication thing, I have to. “I didn’t know hunting was something people did until that party. It ... woke something up. I tried it out with a few women, but it didn’t feel right. Something was missing.“ I opt not to share my coffee shop lurking or how I impatiently waited for her and Keith to split. Maybe I’ll take those to the grave.

“But this feels right?” She looks puzzled. I don’t blame her. I’m in my head, and it took me a while to realize. Now it seems like the most obvious thing in the world.

“It does,” I say simply. “You were what was missing. It was never going to be right without you.”

Claire blinks at me, and I think her eyes are misty. Her lips are back on mine, hungry and urgent, her fingers wrapping around the back of my neck. My cock stirs beneath her, and she makes a surprised noise into my mouth. I’m already rolling us over, settling my hips between her thighs. I’m not chasing her. At least not this time.

Epilogue

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 strokes 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 breath-taking 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, 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 the way she is now.

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’m the one saying, “Don’t stop, for the love of god, don’t stop.” I come as undone for her as she does for me.

“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.

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