Page 2 of The Huntress and Her Hound

“You’re gonna be so tight.” He gropes my ass as he groans, kneading so hard that it stings. I let out a nice porn star kind of sigh—which is probably where this guy gets most of his information on female anatomy—and then grind back into him. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Don’t come in your pants,” I tease with a smile. However, the thought of him getting any kind of true satisfaction from this encounter is infuriating.

“I’ll only be coming in you tonight,” he murmurs as the elevator finally fucking chimes on the fiftieth floor. I clutch my crossbody purse, knowing it’s my one line of survival. If I lose it, I lose the game. And I don’t lose the game.

“You better get moving,” I urge, pushing him off of me playfully. He laughs a jarring cackle, and I force a giggle as he heads out of the small, cramped elevator. I suck in a deep breath as I follow him, the stale scent of smoke permeating the hallway. I swear, all hotels—no matter how grandiose—have the same smell.

“You coming, baby?” he calls over his shoulder at me.

There’s that word again. Baby. Baby, baby, baby...

I fucking hate it.

“You just walk so fast,” I say back to him, my voice all frills and no intelligence. “You’re so tall.”

“I get that a lot.” He winks, raking a hand through his dirty blond hair. His suit is some sort of custom made, designer get up. It fits him in all the right ways, accentuating his strong shoulders and lean body. He probably runs and hits the gym regularly, but he’s no body builder by any means.

He makes it to the room and swipes the card before shoving the door open. I catch up and follow him inside. It’s tidy, which is unsurprising. Some are messy. Some are tidy as fuck. But they’re all misogynists...

And they all deserve what they get.

The moment of observation is a mistake on my end, and Dylan is on my body in seconds, his fingers already tugging up the bottom of my dress. I roll my eyes as he kisses my neck, not surprised by his need to get right to it.

“What the hell are these?” He stops as his fingers run across my inner thigh, finding my short, thick biker shorts. No wet panties or pussy on display for him.

“Oh,” I say in a timid tone. “They smooth out my dress line.” Lie. “Also, maybe we could have another drink? I’m feeling a little nervous.”

“Uh...” Dylan’s voice trails off, but he steps away from me and nods. “I guess I can make you a drink.” He gives me a begrudging expression as he heads for the minibar.

“You’re just so hot,” I explain, following him as he grabs a couple of glasses. “I’m not used to being with men of your caliber.”

He curls a lip up at me, clearly unenthused with being cockblocked. “Yeah...” He grabs a couple of little bottles and a glass. His face brightens as he looks me over again. “Why don’t you strip for me while I make you the drink? Give me a reason to waste my money on you.”

Ah, and the true colors are revealed.

“I suppose I could do that,” I go to peel off my strapping black heels.

He licks his lips. “No, leave those on. You’re too short for me to bend over without them. I’ll end up putting it in your ass.”

How lovely.

“Of course,” I say, standing up straight again. “But I think you’ll have to get the zipper on this dress...”

“Oh? Let me finish then.” The disappointment is apparent, written all over his face like a satire comedy. He lazily pours my drink, which is just straight vodka. He holds it out for me, and I take it.

“Let me freshen up,” I say as he kisses my neck.

“Ugh, whatever,” he grumbles, throwing hands as I squirm away from him. His dissatisfaction brings a genuine smile to my face as I slip into the hotel bathroom. Normally, men want to get me drunk before they think they’ll fuck me. Dylan is so eager to get his dick wet, he’s not even thinking about having fun beforehand.

I shut myself in and fish out the small glass bottle from my purse. I set it down on the counter and take a mouthful from the glass of clean vodka. I then dump the contents of my concoction from home into the rest of the drink. I swish the vodka in my mouth as I exit, gripping the glass with a fresh sense of eagerness.

“That was fast.” Dylan’s already down to just his bare torso and slacks. “I guess you missed me.”

I audibly swallow my mouthful of vodka, and then purposefully falter in my smile and cough. “Oh, this is too strong for me.”

He sighs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Of course, it is. Just sit it down and come over here. My dick is going soft.”

Oh, you poor thing. Not a soft cock.

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