Page 11 of The Prey

Fuck it. It is Elyse’s job; I’ll make her do it.

I turn to march out of the room and crash directly into her small body. I grip her by the arm in an attempt to steady her and notice the old, ratty backpack she’s brought with her. All I can do is roll my eyes and shake my head.

“Do you own anything that isn’t fucking thrift store chic?”

She flinches, and it feels good. I need this. I need to take back the power it feels like Tanya has stripped from my bones. I haul Ely up by her bicep, and she stumbles forward. The clean scent of soft skin and soap bubbles wafts from her. No thick cloying perfumes, nothing choking me. I let myself breathe her in, erasing the memories of Tanya from my mind. When I realize I’ve been holding onto her far longer than necessary, I release her with a small shove. She stumbles backward, and I revel in the anger that flashes in her eyes while I take the armchair by the bed.

“Perfect timing. I need my clothes packed.”

She blinks. “But I thought you were going to pack your own bag.”

“Well, I changed my mind.” I eye her body and the stack of clothes. “That is, unless you would rather resume what we were doing before we were interrupted?” I toy with her, knowing her response will be a shuddering no, and on the off chance she tries to surprise me with a challenge, I ensure the door is closed this time.

“No, of course, not.” Her voice wavers, and she walks over to the closet. The light cuts across the dark hardwood, and I sit in my chair, watching her. What type of person does it make me if I admit that terrorizing Elyse has become my favorite pastime? I mean, since she belongs to me, why the hell not, right? Our verbal sparring matches are what gets me through the day sometimes, but I would never confess that to a soul.

As much as it annoys me most days, I've come to respect Elyse’s sunshiny personality and drive. Even with the odds stacked against her daily, she still finds a way to be happy. Like just breathing is enough for her, and I guess I’m a little jealous of that. Or how, no matter what is thrown at her, she can somehow still find the smallest speck of good in the bad.

I can’t seem to take my eyes off her, and it’s definitely hate simmering in my blood right now. My balls ache, and my fists tighten as I stare at her perfect, heart-shaped ass. Months of confinement in this damn house with her are going to my head.

Hate. Not lust.

Remember who she is and what she represents. That reminder transforms desire into disgust.

Yes, let the disgust and anger lead you. Not the desire. Never the desire.

She pulls one of the designer suitcases from the top shelf and opens it, placing it just outside the closet, giving herself ample room to move around. “How many days should I pack for?”

There’s something intimate about this moment…me watching her as she moves around in such proximity to my personal possessions, her fingers touching them… alarm bells blare in my head. “Five days should be sufficient.”

“Five days?” she murmurs. “I didn’t pack for five days.”

I shrug. “It doesn’t matter. Where we’re going, clothes are optional.” I keep my expression blank, even as adrenaline zips through my veins when I see fear filter into her blue eyes. Those same blue eyes beg me to meet her gaze, as if I’ll confirm she’ll be safe with me.

Yes, give your fear to me, Elyse. Give me all of it and let me drown in it because the alternative is so much more frightening.

She has no fucking clue what I would do if another man saw even an inch of her flesh without permission. I’d have to gouge his eyes out and remove his brain so I could take the memory from his mind. In every definition of the word, she is mine.

I’d never let anything happen between us, but she doesn’t have to know that, nor will she ever. Not even when my use for her has ended.

She returns to the closet and, a second later, brings a handful of suits back out. “Evening wear? I presume a tuxedo?” Her eyes dart to the clothing on the bed, and before I can respond with some asshole remark, she mumbles to herself, “Duh, a tuxedo is needed.”

I remain quiet and let her continue packing my belongings. She’s just a maid. An infuriating, stubborn maid. A warm feeling takes root in my chest when she brings out a stack of my socks and underwear. It’s just socks and underwear. Get a grip. But it’s more than that. I know it, and I’m certain she knows it, too. Unlike all the others, I trust her, and it shows when I allow her to touch the most intimate items I own.

Thus bringing us way too close to the surface of something I don’t want to fucking touch. I need a distraction, even if I don’t have time for one. I whip out my phone and hit one of my most recent calls. “Hi.”

I can feel Elyse’s eyes on me, but she doesn’t pause.

“You free right now?”

A sleepy mumble filters through the phone as Lee wakes up enough to answer. “Mm...yeah, I guess. What did you have in mind?”

I put on a wicked smile, making sure Elyse sees it. Not that she would miss it. Her eyes always have a habit of finding me. I think she’s as attuned to me as I am to her. “Oh, I don’t know. You, me, a bottle of whiskey. Maybe we'll take a dip in the hot tub?”

I have no plans at all to go anywhere with Lee but I sure as hell don’t want Elyse to think I’ll be sitting around here waiting for her. I could call one of the twenty girls I have in my contact list, but I’m not in the mood to deal with the extra shit that comes with making those calls.

Lee is good enough to make Ely think I’m going off to be with someone else.

More alert than before, Lee responds, “Sebastian. I'll definitely agree if you finally succumb to my wiles, but something tells me this isn’t that.”

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