Page 32 of The Prey

“Nothing.”

“It is something.” I eye her speculatively, playing back what I said until it hits me. “Fucking hell.” In essence, I did take one of her virginities because I’d bet money that was her first fucking blow job. Mixed with an unexpected and weird sense of shame is a feeling of victory. Mine was the first cock that took her throat.

Play your cards right; it could be the last. Could be the only.

I shove that thought away and concentrate. Ely’s talking, her soft, earnest voice doing something to my insides.

“That’s just it. I’m not trying to make it anything, but you’re acting weird, making it difficult for me to let it go.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say or do. All I’m doing is sitting here. Would you have preferred I let him have you?” It’s a shitty response, but I need her to shut up, and the easiest way to make someone do that is to hit them where it counts.

“No. That’s not what I would’ve preferred. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make a big deal out of it. I just wanted to reassure you that nothing has to change between us. If it were up to me, I’d forget it even happened.”

“Sounds like it.” I arch a brow in question at her. “You're the only one talking about it, and somehow you want me to think you want to forget it happened?”

Her mouth opens and then closes like a fish out of water. After a few seconds, she finally mumbles, “I do.”

“Then shut up about it. What’s done is done.”

“Okay,” she whispers, tucking her bottom lip under her top. I look away, my desire for her growing tenfold, burning hotter than the sun. Fuck her. Fuck this need she’s planted deep inside my chest with her pretty eyes and her soft lips and her and delicate features. She’s making me crave things I have no right to take. I want to hurt her for making me feel this way. Mark her skin. But touching her would only set me off at this point, so my only other option is to cut her with my words.

“You really don’t need to worry about anything changing between us. I can promise nothing has changed. You’re still the maid who owes me a debt that you’ll never be able to repay, at least not in this lifetime. Sucking my cock doesn’t change that... although maybe I’ll let you do it again, just for the fun of it.”

It happens in a flash, so quick that I don’t even have time to react. One minute, she’s sitting, and the next, she is out of her seat, her palm colliding with my cheek. The sting of her slap ripples across my face and twists my head to the side from the impact.

“You’re despicable. I hate you.”

Lord, please explain to me why my cock is harder than it’s ever been in my entire life? Her violence makes me harder than steel, and I find it even more difficult to focus. I’d love nothing more than to show her what happens when you fuck with a man like me, but I can’t cross that line. I won’t cross that line. Swallowing down my arousal, I focus on her anger. I cling to it, because if she hates me then she’ll stay away from me, right?

“Weird, you weren’t saying that yesterday. In fact, you said you’d do anything I wanted you to as long as I didn’t sell you. Maybe I made a mistake when I didn’t let Yanov take you home? Or maybe Sidorov? He wanted to fuck you, too.”

Red spots bloom on her cheeks, confirming her embarrassment, but beneath it is fear. It shines like a beacon of light in her eyes. I know I’m an asshole, but someone has to be. I need her to hate me, need it like my next breath. She takes a trembling step back, her lip quivering, and I can physically see her slipping somewhere else in her mind.

“Did I? Did I make a mistake, Elyse?”

“Please…I’m sorry. Please don’t let him hurt me again.”

“Again?” I growl, my emotions spiraling. I’m caught off guard by her words. She’s so fragile, broken. As bad as I want to hurt her, I want to protect her, too.

How the fuck is that possible?

“Wait, you need to go back to the beginning and explain this to me because, after everything I did to save your ass, I deserve an explanation.” I don’t deserve shit, but I’m not telling her that. “Like, why are his initials carved into your shoulder? Why did your father agree to sell you to him?” I shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t even be asking these stupid questions, but I need to know. “I know he did something to you. I could tell by the way you shrank back from him and how he acted, like you belonged to him. Now tell me what happened, and don’t lie to me. Otherwise, I might go to your father and ask him myself.”

Her big blue eyes fill with worry, and she shakes her head. “No, please. I’ll explain.”

“Then do it,” I snap.

She sags back down into her seat, tugging her legs up to her chest so she can wrap her arms around them. Without looking at me, she speaks. “From the moment I turned fifteen, he’s had an interest in me. He begged my father to give me to him, even going out of his way to endear himself.”

“Give you to him? What, did your father owe him money, too?”

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “That, or a favor. I don’t know, really.”

“So how did that end with his name carved into your shoulder?”

Her gaze goes hazy, and I wonder if she’s going back in time.

“I don't know, exactly. When I was sixteen, my father threw me a birthday party, but it wasn't really a party for me. It was a party for his friends. He wanted to show his newly grown-up daughter off to his friends. Yanov didn't like this at all. Sometime during the party, he cornered me and dragged me into a back hallway. One second, I was okay, and the next, I was so sleepy I could barely stand. All I remember is falling asleep, and the following morning, when I woke up, I was in my bedroom, my shoulder aching and crusted with blood. Ever since that day, he’s considered me his property.”

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