Page 18 of Prey for You

One movement.

One body.

One breath.

A beast of many limbs, but all of them fluid and lithe. I barely noticed when the music began to pound because it couldn’t overwhelm the thudding of my pulse in my ears.

I was breathless.Pantingwith need. My mind half-present, drinking in the sights and sounds, and half-absent, coiled with Sam, pressing into his touch, stirred by his deep rumbles, aroused at the sight of his strength, swallowing his cries—

I felt Sam’s ragged breath in my hair and the heat of him at my back, and for a split second, I thought my fantasy had become immersive—until I blinked out of the trance and he was there. But when I sucked in, heat and thrill exploding in my belly, and started to turn, his hand came up, fingers and thumb gripping my jaw, forcing me to look at the stage.

“No,”he growled. “Keep watching.”

I swallowed and felt my throat slide against his calloused palm. Inwardly, I cheered when he lifted me out of the seat and walked me backwards to the second row of chairs that were positioned behind the first—and between the curtains, hiding whoever sat in them in deep shadows.

My breath was already heavy. My breasts felt full, one nipple teased against his forearm when he moved me and I wassograteful for the music because it covered my low groan.

“You like a guyin tights?”Sam rasped in my ear as he stopped in front of one of the chairs and let me slide down his body, setting me on my feet between his, facing the stage. He loomed over me, still gripping my jaw and wouldn’t let me turn to look at him, but I shook my head as best I could.

“I like what he’s doing—I was thinking of you,” I said honestly.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” he growled, his tone walking the line between teasing and furious.

“It’s true. I don’t lie to you,” I breathed.

A deep, approving rumble vibrated against my back and my breath caught. “Keep watching,” he instructed sharply before letting go of my jaw and leaning down, his body pressed against mine as he reached for the hem of my dress and began to furl it up at the sides. His fingers trailed up my legs so my skin pebbled and a tingling rush of pleasure rose up both legs to merge at my spine and make me ache.

When he slid his hands under the hem and could let it gather on his wrists, his touch grew firmer, his hands cupping my inner thighs and sliding up until he found me and groaned as he played fingers over my softest, most sensitive flesh.

Sighing with relief to finally have him touching me, I let my head sink back against his chest, but Sam shuddered and growled,“No.”

For a moment I was afraid he was angry, but then he planted one hand between my shoulder blades and bent me forward at the same time he took my hand and clamped it onto the back of the empty chair in front of us. “Hold on,” he muttered, then dropped his lips to my spine and kissed his way down the open back, his hands leaving me as he caught the back of my skirt and lifted it up and over my hips, baring my ass.

I bit my lip and bumped back against his steel length like I had in the bathroom this morning. But he snapped at me to stop, his teeth grazing my spine hard enough to make me flinch until I stopped moving.

He straightened with an approving rumble, but stopped touching me too, bunching my skirt along the hollow of my back until he was satisfied that it wouldn’t fall down.

And then he reached for me again.

His fingers stroked, curling, even though he didn’t enter me. I made a whimper of complaint as my core began to ache again. Then as he found a slow-but-insistent rhythm with his fingers against my flesh, he flattened his thumb between my ass cheeks and rubbed there, too.

I sucked in hard, unable to resist widening my stance to give him better access, my stomach trilling when he rumbled again, his breath growing harsher. But then he leaned against my ass, still stroking me, and rasped, “Eyes up, Bridget.”

I’d let my head drop without even thinking about it. When he gave the instruction, I snapped my head up to look at the stage. Sam rewarded me by sliding two fingers into me and my jaw went slack, but as delicious as his touch was, I wanted more. I wantedhim.

“Sam, please,” I gasped.

“Watch the show, Bridget,” he said through his teeth. “You paid for it. And I can tell you like it—you were already ready for me, wife. I don’t know whether to be offended, or grateful.”

“Grateful,” I whispered. “Definitely grateful.”Like me.

He hummed and I heard the smile in it. And it made me so fucking happy that he was pleased.

For long minutes, as the couple on the stage danced and whirled and writhed, simulating intimacies that made my flesh heat, Sam pushed me closer and closer to orgasm, his touch growing harder, more aggressive, until my knees wobbled. I prayed the music wouldn’t stop, because I knew my breath would be audible to others if the room went quiet.

The music grew faster and louder. I watched as the couple on stage moved to a position front and center and all other lights cut out except for a stark spotlight directly over them.

And he had her bent over in front of him.

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