Page 105 of Prey

I lean forward and bite his lower lip, tasting blood. He groans against my mouth, straining against the ropes.

“You like being caught,” I whisper against his lips. “You like being helpless.”

“Only for you.” His hips buck upward, seeking friction. “Only ever for you.”

The knife moves lower, cutting through his belt with deliberate intent. Each stroke of the blade makes him tense, muscles coiling under scarred skin. When I free his cock, it’s already leaking, flushed dark with need.

“Look at you.” I wrap my fingers around his length, thumb brushing over the Prince Albert piercing that’s become so familiar. “The mighty hunter, tied to a tree, begging for his captive’s touch.”

“Your hunter,” he corrects, voice raw. “Your captive. Whatever you want me to be.”

I stroke him, watching his face contort with pleasure and frustration. The knife remains in my other hand, a constant reminder of who holds the power now.

“I want you desperate,” I tell him, increasing my pace until his breathing becomes ragged. “I want you to understand what it feels like to be completely at someone else’s mercy.”

“I understand.” His head falls back against the tree bark. “Fuck, Jenna, I understand.”

But I’m not finished with him yet.

I release his cock and stand, ignoring his sound of protest. My own clothes come off—sports bra, tactical pants, boots. Everything Nikolai gave me, everything that marks me as his.

Naked in the dappled sunlight, I feel powerful in a way I’ve never experienced. Not the desperate strength of survival, but the confident authority of a predator who knows her prey is already caught.

“You taught me to read people,” I say, settling back onto his lap. “To see what they want before they know it themselves.”

His cock twitches against my thigh as I position myself just out of reach.

“What do I want, Nikolai?”

“You want to claim me.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “You want to make me yours the same way I made you mine.”

“Good hunter.” I reward him by sinking down slowly, taking just the head of his cock inside me. “But that’s only part of it.”

He fills me gradually, the piercing adding texture that makes my nerves sing. But I control the pace now, rising and falling with deliberate torture that keeps him on the edge without letting him fall over.

“Tell me what else I want,” I demand, the knife tracing patterns across his chest.

“You want—” He gasps as I clench around him. “You want to be the predator.”

“Yes.” The word hisses out as I take him deeper. “You made me dangerous, and now I’m going to show you exactly what you created.”

I set a rhythm that drives us both toward madness—slow enough to keep him desperate, deep enough to make my own vision blur. The knife stays pressed against his skin, a silver line of threat and promise.

“You feel so good,” he pants, straining against the ropes. “So fucking perfect.”

“You don’t get to come until I say so.” My free hand tangles in his hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat. “You don’t get to do anything until I decide you’ve earned it.”

I can feel his restraint fracturing, see the moment when the civilized man disappears and only the primal need remains.

“Please.” The word breaks from him like a confession. “Please, Jenna, I need?—”

“What do you need?” I bite his earlobe.

“I need you to take what’s yours.”

The admission shatters me. Not the careful control I’ve built, but the last pretense that this is just physical. This isn’t about sex or power or even revenge. This is about recognition—two broken people finding the exact shape of their damage.

I move in earnest, rising and falling with increasing urgency. The knife traces abstract patterns across his skin, never breaking the surface but promising I could. His muscles bunch and release beneath me, testing the bonds that hold him.