Page 85 of Prey

“And you’re soaked through your pants again.” Nikolai’s masked face appears in three mirrors simultaneously as he circles me. “Tell me this doesn’t turn you on, Jenna.”

It does. God help me, it does. The way every surface is designed for one purpose—breeding me until I can’t think of anything else. My nipples are hard against my shirt. My cunt aches with anticipation that I hate myself for feeling.

“I don’t want kids,” I say, backing against the wall. More mirrors. More versions of myself looking terrified and aroused. “I never wanted kids. Not after?—”

“After what your stepfather did to you. After what you did to him.” Nikolai’s voice is matter-of-fact. “I know everything about you now, Jenna. Including the part where you’ve been afraid for three years that you might be wanted for a murder you don’t even know if you committed. You’re not, by the way. He’s alive.”

The casual way he says it makes my chest tight. He pulled the information from some file, cataloged my trauma alongside my measurements and dietary preferences.

He stops in front of me, gloved hands frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. In the mirrors, we look like some fucked-up Renaissance painting—beauty and the beast, if the beast had conditioned the beauty to crave captivity.

“Strip,” he says quietly. “Everything.”

I pull my shirt over my head, watching myself in a dozen reflections. My bra follows. My pants. My underwear pools at my feet, and I’m naked in a room designed specifically to impregnate me.

The breeding bench sits there like an altar.

“On your back,” Nikolai commands, and I move toward it like I’m sleepwalking. The padding is soft against my spine as I lie down, spreading my legs automatically. The angle tilts my pelvis up, gravity working against any chance of his cum leaking out.

The restraints close around my wrists and ankles with soft clicks. Padded leather, comfortable enough for extended use. I test them reflexively and find no give. I’m helpless, displayed like an offering in a temple of mirrors.

“Perfect,” Nikolai murmurs, and the gentleness in his voice makes my chest ache. Not just lust. Something deeper.

He strips, hanging his tactical gear on hooks designed for that purpose. His naked body appears in the mirrors from every angle—the tattoos covering his chest and shoulders, the defined muscle of someone built for violence. His cock stands thick and ready, the piercing glinting in the overhead lights.

But it’s his eyes I can’t look away from. Ice blue and fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. He looks at me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been asking his entire life.

“I’m going to start with your ass,” he says conversationally, reaching for a bottle of lube. “Stretch you out properly first. Then I’m going to fuck you there until you’re begging me to breed your cunt instead.”

My breathing quickens. The dirty talk shouldn’t affect me this much, but my body doesn’t care. It only cares that his voice drops to that rough whisper when he talks about using me.

“Look at yourself,” he commands, squirting lube onto his fingers. “Look at how ready you are for this.”

I watch myself reflected above—spread wide. My nipples are dark and peaked. My pussy is visibly wet, lips parted and swollen. I look exactly like what I am: a woman desperate to be bred by the man who broke her.

“We’re both sick,” I say. “That’s the only thing about this that makes sense.”

“Yes,” Nikolai agrees, circling my asshole with one slick finger. “We both are. That’s why this works.”

The first finger slides in easily. I’ve been stretched enough in the birch grove that the invasion feels natural now, necessary. He opens me slowly, adding a second finger, then a third. The mirrors show everything—my face contorting with pleasure-pain, his fingers disappearing into my ass, the way my back arches despite the restraints.

“You’re going to take all of me,” he murmurs, scissoring his fingers wider. “Every inch. And you’re going to come from it.”

“Nikolai—” His name breaks apart in my throat as he finds that spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.

“That’s right. Say my name.” He withdraws his fingers and positions himself at my entrance. The head of his cock breaches me. “Say it while I claim every part of you.”

He pushes forward slowly, inexorably. The stretch is intense, bordering on too much, but my body opens for him anyway. Accepts him. Welcomes the invasion as if it were designed for exactly this.

“Nikolai,” I gasp as he bottoms out, his hips flush against my ass. “Oh god, Nikolai?—”

“Look at yourself taking me.” His voice is strained now, barely controlled. “Look how perfectly you fit around my cock.”

I do. In the mirrors, I can see where we’re joined, see the way my body stretches to accommodate him. It should be degrading. It is degrading. And that’s exactly why my pussy clenches with need.

He starts moving, slow at first, then building to a rhythm that has me gasping with each thrust. The angle of the bench means every stroke hits deep.

“Mine,” he growls, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “Every hole. Every response. Mine.”