Page 17 of The Prey

Her body goes completely slack beneath my grasp, her eyes fluttering closed. I exhale and slowly lift myself off her, removing my hands from her soft skin. If I don’t stop touching her, I might do something I’ll regret.

Still, even as I tell myself to walk away, my feet refuse to move. I remain there, planted like a fucking creep, hovering over her and watching her breasts swell with every slight rise and fall of her chest. Fuck, the things I could do to her right now. And the knowledge that there isn’t a damn thing she could do to stop me—it’s intoxicating.

I lift my thumb, wiping at the moisture forming at the corner of my mouth. I could fuck her, take her however I want, and she would never even fucking know. It wouldn’t matter, even if she did know. She's mine to do with as I please.

The temptation is so fierce, I reach for her without further thought, my fingers flicking at the top buttons on her shirt to reveal a small peek at what’s beneath.

Smooth, porcelain skin reflects back at me in the lamplight, and I stroke a single finger down the center line of her chest, starting at the pulse that beats frantically in the hollow of her throat, ending at the last button, just beneath her breasts. Her skin is silky smooth, against the rough pad of my finger.

I want to trace it with my tongue. Discover its flavor.

For some reason I hesitate. All I would have to do to see more is twitch my finger a bit to the right or the left, pulling back the fabric, and all of one little tit would be revealed. I bet I could swallow it whole. Shit. My throbbing cock presses against the zipper of my pants, reminding me that even if she pisses me the fuck off she still has the power to awaken me with need.

Now would be the perfect opportunity to relieve myself. While she’s lying so perfectly still, so vulnerable and helpless. The perfect prey.

It wouldn’t take long for me to come. I could rub it into her skin, coat her with my seed. Mark her. Make her even more mine than she already is. Would she be confused when she woke up and found the dried residue of my cum? Disgusted?

Or turned on? My fingers brush against the button of my slacks like they’ve already made their choice.

Don’t let her win. Don’t let her gain control of you.

A tiny voice rings in my mind, an annoying reminder that snaps me out of the hazy fog of lust and back to reality. Disgust coats my insides. She’s the enemy, the very thing I need to stay away from. Touching her, even if she would never know, would only complicate things. I’d know what I did, and that would fuck me up enough in itself.

Fighting against every impulse in my body, I force myself to take a step back. I curl my fingers into my palms to alleviate the temptation to touch her.

But goddamn, she’s beautiful. Her features are delicate, tiny, and breakable.

I look away from her still body and back to the ravaged closet. Anger simmers in my blood, demanding an outlet. One that I do not have at the moment. It’s easier to allow myself to feel anger than lust for my little prey. If I lean into the anger, maybe I can forget how much I desire her in other ways.

My gaze catches on the suitcase that’s sitting on the floor, and I move to inspect the contents. At least she packed adequately. I let out a sigh and grab the pile of clothes I set aside for her earlier off the bed.

I cast her still body one last lingering glance and trudge into the closest to grab another suitcase. I toss the clothes inside, along with a few toiletries I stole from her room while I was gone, and because you can never be too prepared, I add a gun, a couple of knives, and some spare clips. I don’t anticipate trouble, but that doesn’t mean it won’t find me on its own.

Once I've gathered everything I need, I call for the driver to come grab the bags while I remain standing at the edge of the bed staring down at Elyse’s unconscious form. She'll wake up in about twelve hours with a hangover from hell. Not that it matters. It’s worth it knowing I don’t have to spend eight hours in a steel box thirty-five-thousand feet in the air listening to her whine about her animals, trivial life, and how I’ve ruined it all. In reality, she hasn't said much about it to me or how much I’ve destroyed her future, but I'm waiting for the day she blames me for the choices her father made.

Crouching by the bed, I prepare myself for what I need to do. Touching her both disgusts me and intrigues me. I grab her by the arms and lift her, tossing her over my shoulder so I can carry her out to the car. She’s as light as a feather, too light for my liking honestly, but her eating habits haven’t been my priority.

I might have to change that.

The driver averts his gaze as I bend and load her inside the back seat before sliding in behind her. I straighten in my seat and stare down at her sleeping body, slumped against the door.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath and then lean forward, yanking the seat belt around her. It gets caught on her pants, and I jerk at the fabric in frustration, jarring her small frame to the side. Thankfully, it gives way, tearing her pants a little in the process.

Not like it matters. She doesn’t pay for the uniform.

I click the buckle back into place and ease back in the seat, glancing her way only once more. She looks uncomfortable as hell, and if we got into an accident, there’s no saying she wouldn’t break her neck anyway, but at least I won’t have to listen to the fucking annoying ding of the car. It’s the only reason I buckled her in.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway

It only takes a few minutes to get to the airport. In a college town chock-full of rich criminals, there's always quick access to a safe exit.

The jet is prepared and waiting for our arrival. My agent took care of the paperwork for both of us, and it should only take about forty minutes to reach the hotel once we arrive in London, giving us just enough time to get ready for the event.

I calculate the timeframe again and again in the car as we drive to the airport. She stirs a few times, and I wonder if I should double down on the pill with a shot, but I decide against it. I know her medical history from Dr. Brooks, but I don't want her to be drugged up and drowsy during the event tonight. I don't trust her enough to leave her in the hotel by herself, and I might need to use her to get the attention of the man I seek.

The driver opens my door, and I walk around the car to grab Ely out of her side. The lone flight attendant helps with the bags and completely ignores both Ely and me until we are sitting and buckled in.

These are the kinds of advantages to being wealthy. I’ll accept—the ability to get away with murder, figuratively speaking.