Page 23 of The Prey
I say nothing since we both know he's right, and there’s no point in arguing. Not right now, with the shine of the knife on the counter next to my hip and the way his eyes keep roving over my skin like somehow, by grooming me, he owns even more of my body than he did before.
It’s like this small act changed something between us. I can’t pinpoint what yet, but I’m even more terrified now. Not of him, precisely. But of this feeling, of the unknown.
I’m shaking as he steps away, and there’s no hiding it. I know he sees it, too.
“Hurry up, or I’ll do what I promised to do to begin with and drag you along beside me, clothes or no clothes.” He says the last almost half-heartedly, like he’s already somewhere else, thinking about something else.
I nod once, not wanting to draw the monster out of him anymore than I already have. I’ve pushed him enough already, and knowing myself like I do, it won’t take much more to irritate him further, and I have an entire evening to spend with him.
10
Sebastian
She doesn't notice that I exit the bathroom with the wet cloth still clutched tight in my hand and the knife in my other since I wasn't about to leave that in her possession. I saw what she did to my clothes, and while I’m far more agile and capable of protecting myself, I’d prefer it if I didn’t have to break her hand when I force her to drop the knife.
I close the bathroom door behind me and pray she takes the hint and stays inside. If she interrupts me now, there's no way I’ll be able to stop myself. Not with the feel of her slick, soapy skin under my palms still so fresh in my mind.
There aren’t many places for privacy in a shared suite so I have to be creative. I wait until I hear the sink turn on before I duck into the closet and close myself inside. It's a small walk-in, and the perfect space for a moment of peace. I brace my back against the door to face the row of plush white robes hanging on the rack.
Why am I so weak for her? How could I become so consumed by her that I let her bring me this close to the edge, where I either live in or risk losing complete control.
It takes two seconds to unzip my pants and pull my aching cock out. I almost whimper from the sheer relief of the friction on my skin when I fist it, dragging my hand up and down in a long, lingering stroke. It's not enough, though. The low-burning ember of desire sticks in my gut, but I’m missing that bang, the igniter.
I rotate the knife in my palm one-handed and press my thumb to the base of the crossguard. It slides along my skin as easily as it did Ely's, and my entire body hums with approval as I watch the blood well in thick droplets. I use it to slick up my own skin and then release a sigh.
This is what I need. No, that's not true. What I need is Ely on her knees, my cock down her throat while she cries big fat tears for me, but that’s not going to happen.
It can't. It won’t.
I settle for my own hand instead, and while I stroke myself, I try not to think of her smooth skin or the way her soft, small tits would fit so perfectly in my hands.
In my mouth. I could suck the whole of those little handfuls between my teeth until she mewls for me. Fuck. I wonder what she tastes like and if she’d scream as she falls apart or whimper, begging me to stop. The image sends me straight over the edge, as does the sharp bite of pain in my palm, and sticky spurts of cum splash against the washcloth.
So much for not thinking about her.
I mop up the blood as well and toss the mess on the floor, clean the knife, and bend down to slip it into the minimal sheath around my ankle. I need to consider getting laid more, especially if I’m going to force myself to be in her presence.
When I open the closet door, I find her hovering just outside the bathroom, her face a flurry of apprehension. However, as I drink in the sight of her, I wonder if I made a mistake. The dress hugs her body tightly, giving her slight, muscular form more curves. I’ve noticed her running on the property early in the morning or late in the evening…that must be where she gets her spare, defined shape that’s nonetheless feminine as fuck. My mouth goes dry at the shadowy hint of cleavage bared by the dip of the dress.
Shit. I want people to notice her, but I don't want to have to fight anyone off either.
She raises her eyes slowly to mine, and if she knows what I'd been doing in the closet she doesn't indicate it.
I pull a tie off the bed, loop it up, and then shrug on my jacket. Once I fix my cuffs, I point at the shoes on the bench at the end of the bed. “Put those on.”
She rushes to the bench and quickly slips on the tall, strappy heels. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk well in these.”
I pretend to ignore how sexy her legs look and then shake away the thoughts of her bare skin again. “Don't worry about it. If all goes well, you'll be sitting or kneeling most of the night.”
A line creases the center of her forehead, and she gulps loud enough for me to hear but thankfully, she might be learning after all, because she doesn’t argue or question me.
It only takes a few minutes to get down to the car, which is waiting for us since I already had the time set for pickup. I help Elyse into the car and then take the seat next to her. She’s quiet, almost too quiet, on the drive, but thankfully traffic is light. Even so, I keep checking my watch. I wanted to be there over a half an hour ago to find the perfect spot to approach Mr. Mondrake Sidorov. Everything needs to be perfect. This might be the only chance I get to fix this, to rewind things enough so I can still break away from this life, from this world.
If the past few months have taught me anything, it’s that I have the mind for it—the temperament, I guess—but I don’t want it. Tanya ruined my desire to take my rightful position within the company. I don’t care about the power or the money, the driving forces of most of this world. I don’t give a shit about anything or anyone except Bel and my freedom.
Nothing else...I glance over at Elyse, who stares out the window into the city, her red-painted mouth slack as she takes in London for the first time. I can’t imagine what’s going through her head right now. I suppose if I was halfway human, I’d feel guilty for dragging her all the way here for a flesh market instead of actual sightseeing. Good thing I’m not.
But we packed enough for a week, just in case. Maybe I can take her to a few touristy places. The Tower of London. Buckingham Palace. Big Ben. One of those red phone booth things.