Page 101 of Prey

Nikolai’s thumb finds my clit, circling with perfect pressure as he pounds into me. The combination of his cock stretching me open and the visual of his brothers pleasuring themselves and each other pushes me over the edge.

I shatter, screaming his name as the orgasm tears through me like a wildfire. My pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me.

“Fucking beautiful,” someone groans.

“Look at that cunt grip him,” Marcus pants. “She’s coming so hard she’s shaking.”

Nikolai follows me over, burying himself deep as he fills me with hot spurts of cum. His forehead drops to mine, both of us breathing hard as aftershocks ripple through my sensitized body.

Around us, I hear the sounds of his brothers finding their own release—Marcus and Dominic coming together with matched groans, others finishing with curses and praise for the show we just gave them.

“Well,” Darius says eventually, his voice slightly breathless. “Welcome to the family, Jenna.”

I’m still trembling, still pinned against the wall by Nikolai’s body, still processing what just happened. Part of me should be mortified, should demand he cover me, should run screaming from this den of beautiful, dangerous predators.

Instead, I feel claimed. Marked. Home.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and mean it.

Nikolai’s smile against my throat is pure possession. “You’re ours now. All of ours, in different ways. But you…” He pulls back to meet my eyes. “You’re mine completely.”

“Yes,” I breathe, because it’s true. Whatever these men are, whatever they’ve done, whatever they will do—I belong here. In this twisted, violent, impossibly intimate family.

I belong with him.

36

NIKOLAI

Iwatch Jenna’s face in the bathroom mirror as she unwraps the pregnancy test. Three weeks since the breeding room, and I’ve been counting days like a man possessed. Every morning I study her body for changes—the curve of her breasts, the flush of her skin, any hint that my seed has taken root.

“You don’t have to hover,” she says, but her voice lacks bite. She knows I need this. Need to see every moment, control every variable.

“I’m not hovering.” I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I’m observing.”

She meets my eyes in the reflection. “There’s a difference?”

There isn’t. Not when it comes to her. Not when it comes to this.

The test package crinkles as she tears it open. My chest tightens. For three weeks, I’ve been imagining her swollen with my child, belly round and breasts heavy. The fantasy consumes me—Jenna carrying proof of my claim, her body changed by mine in the most fundamental way possible.

“Two minutes,” she says, setting the plastic stick on the counter.

One hundred and twenty seconds. I’ve memorized the instructions and researched false-positive rates and optimal testing times. Knowledge as armor against hope I shouldn’t have.

Jenna turns to face me. “You’re terrified.”

“I don’t get terrified.” The words come automatically.

“Bullshit.” She steps closer, places her palm against my chest. “Your heart is hammering.”

It is. Because I want this with an intensity that feels dangerous. I never wanted children before Jenna. Never imagined creating something innocent when I’m built from violence. But the idea of her being pregnant, of making something new from our fucked-up bond—it’s become an obsession.

“What if it’s positive?” I ask.

“Then we’re having a baby,” she says.

“What if it’s negative?”