Page 30 of Prey

“Fuck, baby, that’s it. Come for me.”

The desperate words spill out before I can stop them. She clenches hard around my fingers, her whole body going rigid as the orgasm crashes through her. I watch her face contort with pleasure, feel her pulse around me.

Baby?

What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t call anyone baby, don’t use pet names or endearments. That’s not who I am. I’m The Hunter. I acquire targets. I don’t?—

She’s still shaking, aftershocks making her twitch around my fingers. The sight of her sprawled on the cot, jeans shoved down,thighs spread wide and glistening with her own arousal—it’s doing things to me I can’t control.

My cock is rock hard again, straining against its confines. Every instinct screams to mount her right now, to sink into that wet heat and claim her properly. To fill her up until she’s dripping with me, until there’s no question who owns her.

I pull my fingers out slowly, watching her sensitive flesh clench at the loss. She makes a soft sound, almost disappointed, and I have to physically stop myself from giving her what we both want.

“Eat.” The word comes out barely human. I gesture at the tray I brought earlier, now cold and forgotten on the floor. “You need food.”

She’s still catching her breath, looking at me with those gray-green eyes that see too much. I can’t be here anymore. Can’t trust myself not to do something irreversible.

I turn and stride to the door, slamming my hand into the pannel with fingers that still glisten with her. The lock disengages, and I’m through it in seconds, slamming it shut behind me.

The moment I’m alone in the corridor, I rip the mask off. The cool air hits my face, but does nothing to calm the fire under my skin. Without thinking, I bring my fingers to my mouth.

Her taste explodes across my tongue—musky and sweet and perfect. I suck each finger clean like a starving animal, groaning at her flavor. My other hand presses against the wall for support as I lick between my knuckles, chasing every drop of her.

This is insanity. I’m coming apart at the seams, and it’s only been three days since I took her.

The bass thrumsthrough Infinity’s walls like a heartbeat, vibrating up through the Italian marble floors and into my bones. Our club. Our domain. The one place in Chicago where we can drop the masks—metaphorically, at least—and just exist.

I lean against the mahogany bar, watching Theon explain molecular structures to Dominic while a brunette in lingerie works his cock with her mouth. He doesn’t even pause his explanation, one hand gesturing at the air while the other threads through her hair.

“The binding affinity increases exponentially when you add the methyl group here—” He breaks off with a grunt as she does something with her tongue. “Fuck. As I was saying, it creates a more stable compound that—Jesus Christ, use your throat—that metabolizes slower.”

Dominic takes notes on a napkin. “And the detection window?”

“Nonexistent if you—” Theon’s hips jerk. “If you time the doses right.”

From the poker room, Darius’s voice carries over the music. “That’s literally the worst bluff I’ve ever seen, Damon. Your eye is twitching.”

“My eye doesn’t twitch.”

“It’s twitching right now!”

“That’s concentration.”

Ezra’s dry voice cuts through their bickering. “Statistically, Damon has tells on forty-three percent of his hands. Darius has tells on sixty-eight percent. Neither of you should play poker.”

“Then why do you keep losing?” Damon asks.

“Because you’re both cheating. Badly.”

I move to the billiards area where Lucien lines up a shot, a redhead draped over his shoulder, her hands wandering under his shirt. Marcus watches from across the table, his own companion—a muscled dancer in tear-away pants—grinding against him.

“Hundred says you miss,” Marcus challenges.

“Make it five.” Lucien doesn’t even blink as the woman bites his neck.

“Deal.”

The cue ball cracks against the eight, sending it spinning toward the corner pocket. It drops clean.