Page 29 of Prey

“Every drop.” His voice comes out commanding. “Swallow every fucking drop.”

I work my throat around him, swallowing as he fills my mouth. The taste is bitter-salt, thick, and copious. He seems to come forever, cock twitching with aftershocks as I struggle to take it all.

My eyes water fresh tears as I fight not to gag. His grip keeps me pressed against him, nose buried in the coarse hair at his base, unable to pull back for air. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision again.

When he finally releases my hair, I pull off with a wet gasp, coughing. A string of saliva mixed with cum connects my lips to his softening cock before breaking. I can feel the mess on my face—tears, spit, the remnants of him I couldn’t quite swallow.

My throat feels raw, used. The taste of him coats my mouth, inescapable. Between my legs, my pussy throbs with unfulfilled need, panties soaked through from arousal I hate myself for feeling.

He tucks himself back into his pants with shaking hands. Those eyes study me where I kneel on the concrete, taking in my ruined appearance with an intensity that makes me want to hide.

But there’s nowhere to go. Nothing to do but kneel here with his taste in my mouth and wait for whatever comes next.

10

NIKOLAI

The sight of her kneeling there—my cum glistening on her swollen lips, tears tracking down her flushed cheeks—is so fucking hot. My cock twitches in my pants, already trying to get hard again despite just coming harder than I have in years.

I want to push her down on this concrete floor and fuck her until she’s dripping with me. Want to fill her cunt over and over until there’s no question who she belongs to. The image flashes through my mind with startling clarity: Jenna’s belly swollen with my child, breasts heavy with milk, still taking my cock whenever I demand it.

What the fuck?

My hands clench into fists at my sides. I don’t want children. Never have. The very thought of creating life, of being responsible for another human being that way, has always made my stomach turn. The program made sure of that—we’re weapons, not fathers. Broken things don’t make whole ones.

But looking at her now, all I can think about is breeding her like she’s mine to keep. Watching my cum drip out of her used pussy only to push it back in, making sure it takes. Keeping herbarefoot and pregnant, a prized bitch to mount whenever the urge strikes.

The thoughts feel alien in my skull, like another version of me is thinking them. This isn’t who I am. I acquire targets for clients. I don’t keep them. I definitely don’t fantasize about knocking them up and playing house in some sick parody of normalcy.

She shifts slightly, wincing at the pressure on her knees, and even that small movement draws my focus like a laser sight. Her throat works as she swallows, trying to clear the taste of me. She won’t quite meet my eyes but won’t look away either.

I need to leave and get away from her before I do something that can’t be undone. Before these insane thoughts become actions and I ruin everything we’ve built here.

But I can’t move. Can’t stop staring at her mouth.

I grab her arm and haul her to her feet, her legs unsteady from kneeling on the concrete. She stumbles, and I catch her waist, lifting her onto the narrow cot. The thin mattress creaks under her weight.

“Spread your legs.”

She hesitates for half a second before obeying, her thighs falling open. I shove my hand between them, finding her jeans soaked through. The denim is warm and wet against my palm.

“Fuck.” The word escapes before I can stop it. “You got this wet just from choking on my cock?”

I work open her jeans, yanking them down just enough to expose her. She’s barely contained by a skimpy little thong. My fingers push it aside and slide through her folds, and she’s absolutely drenched, her arousal coating my fingers instantly.

“Look at you.” I push two fingers inside her without warning. She’s tight, clenching around me immediately. “Your cunt is fucking dripping for me.”

Her hips buck when I curl my fingers, finding that spot that makes her whole body tense. I press my thumb to her clit, circling roughly. She bites her lip, trying to stay quiet, but a whimper escapes.

“That’s it.” I pump my fingers faster, feeling her walls flutter. “Show me how much you need this.”

The mask feels suffocating. I want to taste her, to bury my face between her thighs and drink her down until she screams. Want to feel her come on my tongue, against my lips. But I can’t take it off. Can’t let her seeme.

So I work her with my hands instead, three fingers stretching her now while my thumb maintains pressure on her clit. Her chest works for air, heaving. She’s close—I can feel her muscles tighten, and I notice her thighs start to shake.

“You’re going to come for me.” Not a question. A statement of fact. “Going to come on my fingers like the desperate little thing you are.”

She makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a sob, her hands fisting in the thin sheets. Her cunt clenches rhythmically around my fingers, and I know she’s right on the edge.