Page 92 of Prey

“Fight me, Jenna. Pretend you don’t want this.” His hands move to my wrists. “Pretend I’m taking what isn’t mine.”

The suggestion sends ice through my veins and fire through my core simultaneously. My body knows the difference between him and my stepfather, but the echoes are there.

“Crimson,” he says quietly. “That’s your word if you need to stop.”

I nod, my heart hammering.

He pulls out suddenly, stepping back. “Run.”

I scramble off the bench, adrenaline flooding my system. But there’s nowhere to go in the mirrored room. I back against the wall, my hands pressed flat against the glass.

“Please don’t.” The words come naturally, my body remembering old fears even as new arousal builds. “I don’t want this.”

“Liar.” He stalks toward me, his cock jutting out from his body. “Your pussy is dripping for me. Your nipples are hard. You want this as much as I do.”

“No.” I shake my head, sliding along the wall. “Stay away from me.”

He lunges, catching my wrist and spinning me around. My cheek presses against the mirror as he pins me there with his body weight.

“You can’t escape me.” His breath is hot against my ear. “I’m going to take what’s mine whether you want it or not.”

I struggle against his hold, my body fighting even as my core clenches with need. “Let me go!”

“Never.” He kicks my legs apart, his hand tangling in my hair to hold my face against the mirror. “You belong to me. Every hole, every breath, every heartbeat.”

His cock presses against my entrance from behind. I try to close my legs, but he’s too strong, too determined.

“Stop, please—” My voice breaks as he pushes inside.

“You feel that?” He bottoms out with one brutal thrust. “Feel how your body opens for me?”

He fucks me against the mirror, hard and relentless. My palms press flat against the glass as he takes me with a violence that should terrify me but only makes me wetter.

“My good little slut, taking my cock even while you beg me to stop.” His grip tightens in my hair. “You love being used, don’t you? Love being nothing but a hole for me to fuck.”

“No!” But my hips push back to meet his thrusts.

“Yes.” He reaches around to rub my clit roughly. “Come on my cock while you pretend you don’t want it. Show me what a dirty girl you are.”

The orgasm builds despite my protests, my body betraying every word I speak. When it hits, I scream—part pleasure, part anguish, all need.

“That’s it. Milk my cock with that tight pussy.” He pounds into me harder. “I’m going to fill you up. Breed you full of my cum whether you want it or not.”

“Please don’t come inside me,” I whimper, the role-play and reality blurring.

“Too late, baby.” His rhythm falters. “Here it comes. Take every drop like the good girl you are.”

He explodes inside me with a roar, his cock pulsing as he empties himself deep. I feel each spurt, my walls clenching around him instinctively.

We collapse against the mirror, both panting. His arms come around me, gentle now, protective.

“You okay?” His voice is soft, concerned.

I nod, still catching my breath. The scene was intense, cathartic in ways I didn’t expect. Like exorcising ghosts by rewriting the script.

He turns me in his arms, studying my face. “You did so well, baby. So perfect.”

“I needed that.” The admission surprises me. “I didn’t know I needed it, but I did.”