Page 222 of Primal

I palm her breast through the bra—my thumb circling the stiff peak.

She squirms and arches off the tree, but my knee keeps her caged.

I shove a hand up her skirt, fingers skating up, chasing every tremble and goosebump. And when they finally meet the damp heat between her thighs, she writhes again. Not the performative shit from earlier. This is real. Hot. Slick.

Her nails sink into my arm hard enough to leave marks tomorrow. Good. I want the reminder.

I stroke her through her panties—already soaked—drinking in every twitch of her hips. “This what you wanted? Hm?” My mask brushes her earlobe. “Eight hundred bucks just to get fucked against a tree?”

Her moan is half protest, half plea.

My fingers slip under the cotton.

She’s dripping.

Not for me.

For the idea of some anonymous predator who’ll fulfill every filthy wish on her kink list and clock out before sunrise.

I want to rip this fucking mask off. Look at me. See who’s touching you.

She paid for this.

Paid to have some nobody ravish her in the woods. Paid to let hands that aren’t mine drag over skin I’ve mapped in my sleep. Paid for an experience I’d have gladly given her anytime, anywhere—all she had to do was fucking ask.

I slide one finger into her, then two—curling just right.

Her head thuds back against the tree.

Greedy little slut. She’s not supposed to enjoy this. Not with some rented predator.

The modulator shreds my laugh into something even more wicked. “Already? Fuck, you’re desperate.”

Her gaze snaps to me. Defiance flashes in her eyes, bright and fleeting—gone the moment I add a third finger.

Her hips roll, urging me deeper. A broken sound tears from her throat.

She’s so fucking wet I could take her right here. Split her open on my cock and ruin her for anyone else. Mark her up so bad she’ll feel me come Tuesday.

I fuck her through her slickness. Circle her clit just enough to keep her on the edge.

The second I rip my hand away, she makes this half-whimper, half-choke sound, her body chasing the loss.

I push two fingers into her mouth. “Lick.”

She sucks them clean without protest. My cock twitches.

Good girl. Sweet, filthy, goddamn reckless. Too fucking bad her obedience’s wasted on a faceless stranger.

I step back, and her legs quake like they miss me already. Her lips part—to protest, to beg, who fucking cares.

“Run,” I growl.

She staggers two steps and just stares.

I reach behind me. Draw out the knife. “Run, little fox. Unless you want this”—I flip the Halloween Special in my hand, letting the moonlight kiss the blade—“buried in your pretty little cunt.”

She bolts. Leaving me rock-hard. Crashing through the underbrush, breath ragged, her mind no doubt flooding with creative curses for the bastard who won’t let her come.