Page 29 of Primal

She pulls back. My cock glistening with her spit. “Yeah? You’re easy.”

I should punish her for that. Instead, I laugh. “Liar.” My thumb swipes over her bottom lip. “You’re shaking.”

She is. Fine tremors in her legs, her breath hitching around me. But her eyes? Pure fucking fire.

I push in again. My cock hits the back of her throat. “You like how that feels?”

She moans around me.

“You love being a good girl, huh? It’s okay. I’ve seen your search history.”

She freezes.

Fuck. Said too much.

Her eyes narrow. That brilliant, infuriating brain is already putting together the puzzle I didn’t mean to hand her.

I haul her up by the hair, her gasp strangled as I spin her and force her headlong into the tree. Her back arches, skirt bunched high, ass flushed red, pressing into me like she knows exactly what I want—and dares me to take it.

“Two choices,” I growl. “You can keep that smart mouth shut”—I shove my jeans down and drag my cock through her slick—“or I can wreck you so thoroughly all you’ll do is scream.”

She bucks against me.

I rock forward, enough to make her shiver. “Last chance to safeword.”

Of all thirty prey, Payton’s is the most absurd.

“Do you even remember it?” I rub against her, tormenting us both. Letting her feel every inch of how hard I am for her.

Fuck, she’s a fever dream in flesh.

“Still mute?” My cock—only the tip, swollen and mean—slides right into where she’s throbbing for it. “Super”—I murmur against her skin, grinding in bit by bit—“cali—fragi—”

“I know,” she snaps over her shoulder.

“Good girl.” I slam into her in one rough thrust, burying myself deep inside. Tight. Wet. And fucking mine.

The sound she makes—surprise and bliss tangled in one—nearly unravels me.

“Fuck,” I groan, forehead dropping between her shoulder blades.

Her pussy’s working me in these greedy little spasms. She’s so close. I feel it in every clench. Trying to drag me under before she breaks.

I pull out almost all the way. Drive back in harder. “That’s it. Take it.”

And she does, thrust after thrust. Deeper. Rougher.

She claws at the tree, hips slamming back like she’s chasing every inch—matching my rhythm with a desperation that pisses me off.

“Look at you.” I sneer. “That all it takes? A mask and a hard cock?”

No jab. No ‘fuck you.’

“Tell me,” I grit out. “You enjoy being fucked like this?”

She stares over her shoulder—as if this dime-store Ghostface is something holy. Shakes her head.

Stubborn little brat.