The Prey: A Dark Enemies to Lovers Romance (Oakmount Elite Book 3)

The cold edge of steel grazes my skin, and I squeeze my eyes shut, anticipating his next move. Maybe if I don’t look at the sharp blade, it won’t hurt as badly when he cuts me with it. Memories pour in, another blade, another time, and I grit my teeth, pushing them away. I can’t deal with those right now.

This is it. This is what I get for ruining all his clothes, for the smart-ass remarks, for the way he grinds his teeth every time he looks at me, like my very presence is a burden to him. It’s time to pay for my sins, and his form of currency is blood.

The sharp, slick sound of my shirt slicing apart punctuates my panting breaths. Cold air brushes my skin as he rips the remnants of my shirt off. It catches on my arms, twisting and stinging as the material tightens around my flesh, even more so near the scar from the bullet wound on my shoulder.

“Fuck,” I curse and twist so I can pull the ripped-up sleeves off myself. “Dammit, Sebastian, I can do it.” I barely recognize the antagonism in my own voice.

The fear and the drugs create the perfect storm of self-indulgence that I forget, for one heartbeat, who I’m yelling at.

He raises one imperious brow at me and flips the knife expertly in his palm so the sharp edge points down along his wrist, then jerks the waist of my pants away from my skin and slices downward. The flat edge of the steel brushes along my hipbone as the serrated metal slices away more fabric, the thin khaki giving way far too easily.

It almost peels away instead of cutting or ripping.

I’m greeted with the kiss of more cold air on my bare flesh, and I shiver, both at the chill and the feral look that shines in his eyes and reflects back at me.

The ribbons of my pants hang on my thin hips, and he moves to slice the other side of them. I need to put an end to this before it goes too far, and he really does cut me. I hold my hands up and plead with him.

“Please, let me do it. This isn’t necessary.” I try to inject a level of calm into my voice, hoping it projects onto him in some way, but I know I failed when my words come out breathless and shaky.

“Then fucking do it, Ely, or I’ll continue to do it for you. I told you I wasn’t fucking around. I don’t have time for your bullshit today, nor do I give a fuck about your modesty.”

All in all, as far as modesty goes, I think I’m holding things together rather well. I’m mostly naked here, and now that I think about it…fuck I’m standing in front of my savage animal boss in nothing more than scraps of cotton. I swallow hard and quickly jerk off the remains of my pants. Then I use my hands to cover all the bare areas I can.

The green dress fills my vision, then my face, the sequins scratching softly against my cheek before slipping down into my hands. I catch it on reflex and shift it so I can look at it again. Shit. It didn’t somehow gain more coverage since I saw it the first time.

“Get dressed while I change; then we are leaving.” His voice is calmer now, but it’s the sort of calm I don’t trust. Not while he still has a manic glint in his eyes and the sharp knife in his grip.

I drag my attention back to the dress, studying the slinky fabric. There’s no way in hell I can wear this. Everyone will see my scars, the ones my father gave me. Not to mention the still red and tender bullet wound in my shoulder, and…other ones I can’t think about right now.

Never mind that I haven’t been able to shave my legs in forever, as it would seem that messing up the tendons in your shoulder limits some fine motor functions. I risk glancing back at Sebastian. Something tells me if I try to explain all that to him he’s going to blow up like an atomic bomb.

I don’t realize how long I’ve stood there, frozen, the dress clenched tight in my fist as I try to rack my brain for a solution until Sebastian’s gruff, angry voice pulls me out of the darkness.

“Ely, I’m not fucking around,” he warns, his voice menacing now, all hints of his barely restrained calm gone.

When I don’t move, he stalks closer, kicking the remains of my pants away from his feet. His gaze sweeps the length of my body, and he gives my soft white cotton underwear a disdainful look. At least he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he rips off the rest of my shirt. When he makes a swipe at my bra with the knife, I shake my head and take a small step back. I cradle my breasts against my arm, the dress squished between.

“Please…” I try to rationalize with him.

“Don’t beg, Ely. You should know by now that it doesn’t have the effect you want it to have on me.”

Cold fear douses my insides, and while I know he’s serious, I need him to understand. To see that it’s not that I want to disobey him, but more that I’m uncomfortable. “Please, Sebastian. It’s not that I don’t want to get dressed. I just… I can’t wear this.”

“You can, and you will wear the dress,” Sebastian orders, taking a step closer.

I try to shield more of my nudity and let whatever shame I’m feeling go. “I haven’t been able to shave my legs in a long time, not with the bullet wound, and my fingers don’t work as well as they used to. Shaving hurts, and it’s messy. I just can’t, and while I don’t expect you to understand, I won’t wear such a pretty, short dress with hairy-ass legs.”

Something dark enters his eyes, and he drops his gaze down to all the bare skin I can’t cover with my hands. The tight lines of his shoulders drop fractionally.

“Have you tried shaving with something bigger than just a razor? Those things are tiny and finicky.”

I blink at him. What the hell else would I shave with? He rolls his eyes and turns his knife in a blindingly fast swish so the hilt faces me. “Try this.”

“Did you not hear me? I just told you I don’t have the fine motor skills needed to control the razor. If I try to shave with that thing, I’ll end up bleeding to death. Also, are you really sure you want to give me something sharp right now? I could sink it into your gut and then just go home.”

He shrugs one shoulder, and somehow, on him it looks graceful. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Little Prey.”

A good time? I barely have time to process what he said when the rough touch of his hands circle my waist. In a flash, he lifts me like I weigh nothing and carries me into the brightly lit bathroom. I give the room a quick scan, noting how big and luxurious it looks with gold accents and marble everywhere. A small leather toiletry bag sits on the sink, a white shopping bag beside it and a hand towel next to that.

I let out a squeak when he places me down on the counter, the cold stone pressing against my bare thighs.

What is happening right now?

Heat radiates off him, and I shiver involuntarily. He shouldn’t be this close, and he especially shouldn’t have his hands on me.

His long fingers drag down my sides until he reaches my thighs, where he clutches them right above my knees. I’m lost in a daydream for half of a second, and then it becomes a nightmare when he tries to pry them apart.

Out of pure instinct, I move to snap them tight shut again but then catch his narrowing gaze and clenched jaw out of the corner of my eye.

“Do you really want to fight me on this? I’m stronger, faster, and more than capable of forcing you to do what I want.”

It’s okay, Elyse. It’s okay.

I force myself to breathe through the panic bubbling up in my mind. I can’t do anything to stop him, but at the very least, I know he won’t hurt me. Or at least he hasn’t yet, so I have no reason to believe otherwise.

I shake my head because my brain is past the point of forming coherent words.

“Good. Then be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

Good girl? What is it about those two words that calms me? I try not to delve too deeply into it, but it’s hard since the person saying those words generally has the opposite effect on me. Please don’t tell me I’m developing a praise kink. I gulp and tighten my hold on the counter, then slowly allow him to readjust my legs.

I can feel his hot gaze on my bare skin, and he skims his hand up the front of my shin to graze over my knee. “Mmm. You’re so fucking tiny, Ely. Tiny and breakable. Like a little porcelain doll.”

I lift my chin and let him see what’s left of me there. “Looks can be very deceiving. I’m tougher than you might think.”

He looks from my legs and up to my face like he’s looking for something, but then he looks away, the connection severed when he turns on the faucet, pulls the tab for the stopper, and waits for the sink to fill. The entire time he keeps his eyes on the water, and I sigh, grateful I don’t have to meet his gaze while he does this.

There’s a vast difference between staring at his face and staring at his hands, and I find a strange combination of comfort and pleasure coiling in my stomach as I watch his graceful hands while he soaks a white washcloth in the water before he gently scrubs it down my right leg.

He does the same with a rich lather of soap he works in his hand from the provided toiletries by the sink. I realize very suddenly how intimate this is, and I can’t help my need to say something.

“This really isn’t necessary,” I quip, trying to focus on anything but the way his calloused palms feel on my wet, slick skin.

“If it wasn’t necessary then you wouldn’t have brought it up,” he responds while keeping precise focus as he dips the knife in the water. I hold my breath when he turns the blade and runs it up the length of my soapy shin and over my knee, stopping right before he reaches the curve.

I’m mesmerized by the action. It’s in the flick of his wrist, the deliberate control he maintains, as if he’s painting a picture and not gliding a sharp-as-hell knife over my skin. Rinsing, he repeats the action carefully, methodically, until my skin is slick and shining in the bright overhead lights. He’s surprisingly gentle around my knees and even shaves up the inside curve of my thigh. I flinch as that sharp blade reaches closer and closer to the junction of my thigh and pussy.

My heartbeat skyrockets as he climbs higher, and I tighten my grip on the counter.

Say something. Tell him to stop.

One wrong move and your lady bits are gone forever.

I swear he adds pressure to the blade just for the hell of it because it feels as if it’s gliding harder against my quivering muscles. When he reaches the edge of my pussy, he pauses, and I stare down at him, frozen with fear. He looks up at me, and I can see the predator lingering just beneath the surface.

“Never forget who’s in control.” The words are a whisper, but he might as well have yelled them with how loudly they echo in my mind.

It’s a warning, a reminder that no matter what, I’m at his mercy. He switches to the other leg without hesitation while I can hardly draw a full breath into my lungs.

He repeats the same process, only this time he drops down to his knees to carefully carve off the hair around my ankles.

Fuck, why does he have to be so pretty? Why does he look so good on his knees for me when I know he’s only there to get into the best position to strike. The most advantageous position to cause the most pain and suffering. That’s what he lives for—to hurt people, to hurt me. Even if his touch is gentle, there’s always the promise of pain and suffering lingering in the background like a wisp of latent tobacco smoke.

He finishes the second leg, then cleans the sink, re-wets the washcloth, and mops up the remnants of soap still left on my skin.

Now that the job is done, all I can think about is asking him why he did it and what he expects in return from me? But I can’t seem to bring myself to break the spell. To crack the silence and see what fresh hell comes out of his mouth.

“Do you need me to do your underarms, too?”

Somehow, my face and ears burn hotter at the question. He’s stared directly into my underwear-covered pussy, he’s shaved the hair on my legs, and now I’m blushing at the thought of him running that knife over my armpits.

Come on, Elyse.

“No,” I tell him. “I’m good. It’s a smaller area, so I can usually shave that just fine.”

He nods once and focuses his attention on washing his hands. After drying them, he plucks the dress he’d tossed on the other side of the counter up and holds it out to me. I lean forward to grab it but he shakes his hand, and instead opens the top to slide it over my head.

“I’m not a toddler. I can dress myself.”

He narrows his eyes. “If you could, then you would already be dressed by now, wouldn’t you?”

I grit my teeth and let him settle the dress down over my hips. He stares at my bra straps, like he wants to cut them off too, but instead he reaches around and unfastens it, like he’s an expert. “You can go without a bra; the dress has enough coverage.”

I question him with a lifted brow. “Says the man who isn’t running around with his tits out.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, barely. “Fair enough, but you’ll still go without.”

I say nothing since we both know he’s right, and there’s no point in arguing. Not right now, with the shine of the knife on the counter next to my hip and the way his eyes keep roving over my skin like somehow, by grooming me, he owns even more of my body than he did before.

It’s like this small act changed something between us. I can’t pinpoint what yet, but I’m even more terrified now. Not of him, precisely. But of this feeling, of the unknown.

I’m shaking as he steps away, and there’s no hiding it. I know he sees it, too.

“Hurry up, or I’ll do what I promised to do to begin with and drag you along beside me, clothes or no clothes.” He says the last almost half-heartedly, like he’s already somewhere else, thinking about something else.

I nod once, not wanting to draw the monster out of him anymore than I already have. I’ve pushed him enough already, and knowing myself like I do, it won’t take much more to irritate him further, and I have an entire evening to spend with him.