Page 95 of Primal Pursuit

“Oh, shit,” I moan, and my hand holding the phone is starting to shake as the heat begins growing. “I’m going to come, Davian,” I whisper. “I’m going to come, and then I need you to fuck me. Oh, God!”

Shuddering, a small orgasm hits, and I pull my fingers away, sacrificing the build to a crescendo as I hold my pussy lips open to let him see the contractions.

Then I pan up so he can see my mouth and lick my fingers. Clean.

I press send, ignoring the whispers of my rational part.

See? I don’t need you anymore.

He watches the video. I know he does, because the moment the two minutes, thirty-four seconds of footage is up, another text comes in.

Holy fuck. You. My cock.

Soon.

Rabbit better not have learned any new tricks with anyone else.

A sweetness rocks me.

What will you do if I have?

Very

Bad

Things.

You can’t do anything if you don’t catch me.

Rabbit. You can’t outrun or, to mix animal references, outfox the wolf.

You’re prey.

I’m the hunter.

Maybe you’re lame.

And maybe a rabbit is aching for her limits and holes being stretched.

Maybe a rabbit wants to be caught and punished.

Are you a masochist bunny, rabbit?

I can’t breathe, I can’t. Because I am. I am a masochist, and I want him to catch me. Do his worst.

He texts again.

I want to see my handiwork, rabbit. Put on what’s in the package.

And you know my address how?

I’m an excellent hunter.

I huff out a breath and pull on my jeans and wash my hands. Then I shove my feet into my purple kicks.

My phone pings again.

No underwear when you dress. I like easy access.

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