The Prey

My hands shot out, desperate to push him away, but it was useless—his strength was devastating and merciless. He caught my wrists mid-air and a low, deranged growl rumbled in his chest as he pinned them above my head with one hand with bruising and immovable grip.

I panted.

"Fucking stop fighting,” he rumbled and his free hand roamed down my naked body, squeezing just hard enough to make me flinch. “I’m not the kind of man you fight."

I knew it. I knew he was not the one I could fight. I couldn’t. I just knew how to survive him, but that knowledge burned like acid in...