Free Predator's Refuge by Rosanna Leo Page A

floor, and then covered his face with his hands. Even though his face was covered, she could see the lines of stress on his forehead under his fingers.
    His torn expression made her want to sit with him, to rub his back and comfort him.
    After a few moments, he let his hands fall, and they came together, white-knuckled. He spread his legs, giving her a wicked view of his substantial erection, and he closed his eyes once more. At first she thought he might be meditating, but then she realized she was mistaken. His lips moved. He crossed himself. Several times.
    Was he praying?
    The knowledge staggered her. She wasn’t sure she knew anyone who prayed anymore. She hadn’t done it herself since she was a gangly child, who used to bargain with God every night from her bed, begging the Almighty to make her a normal girl. One who wouldn’t one day become some sort of creature feature.
    As much as she wanted to try to read his lips, she couldn’t drag her gaze away from his body. So long and powerful of frame. Even his toes and wrists and knees, body parts she wouldn’t normally lust after, struck her as particularly seductive. She continued to watch as he rested his hands upward on his knees in supplication. For a moment, he sat completely still.
    And then, as his face crumpled a little, he stretched out his legs and sighed. With a shaking hand, he reached for his cock, and stroked it slowly from base to tip.
    Clearly, prayer time was over.
    He let out a grunt and began to gently pump, his hand moving in deliberate circular motions. He closed his eyes and threw his head back on the cushion, and swore in what had to be the most vulgar of Hungarian curses, based on their guttural vehemence.
    Deep inside her, the naughty lynx presented its ass to him, shaking it in his direction like the wanton hussy it was.
    Unable to help herself, Marci slid her fingers down to her pussy and burrowed deep between her folds, her gaze always on him and the intoxicating movements at his crotch. Her eyelids fluttered and she teased her labia, gently pulling them and smoothing her juices over her puffy clit. As her heart hammered in her chest and echoed in her head, she tapped the swollen button, on the verge of shredding into ribbons at Anton’s window.
    This is so wrong!
    And yet, she needed it. She needed to finally give in to the wild sense of abandon rocking the periphery of her world. She wanted to surrender to the maenad-like debauchery unfurling in her core. And she needed to do it in Anton Gaspar’s presence, even if he didn’t know she was there.
    A sudden movement inside his room caught her attention. She froze. He opened his eyes and looked at the window, his green gaze focused on her. His jaw fell open. For a moment, neither of them did or said a thing. His hand rested on his cock, motionless, just as hers was on her pussy. And then he sat up.
    “Marci.”
    Oh, fuck. He would have caught her scent. How could he not? Her moisture was all over her hand. What was she thinking?
    “No,” she cried softly. This wasn’t what she wanted. How had she allowed herself to do this? She could be fired for this, never mind arrested.
    Bye-bye assistant manager .
    Anton rose to his feet and stepped toward the window. “Don’t go.”
    As hot tears threatened the corners of her eyes, Marci shifted back into her cursed lynx and escaped into the woods.
    To make her mortification complete, he followed with a swiftness that astounded her, shifting as soon as he was out the door. His tiger bounded through the trees like orange lightning. As much as she increased her speed, she was no match for him. Her lynx might be smaller and agile, but she knew full well tigers were built for stealth and speed. Hoping to lose him, she darted between a couple of thick oaks, veering off into another part of the forest.
    Despite her unexpected turn, Anton remained right behind her.
    That was when the smell hit her. Fresh blood.
    She stopped moving and Anton caught up.