Notes: There is a very mild power/dominance theme in this story that may offend some of you.  Rest assured the sex is entirely consenual.  Thanks to Kirstie for the beta.

Predator

I've been teasing Jack for more than a week now, and managing to be busy or unavailable at all the appropriate times. It's funny how we both went without sex for years and now a week is a hardship.

Um...no pun intended.

So I've been teasing him on purpose while playing my patented role of Daniel the Oblivious and watching him go into a slow boil. He's just about reached the end of his patience, though. I can feel his eyes raking over me as I move around the house, finishing up a report on the laptop and doing the laundry. He's watching me like lion watch antelope: hungry, calculating, deliberate, and unobtrusive.

I love this part.

Possibly I overdid it with the clothes, but I know what reaction I'm going for, and subtle isn't going to get me there. So I borrowed one of his white cotton tank tops, and a pair of his cut-off jeans. The shirt's a little tight, thanks to the weightlifting -- which I'm absolutely doing to be in shape for missions and not at all for Jack -- and the shorts are a little loose. Yes, 'fuck me' clothes; let me say again, I'm not going for subtle here. I'm even wearing the blue bandana.

Why bandanas? Honestly, I've no clue. I've never been a bandana kind of guy, but they just drive Jack nuts, and once I realized that, I acquired a few. I think it's some subdivision of the hat fetish, but I can't be certain, and it doesn't matter much, anyway.

From the corners of his eyes he watches me walk into the kitchen, my bare feet moving quietly across the carpet. From the corners of his eyes he watches me leave the kitchen and head back to the laundry room.

I love this part.

It's afternoon, which makes several hours now that I've puttered around the place, my predator pretending to watch TV while he mentally shreds my clothes. We don't play this particular game very often -- if we did it would lose its punch -- but it's one of my very favorites. I still don't know if he knows I do it on purpose, but I suspect so. There just isn't much Jack doesn't know about me.

What surprises me is how, after all this time, he still manages to catch me completely off guard. I knew he was coming -- how could I not have after being watched like that all day? -- but even so I never heard him come up on me. He's so fast and so quiet when he wants to be.

I'm putting the towels away in the hall closet, reaching up to the top shelf, and suddenly my legs are kicked apart and my hands are pinned above my head, held to the shelf. I'm off balance, pitched forward, and I can feel his hard length pressing against me.

He holds the position just a moment, giving me time to catch my breath, then captures both my wrists in one of his strong, callused hands and runs the other down the muscles of my arm and over my chest.

Don't be naïve. Of course the weightlifting is for Jack.

Oh so slowly he possessively claims his territory, pulling his nails over the thin white cotton, and then down over my hip and to the outside of my thigh. There's another moment where he holds me still, and then his hands are moving. In one swift motion, he grabs each of my wrists, pulls my arms down, and pins them behind my back. He reclaims both my hands in his left, and with a push to my shoulder and another from his leg we're moving -- I'm moving, turning, my upper back hitting the wall beside the closet and my arms still pinned to my lower back.

There's a stray shaft of light coming in from a back window, and it's fallen, arrow-like, across his eyes and has turned them to the color of whiskey. The smile on his face is hot and feral.

I'm pitched backwards now, marveling at the skill he has for this. He's not that much taller than I, but since I'm leaning back against the wall, and my legs are spread, he manages to loom quite impressively over me. It also amazes me that he can hold my wrists and arms like this without it hurting.

Jack smiles a bit wider, showing teeth, those sun-gilded eyes glittering at me above his fangs. I'm utterly entranced by the eyes, not even looking away when I hear a metal click-click at his waist, and so I miss the entrance of the knife.

A knife?

That's...that's new. Instinct takes over and I go absolutely still, frozen in place. I know my eyes have gone wide, and I feel myself swallow, but I'm quite certain I'm not breathing. The blade dips in, catches the lower edge of the white tank top, and starts sliding its way up. The cotton parts over the sharp metal like water, and there's only a soft tug needed to slice through the collar hem before the shirt's fallen open. The blade never touched my skin.

He's still smiling, perhaps even wider now, but somehow -- impossibly -- his hungry look has deepened. In front of his smile the knife blade hovers, the tip catching the same light ray that's emblazoning his eyes. The absurdity of the situation is not lost on me.

On the one hand, I'm pinned to the wall by a trained killer who's holding a knife inches from my face.

Conversely, I've never been safer in my life.

Jack lowers the blade, and I can't help but track it with my eyes. He holds it out slightly, makes a movement with his fingers and wrist, and with a click-click and a spin the blade folds itself back up. The part of my brain that likes to name things says quietly "butterfly knife." Another part of my brain is surprised I know that. The rest of my brain has shut down due to blood and oxygen loss. With a start, I draw a breath.

There's a dark chuckle from him, and then he steps back with the slightest of pulls on my arms nudging me off balance. I lean on the wall for support, and Jack growls, "Lose the shorts or I'll cut them off, too." It's his command voice, laced over and through with lust.

It's a rather hollow threat; Jack loves these shorts on me. But I'm scrambling out of them and the ruined shirt anyway, not managing to get both feet on the floor before he's spun me around again, back to facing the open closet, and once again has my hands pressed to the top shelf.

There's another pass of his right hand over my now bare skin, skin that's burning and aching for his touch. I hear him chuckle again as I groan and goosebumps rise under the path left by his fingers. His hand leaves my flesh long enough for him to undo the buttons on his jeans, then a moment longer as I hear the tube flip open, and then I feel lubed fingers sliding down and into me.

I moaned when his hand left me, and I moan again at the entrance. I moan, and I arch, and I shiver. All for him -- for his power. He's driving his fingers into me, and I love it, but I want more, and I start pleading with him.

"Fuck me...please, please fuck me..."

It's Jack's turn to groan and the hand that's been in me moves to his cock. The loss is almost painful, and my voice sounds like a cry to my own ears. Then I'm crying out anew as he pushes into me, hard and huge. His left hand leaves mine, the arm going around my neck, fingers clamping like a vise onto my right shoulder. He sinks his teeth into the muscles of my shoulder above his hand and growls my name, and I revel in his pleasure and in mine. I know it won't last long, but I'll enjoy every second.

With another growl, my predator pulls his arms and teeth from me and clamps onto my hips with a grip of steel. He's pounding me now, and all I can do it take him, letting the bursts of hot pleasure and pain wash over me in waves until he comes with a raw scream, burying himself to the full length.

With a shudder and a sigh he gathers me in his arms again, holding himself up by clinging to me. I'm not certain of my own stability as the lightning-hot flashes of sensation fade and my own painful erection threatens to steal the entirety of my awareness.

Slowly he lets go and turns me around again, gently, softly, caressingly, and helps me to lean against the wall. He sinks down to his knees as he pulls off his shirt, and once down begins a loving but determined exploration of my cock.

Fingers, lips, tongue and then throat, and I'm crying out again, thrusting into him. He keeps up with me, letting me fuck myself into his mouth, and I fall screaming into the abyss almost before I realize I'm there.

Panting, he rises and kisses me deeply and tenderly. His arms and hands and body are gentle as he touches and holds me. He's purring endearments into my ear, brushing his nose against my neck and occasionally stopping to suckle. Our heartbeats and breathing return to normal as he holds me, pets me, tells me I'm his.

How could I not be?

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