The Huntress and Her Hound

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

The Huntress

“I once studied Black Widows in college,” I tell him, leaning casually against the counter and flipping my raven hair over my shoulder. I sip my Shirley Temple like I’m shy—like I don’t belong in this high roller Vegas bar.

“You studied spiders, huh? Why would you do that?” He asks, his hazel eyes trained on me with a tinge of intrigue—but mostly mocking amusement. That’s the way they all are. They look at me like I’m a little toy, one they can have their fun with and then discard into the waste bin when the novelty is gone.

“Entomology major in college for a brief time.” I sip on my red straw, batting my thick, very fake lashes. “I thought it was so interesting. But you know, then I realized I had to hold bugs.” I fake a laugh, a stupid one.

He grins, his gaze sweeping over my tight black dress. It’s long-sleeved to hide my tattoos, though the deep V leading to my belly button is covered in sheer fabric, giving him the illusion that I’m still trying to show off. In the mind of someone like him, he probably thinks I’m dressed this way to capture the male gaze...

And well, he’s right. But the reasons are all wrong.

“You seem too pretty to play with bugs.” He leans forward, his fingers brushing the top of my hand. Some delicate, sophisticated pop song plays in the background, and his tongue darts out of his mouth, running along his bottom lip.

“Mmm, you think?” I play dumb as I swallow the bile rising in my throat. I have to endure the little touches to reap my reward at the end of the night. Though I have to admit, it’s something I have to remind myself of constantly. This guy—Dylan, I think his name is—is the epitome of what the world doesn’t need. Rich, loose, and arrogant.

Probably a trust fund baby.

“You know,” he begins, running his fingers across the expensive fabric covering my arm, “I’m staying here at the hotel.”

“You are?” I feign excitement, smiling so hard my cheeks burn. “This is such a nice place. I don’t think I could afford it.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you met me then.” He takes a step closer, and I inhale the repulsive scent of his designer cologne. It’s strikingly familiar, sending a wave of nausea through my body. My skin prickles, but I steady myself before I panic.

You’re in control, Cher. You are in control.

“I don’t mind ordering room service in the morning.” He’s murmuring in my ear now, his hot breath tanged with the whiskey in his hand. The fingers that were once on my arm are now on my waist, but as much as I want to, I don’t stiffen. I know the drill. I’m a professional now.

Well, I wish. No one pays me for this. I’m not like Henry.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?” His lips brush against my earlobe, his hand slides a little lower.

“Sorry,” I say in a sultry tone. “You’re just so...” My voice trails off as his erection presses into my lower stomach. This asshole is tall, even with my five-foot-seven frame in a pair of four-inch heels.

“So ready to get this dress off,” he drawls in the nape of my neck. “I thought I was going to spend the night betting, but I think I’ll just bet you sitting on my cock.”

How fucking romantic is that. Sitting on his cock. What a good girl.

“Let’s go.” He intertwines his fingers with mine, and I let him, despite feeling ill at his touch. This is the worst part of my hunt. But I’ll get my satisfaction. I always do.

I sit the still-full drink on the bar and smile up at him. He winks at me as he leads me out of the dark lit area and toward the elevators of the modern, luxurious hotel. There are people everywhere. Some are dressed to the nines, and others look like they haven’t changed clothes in weeks. But this is Vegas for fuck’s sake. It never sleeps, and the bodies are fleeting.

Which is perfect for me.

Dylan smashes the button to call the elevator, still holding my hand—and his glass of whiskey, awkwardly. He downs the rest of it as the doors slide open, and then has the audacity to set it on top of a trash can. I make a face when he’s not looking.

God’s gift to mankind right here, ladies, in the flesh.

I keep my eyes down in the elevator, staring at my feet. The camera footage might be viewed if something goes awry tonight, though I doubt it. I’ll watch the news for information, and when the time is right, I’ll see if Liam is available for lunch. He’s not my favorite person in the world, but he’s at least nice enough not to push boundaries, despite wishing he could. And in his case, confidentiality lifts with a few drinks.

“You’re so quiet now.” Dylan—or was it Devon?—is on me again. This time, he’s more brazen, pressing me into the wall of the elevator. “Are you wet for me already, baby?”

“Very, baby. Very.” I bite down dramatically as I tip my head back to look up at him. I nearly snort. He’s only calling me ‘ baby’, because he doesn’t know my name.

“Fuck, it’s either the whiskey, or you’re just really actually this hot.” He leans in to kiss me, and I turn my head last minute, his lips planting on the side of my jaw. There are some things I just won’t compromise and tasting his saliva is one of them.

I might catch a disease. Or worse. Actually get turned on.

“You’re gonna be so tight.” He gropes my ass as he groans, kneading so hard that it stings. I let out a nice porn star kind of sigh—which is probably where this guy gets most of his information on female anatomy—and then grind back into him. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. ”

“Don’t come in your pants,” I tease with a smile. However, the thought of him getting any kind of true satisfaction from this encounter is infuriating.

“I’ll only be coming in you tonight,” he murmurs as the elevator finally fucking chimes on the fiftieth floor. I clutch my crossbody purse, knowing it’s my one line of survival. If I lose it, I lose the game. And I don’t lose the game.

“You better get moving,” I urge, pushing him off of me playfully. He laughs a jarring cackle, and I force a giggle as he heads out of the small, cramped elevator. I suck in a deep breath as I follow him, the stale scent of smoke permeating the hallway. I swear, all hotels—no matter how grandiose—have the same smell.

“You coming, baby?” he calls over his shoulder at me.

There’s that word again. Baby. Baby, baby, baby...

I fucking hate it.

“You just walk so fast,” I say back to him, my voice all frills and no intelligence. “You’re so tall.”

“I get that a lot.” He winks, raking a hand through his dirty blond hair. His suit is some sort of custom made, designer get up. It fits him in all the right ways, accentuating his strong shoulders and lean body. He probably runs and hits the gym regularly, but he’s no body builder by any means.

He makes it to the room and swipes the card before shoving the door open. I catch up and follow him inside. It’s tidy, which is unsurprising. Some are messy. Some are tidy as fuck. But they’re all misogynists...

And they all deserve what they get.

The moment of observation is a mistake on my end, and Dylan is on my body in seconds, his fingers already tugging up the bottom of my dress. I roll my eyes as he kisses my neck, not surprised by his need to get right to it.

“What the hell are these?” He stops as his fingers run across my inner thigh, finding my short, thick biker shorts. No wet panties or pussy on display for him.

“ Oh ,” I say in a timid tone. “They smooth out my dress line.” Lie. “Also, maybe we could have another drink? I’m feeling a little nervous.”

“Uh...” Dylan’s voice trails off, but he steps away from me and nods. “I guess I can make you a drink.” He gives me a begrudging expression as he heads for the minibar.

“You’re just so hot,” I explain, following him as he grabs a couple of glasses. “I’m not used to being with men of your caliber.”

He curls a lip up at me, clearly unenthused with being cockblocked. “Yeah...” He grabs a couple of little bottles and a glass. His face brightens as he looks me over again. “Why don’t you strip for me while I make you the drink? Give me a reason to waste my money on you.”

Ah, and the true colors are revealed.

“I suppose I could do that,” I go to peel off my strapping black heels.

He licks his lips. “No, leave those on. You’re too short for me to bend over without them. I’ll end up putting it in your ass.”

How lovely.

“Of course,” I say, standing up straight again. “But I think you’ll have to get the zipper on this dress...”

“Oh? Let me finish then.” The disappointment is apparent, written all over his face like a satire comedy. He lazily pours my drink, which is just straight vodka. He holds it out for me, and I take it.

“Let me freshen up,” I say as he kisses my neck.

“Ugh, whatever,” he grumbles, throwing hands as I squirm away from him. His dissatisfaction brings a genuine smile to my face as I slip into the hotel bathroom. Normally, men want to get me drunk before they think they’ll fuck me. Dylan is so eager to get his dick wet, he’s not even thinking about having fun beforehand.

I shut myself in and fish out the small glass bottle from my purse. I set it down on the counter and take a mouthful from the glass of clean vodka. I then dump the contents of my concoction from home into the rest of the drink. I swish the vodka in my mouth as I exit, gripping the glass with a fresh sense of eagerness.

“That was fast.” Dylan’s already down to just his bare torso and slacks. “I guess you missed me.”

I audibly swallow my mouthful of vodka, and then purposefully falter in my smile and cough. “Oh, this is too strong for me.”

He sighs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Of course, it is. Just sit it down and come over here. My dick is going soft.”

Oh, you poor thing. Not a soft cock.

I bat my lashes. “I have a better idea.” I set the glass down on the dresser and reach for the zipper of my dress. I hate this part.

But he’ll be dead soon.

Licking the remnants of alcohol off my lips, I let the dress fall around my ankles, revealing my lace bike shorts and my bare breasts. They’re small, but perky, and that does the trick for Dylan.

His eyes widen with lust. “This is a better idea.”

“Mmm,” I purr, grabbing the glass and walking over to him. I climb onto his lap, my breasts in his face. “ Here. ” I tip the glass to his lips, and his eyes grow hooded as his hands rake over my bare sides.

He downs the mixture in one go, making a face as I drop the glass to the bed. “That is strong,” he chuckles, and then leans in toward my tits.

“You know,” I grab his jaw with both of my hands and force it back away from me. “I prefer to be in control.” I slide off his lap, and in one swift motion, I force my heel into his chest, shoving him back onto the bed.

“What the fuck?” he grunts. “What’s wrong with you?” Dylan shifts to sit up, but he falls back. His brows furrow as he rubs his forehead, confusion etched in his expression.

“Feeling drunk?” I tease as I lean over him, unsnapping his pants. “That vodka must’ve hit you hard.”

“Yeah,” he mutters as I begin to work them off. I need him in his boxers. His voice begins to slur. “You can be on top. Hurry up.”

On the verge of passing out and still thinking about sex.

I drop his pants to the floor as he struggles to scoot back and lay his head on the pillow. “You’re really something, Dylan.”

“It’s Demetri ,” he corrects me with disgust, reaching for his bulge.

“Oh, well, shit. I was wrong this whole time,” I laugh, tipping my head back. “Close enough though, right? I mean, do you even know my name?”

“Why’s it matter?” he shoots back, his words almost incoherent now. “You’re just another stupid cunt. ”

“Wow, you’re such a gentleman,” I cackle as I swoop my dress up from the floor. I slide it back on, zipping it up with ease.

“St-stop that...” He throws a hand in my direction. “Get on my cock, bitch.”

I roll my eyes. “Uh, huh. It’s probably better that we don’t.”

“Why?” His eyes are growing glassy. “I wasted all my drinks on you...”

“What a shame...” I give him a pitiful pout and then walk over to the bed, leaning over to brush my nose against him. “Death is so anticlimactic, you know? That’s the thing with a Black Widow, when she bites her prey, they become paralyzed. The fun is over in seconds. It’s almost... Well, depressing—but whatever keeps the monsters at bay? Am I right?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

I sigh in annoyance. “I’m saying that I’d truly love to rip you to shreds like a wolf, but then, I’d risk getting caught. It’s easy to write off a partier for what they are—an overindulgent fool. And there are plenty of them in this city.”

“You’re a real cunt.”

“Thanks,” I dig through his mini fridge, cracking open the bottles and taking my time going back and forth to the bathroom sink. I drain all the alcohol and scatter the bottles around the room. I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead as Demetri finally grows quiet.

Next time, I’ll use fentanyl. Much easier to clean up.