An Unauthorized Field Guide to the Hunt Read Online Free PDF

reach down, stroke his cock in time with the cat’s thrusts. He needed to come, but the cat just snarled at him, readily controlling him. “Please,” Shane begged one last time.
    Unfortunately the cat wasn’t interested in mercy. He fucked Shane slowly, gently. The aroused tingle in Shane’s ass zipped to his balls, drawing them tight against his body. He writhed under the cat, meeting each pump into him as much as the cat’s claws puncturing the meat of his hips would allow. The cat’s musk dizzied him. He couldn’t breathe without sucking that magical scent in, and oh gods, the mellow slide of the cat’s dick drove him out of his head. Even the purr in his ear sounded wonderful, full of sex and power. Full of greedy hunger.
    Shane arched his back as his orgasm raced up his untended dick. With a stunned shout, he spurted semen in pulsing bursts onto the ground. His world skidded sideways. He gritted his teeth while the storm of pleasure swept him away. The cat thrust into his ass, riding out the instinctive clench of muscle that wrung Shane out. Shane shot what felt like gallons, emptying his balls.
    The cat licked his neck and then pushed off Shane’s body. His still-rigid length slid free, wresting another shattered cry from Shane. The hand holding both of Shane’s down vanished.
    As did the cat.
    Wrecked, bewildered, Shane sprawled in the dirt with his ass high and his body still quaking from his orgasm. He shivered at the cooler air whispering over his sex sweat as well as the mating fluids the cat had smeared into his cleft.
    What the hells just happened?
    Holy gods, Shane couldn’t make his body work. The cat had fucked him stupid, best sex of Shane’s life. And the cat hadn’t even come. They weren’t finished.
    That thought finally spurred him to move. Sort of. Panting, he lurched forward on his knees, and because his arms weren’t listening to his brain yet, he only managed to shove his face deeper into leaves and mulch. Spitting out dirt, Shane shook his head. And whimpered.
    He had to leave, had to run. To hell with the Hunt and his strategy for retaining a cat’s interest longer than a single coupling. Shane needed to escape. He still ached, empty, and craving the cat’s return like a drug.
    Somehow he mustered the strength to push off the forest floor. He used gelatinous arms to pull his way to his feet by dragging himself up a nearby tree. Chest heaving, he stumbled into the darkness, and once he’d steadied, he broke into an awkward lope. He ran. Not from the cat this time. There would be no escaping this hunt.
    Shane ran from himself.
    He raced through the black night. He crashed into trees. Sticks he couldn’t see stabbed. Thorns he never knew were there scratched. He didn’t even remember to pull his pants back over his still-tingling ass until he tripped and skidded over the ground, rocks digging into the set of punctures lining his left hip. Whining—no point in trying to be quiet now that the cat had sampled him—Shane yanked his pants up his hips. He hauled himself up, and he fled. He forced his shaky legs into a sprint. Nothing could stop him, not the endless night or the obstacles the forest threw in his way.
    The cat would take him again. Fuck him. Dope him with that mesmerizing scent and make Shane come and come. Make him want it.
    All he could do was run.
    Many, many lifetimes later, the cat yowled and struck, slamming Shane against the unyielding bark of a tree. Winded by the impact, head spinning, he could only shake as claws tore the tattered remains of his shirt from his shoulders and then swiped at his pants, ripping a long seam to expose him this time. The cat didn’t bother with the foreplay of sharpening those claws on Shane’s flesh or with tugging down his destroyed pants. As soon as the fabric fell away from Shane’s ass, the cat’s hot, furry body covered Shane, and he thrust inside, hard.
    Shane shouted.
    It wasn’t the pain, though the rough entry hurt