Fucking psychos. Who hunts someone with horses?
The Tailor boys apparently.
I veered off the path almost straight away, deciding that I stand a better chance if I’m not an open target for them. Not hearing anything too close, I pause, hands on my knees as I catch my breath.
My cardio is shit, Knox, thanks for asking.
It’s a shame that I’m being hunted, because this forest is beautiful, with towering trees and birdsong all around. They’ve not even paused in their cheerfulness, regardless of the hunters that stalk their woods.Fucking traitors.
Straightening up, I go to take a step forward, only to have one powerful arm clamped around my upper torso and the other around my waist, making my pulse skyrocket.
“Caught you,” Tarl whispers in my ear, and his cardamom scent wraps around me as my heart ricochets inside my chest.
“Goddamnit,” I breathe out, sighing as I accept defeat and relax in his stronghold. “Couldn’t you have at least pretended to give me a bit of time? Just so I felt like I had a chance?”
Regardless of my words, my body sinks back into his even more, and the delicious hardness that pokes me in the lower back makes my thighs clench together.
Hello, my name is Lark, and I’m a sucker for Tailor dick.
“But then I wouldn’t get to enjoy my prize while the others are still looking for you,” he murmurs, and I hiss when he licks a scratch on the side of my face, the sharp sting causing my nipples to harden. I never knew that I craved pain at the hands of my lovers. That’s some fucked up shit right there, and I wonder if it’s something that I need to worry about. Or maybe it’s justhow I process the trauma of being taken against my will for most of my sexual life?
The arm around my waist shifts, pulling me from my dark, self-critical thoughts, as Tarl’s hand strokes down my stomach, sending tingles racing across my body and hardening my nipples further until they ache and beg for his attention.
“Tarl,” I moan as he dips below the waist of my jodhpurs, the tight fit of the garment ensuring that I feel each movement as he pushes lower.
“Yes,Koshgelam?”
He finally reaches the apex of my thighs, and a swipe of his finger over the bundle of nerves there has me groaning long and low. He chuckles, exploring my slick folds, my hands coming up to grasp his forearm, which is still wrapped around my upper chest in a vise-like hold. My hips move of their own accord when he kisses and nips my neck, and my knees threaten to buckle with the bliss that’s rolling across my body.
“Aw, you started without me.”
I blink to see Jude leaning against a tree, a pout pulling down his pillowy lips. The outline of his hard cock is clear in his tight jodhpurs, and a small sound escapes my lips at the sight of him so ready for me. Tarl doesn’t stop, just carries on, circling my clit with his fingers, bringing me closer to an edge that I want to fucking leap off.
“Join us, Brat,” Tarl says to him, his touch moving back over my swollen bundle, and I whimper. “You can fill that naughty mouth of hers while I take her delicious pussy”.
Wetness floods between my thighs, his words and the visual they create enough to send me tumbling over the edge into the blissful abyss. My nailless fingers dig into his skin as I thrash with my release, my thighs clamping around his hand with the force of my orgasm.
Fucking hell.
I melt into him, opening my eyes to see Jude now standing before me, his ocean-deep eyes eating up every twitch and shiver.
“So beautiful, Nightingale.”
I whine when Tarl removes his hand, my exhale sharp when he brings it up near Jude’s lips.
“Suck,” he commands, and Jude obeys, his eyes rolling as he licks and sucks my climax off of Tarl’s fingers.
“Fucking delicious,” he moans, cleaning the digits thoroughly.
“Good boy,” Tarl praises, and hoe my god that shit right there almost has me coming a second time. “As wet as our pretty bird is,” Tarl continues, removing his hand from in front of me. “I think I’m going to need some more lube, Brat.”
My brows furrow, wondering if Jude keeps a bottle of lube about his person all the time, when the psycho in question bends down and pulls a fucking hunting knife from his boot.
“What the fuck?!” I rear back, much like Samson did earlier, as the blade glints in the dappled sunlight.
“Don’t worry,Koshgelam. It’s not for you,” Tarl soothes, and I watch wide-eyed as Jude brings the knife to his palm and slices across it. Jude lets out a pleasured sigh when blood immediately wells in the gash, covering a line of scars that I just manage to catch a glimpse of, and drips down his fingers. Tarl shifts me a little to the side, enough so that his dick isn’t pressing into my back anymore and he’s more to the side of me, his arm still around my upper chest. Bloody big bastards, the lot of them. “Take me out, Brat. Slick me up.”
Oh.
