Beside him, The Skull traced the line of my collarbone down to my breast with a slow, clinical touch, rubbing The Stag’s seed into my skin.
Snow pressed against the windows, the promise of more torrential weather on the horizon. The cabin felt suspended in its own little world carved out of heat, erotic depravity, and silence.
I let my eyes fall closed for a moment, feeling their hands and the warmth of their bodies surrounding me. The way the air itself seemed to hum around us, and everything else faded until all I concentrated on was the cold, another impending storm, and the reality waiting beyond these four walls.
For now… this was all that existed. Their breath. Their presence. And the aftermath of too much desire, pleasure, and the unknown…
And the terrifying truth that I didn’t want them to leave.
9
Iwoke to heat and weight and the low, constant hum of the cabin settling. I lay there and stared at the ceiling for long seconds. I could hear the weather howling outside and knew without looking that the steady fall of snow was on the other side of the glass.
For a few disorienting seconds, there was no cabin, no storm, no context. It was just the throb in my muscles, the soreness between my thighs, and the smell of smoke and sweat and sex clinging to the air like a second skin.
I rolled onto my back. Then, the ceiling swam into focus. Dark wooden beams. A faint water stain shaped like an inkblot near the corner. And theweight of the blanket pressing me down into the mattress.
The night before and this morning hit in jagged fragments. Hands, masks, dominant orders that sounded like threats, and the burn of garland at my throat. I could hear my voice breaking on sounds I couldn’t name.
My body pulsed and ached at the memory, a slow, traitorous echo.
There was a pressure along my sides, hot and solid. An arm lay across my waist, palm heavy against my stomach, fingers spread like an anchor. Another warmth pressed against my feet. They were unmoving as I was caged in.
They all breathed in even intervals. I could pick them out now. One slow and even near my forehead. One deeper, rough against my neck. One was faintly snoring somewhere near my feet.
“Morning,” a low voice rumbled against my hair.
The Stag.
Every nerve sharpened at once. They were all wrapped around me, a wall of heat, and limbs tangled with mine. A heavy, big hand shifted, dragging absently up my ribs, thumb grazing bare skin before settling again.
I swallowed. “We… fell asleep,” I said, like it was the strangest part of all this.
The Stag huffed a quiet laugh that vibrated through his chest. “We took you hard,” he murmured. “Sleep was inevitable.”
Behind me was The Black Mask. I knew that even without looking at him. His low chuckle had my body tightening, goosebumps forming on my arms and legs. His chest pressed more firmly to my side for a second, then he relaxed. His nose brushed the crown of my head in a lazy, unconscious nudge that made my throat tighten.
At the end of the bed, the third weight—The Skull. He shifted and muttered something incoherent, and I glanced down to see him sling an arm over my ankles like he was still claiming space.
I tried to move and realized with a jolt that The Black Mask kept his arm banded over my chest like a living restraint. My breath snagged. His hand tightened briefly at my hip, a silent acknowledgment that he felt my shift… that he wanted me to remember who held the power here.
I’d move when they said I could.
“Careful,” he rasped near my temple. “You squirm, and I’m going to forget I said we’d let you rest,” The Stag growled.
“Who says I need rest?” My voice came out raw, scraped thin from the times before. I was shocked I’d said the words.
“I know I don’t fucking need rest.” The Skull’s gravelly voice drifted up from the foot of the bed.
Another life, another version of me, this scenario would’ve sent me bolting for the door.
Instead, my stupid heart tripped over itself knowing these three men didn’t want to leave me, at least not right now.
“How long was I out?” I asked to distract myself from the reality of this situation.
The Black Mask stroked a lazy path along my hip with his thumb. “Long enough for the storm to stop trying to take off the roof,” he said. “Not long enough if you’re thinking straight.”
That part was debatable.
