“Just breathe,” he said in a voice so deep it had goosebumps moving over my skin.
The world tilted. The edges of the room blurred like spilled ink being washed away with water. Heat crawled up my throat, a fight I couldn’t win. The cabin swayed around me, too bright even through the darkness, too alive even if I felt like I was in a grave. Reality thinned as fear folded inward, turning into something else entirely.
He moved inches forward, and only a hair’s breadth separated our bodies from brushing. I held my hand out. “Don’t,” I whispered, though I didn’t know who I was talking to. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t have to. His presence was a weightless press, the precision of someone who knows he holds a hell of a lot of power.
When he spoke again, the deepness of his voice was like gravity weighing me down and quiet enough to thread through the electrified air that filled the room.
“You wrote us here, Gwen,” he whispered, so close I felt his body heat seep into me. “And we’ve come to give you what you want.”
4
The world outside was a howling, white void, but inside the cabin, the only thing screaming was my body.
I retreated several steps until my back hit the rustic wooden wall, grain biting into my shoulders. The three figures closed in, their masks gleaming in the low firelight.
I didn’t know their names, knew nothing about them but the fact that they were all terrifying, and they turned me on like nothing else ever had.
The Stag was before me first, his antlers casting jagged shadows on the ceiling. The Skull stood to my right, a hollow-eyed promise of oblivion. And to my left, The Black Mask, with this cold andapathetic demeanor, had my body feeling terror, anxiety, but most of all… arousal.
“Scared little thing,” The Stag murmured, his voice a low, muffled rumble that vibrated deep into my bones. A thick, leather-gloved hand came up to cup my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “Did you really think you could fight us? Fight this?”
I shook my head but didn’t know what I was trying to deny. In reality, it was a pathetic jerk of movement. My heart was a wild drum against my ribs. This was wrong. I should be fighting, screaming for help that would never come. But my limbs felt heavy, like liquid. The fear was a potent drug, but swirling beneath it was something darker and headier. It was a thrilling current of anticipation I was too ashamed to name.
The Skull’s fingers, which were surprisingly bare and warm, trailed down my arm. “Look at her,” he murmured to his accomplices. “Poor little thing is shaking. Like a tiny, pretty bird in a cage.” His fingers lowered until I felt his touch dip to the collar of my sweater, and with a sharp tug, he ripped it open.
I gasped and instantly reached for the two halves, trying to pull them together. I was braless, and the cold air hit my breasts, my nippleshardening into tight, sensitive peaks instantly. I gasped again, the sound swallowed by the storm.
“Fucking beautiful,” The Skull said, his voice dripping with a hunger that was entirely primal. He didn’t touch me. He just watched, and that felt more invasive than anything else.
The air had hummed, thick with tension, fear, and something dark and forbidden. My breath came fast and hard, my pulse pounding as the three masked figures closed in.
The Skull, The Stag, and The Black Mask.
They surrounded me like it was a ritual, the flickering tree lights, the wintery storm raging outside, and the firelight catching on their masks making them seem even more ominous.
The Black Mask touched me next, his gloved finger tracing along my jaw, sliding down to my throat, and pressing in just enough to make me swallow. “She’s trembling,” he murmured, voice muffled and low. Reverent.
The Stag leaned close and said in a deep and dark voice, “Not from fear,” and the words sank straight into me. Their presence alone stole my breath.
And when The Black Mask lifted his hand, I held in my breath when Isaw the knife in his hand. The blade whispered against the skin of my collarbone, I let out a squeak of fear. It was cold, the touch teasing and taunting me before it bit shallowly at my skin.
Pain bloomed, sharp and intimate, and when I looked down and saw a bead of blood rise, I felt all three of them still, as if my body had just spoken for me.
“Red is pretty on you.” I wasn’t clear who spoke or if all of them said it at the same time.
The Stag roughly palmed my breast, his thumb circling my nipple with a crude, possessive pressure. “You want to be good for us, don’t you, Gwen? You want to show us how a good girl listens.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a command woven into my unraveling mind. A tear escaped my eye, tracing a hot path down my cheek.Yes. No. I don’t know.The corruption of what they silently promised was a whisper, seductive yet vile all in the same breath. These three men promised warmth far greater than the fireplace could provide.
So suddenly that my head spun, The Skull dropped to his knees, his bony mask level with my stomach. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and the flimsy cotton panties beneath them, and I held my breath as he stared up at me. Ilooked at the other two, both of them staring back at me, although their expressions were hidden beneath their masks.
When I didn’t say anything, just looked back down at The Skull, his deep chuckle filled the small space. With one brutal yank, he stripped my leggings and panties down to my knees, baring my pussy to the hot, thick air. I cried out on instinct, a strangled sound of protest and excitement that died in my throat the moment he leaned in.
“Let’s see if we can make her scream for another reason,” he growled, tearing away my clothing, and hiking one of my legs up and out, placing it on his shoulder, and pushing just the bottom of his mask up to drag his tongue, hot and insistent, in a long, wet stripe up my slit.
My head kicked back against the wall, my palms flat on the wood to balance myself.Oh God.His mouth was a brand, searing away the last fragments of my resistance. His fingers dug into my thigh as he ate me like a man starved, his tongue fucking into me, lapping at my clit, his nose buried in my flesh.
The vulgar, wet sounds echoed in the cabin, a lewd counterpoint to the storm. I was moaning, high and desperate, my hands now tangling in his hair,not to push him away but to hold him tight against me.
