Page 5

I try to distract myself, counting the streetlights. One. Two. Sixteen.

Before I realize it, we’re underground. Nothing but concrete and yellow halos. And then I notice the wolf’s hand is on my knee.

Heavy. Warm.

Moving up my thigh, slow enough that I feel every inch through my costume.

“Nervous?” he asks.

I don’t answer.

Being nervous is for people who think they have options.

The elevator is marble and mirrors. I catch my reflection and notice that my bunny ears have gone crooked again. My perfect mascara is smeared, my mouth set in a line that doesn’t belong on a face this young. The wolf stands behind me, and I can feel his chest against my back. His cock, hard and unmistakable, presses against my ass, letting me feel what I’ve agreed to.

The suite is bigger than my apartment. I stand in the center of the room while they circle me, masks still on, and there’s something about it that makes this whole situation easier. Right now, they’re not men. They’re the deal. The price. The price I have to pay so Bailey can keep scrolling on her phone and drinking from a glass that probably costs more than my monthly rent.

“Take off your clothes,” the skull says.

My fingers find the zipper, and the sound of polyester whispering down fills the space around us. I let it fall to the ground, stepping out in my bra and tights, goose bumps prickling my skin at the feel of the cold air and their eyes. The wolf tilts his head, studying me.

“All of it.”

The bra goes next. Then my tights. Leaving me completely naked in front of three monsters.

I don’t cover myself.

Survival mode, remember.

Let them look. Let them take.

The sooner they start, the sooner it ends.

Zombie kneels first, letting his gloved hands trace up my calves… my thighs. And I flinch before I can stop myself. Not because he’s hurting me, but because his touch is gentle… patient.

“Easy,” the wolf murmurs, and he’s behind me again. His hands, on my hips, steadying me while the zombie’s fingers drift higher. “We have time.”

Do we?

That clock is ticking in my head louder than my pulse. I let the zombie part my thighs, noticing how his hands slightly shake. And when he finds me embarrassingly wet, he makes a sound behind his mask. Something that sounds feral… hungry.

The skull moves in from the side. His hands are bare, rougher against my ribs, my breasts. He thumbs my nipple, and the sensation makes me gasp, instinctively arching into it without meaning to. The wolf’s grip tightens on my hips, holding me still.

“Sensitive,” the skull observes.

“Responsive,” the wolf corrects him, and I can sense the pride in it, as though he’s staking his claim.

They work me in a rhythm I don’t understand. The zombie’s fingers circle my clit, soft and torturous. It’s nothing that resembles the frantic rubbing I’ve done alone. The skull’s mouth is now on my neck, his breath coming through two holes in his mask. The wolf’s cock hard against my lower back, his hands spreading me open for them, exposing everything.

I try to stay in that numb place, but my body betrays me.

The build is slow…cruel. Nothing that resembles the quick release I normally chase. They draw it out, reading every twitch, every breath, adjusting pressure and speed like they already know my body. The zombie presses two gloved fingers inside and curls them, causing me to make a noise I don’t recognize.

Broken.

Needy.

“Let go,” the wolf whispers against my ear. “We have you.”