Page 44 of Our Dark Winter Wish

Thrust.

‘My Pixie.’

Thrust.

‘My goddess.’

Thrust.

‘My witch.’

Thrust.

‘My. Fucking. Wife.’

He goes hard, making me pull against the restraints as he screws me.

The door to the cottage is suddenly thrown open. We all turn, and to my horror, I watch five men storm inside.

The one up front bellows loudly. ‘We demand the earth witch! Give her to us and…’ He looks at us all in turn. ‘What the…’

I don’t know who is more startled. Us, at the sight of actual people on our island. Or them, bursting in to see me, naked, tied up and being well and truly fucked on one end and sucking cum and arousal of two cocks at my other.

Either way, we’re all silent as we stare at each other.

And to make it even more ridiculous, we’re all still in matching red hats.

‘Shaw. Finish with Pix.’ Archie stands tall and faces the intruders, all in raggedy green robes, identifying them as members of an earth coven.

They have no magic. Not now I’m the earth goddess.

So they’re armed with swords and daggers instead. They’re even dressed in steel armour.

Dorian steps away from me and faces them, too.

Both are utterly naked, and their opponents are not only armed but protected by metal.

And I know without a doubt.

These witches don’t stand a chance.

All hell breaks out. Swords fly. Bodies slam into one another. Bones break. And my cottage gets trashed as Dorian and Archie hurl these idiots around like they’re ragdolls.

‘Untie me!’ I demand, pulling at my bindings.

‘No fucking chance,’ Shaw laughs. ‘I’m not finished yet, and neither are you.’

He continues fucking me.

I watch on as Archie shifts only his claws and, with a vicious swipe, slices the man's throat. Blood sprays absolutely everywhere. Clearly, the attacking earth witch’s heart was racing as the spray even reaches me. Warm droplets land on my stretched-out torso, and I glare at Archie.

‘Do you fucking mind?!’

‘Sorry, my love,’ he chuckles, clearly not sorry at all as he resumes slashing at the dying man, not stopping until he lands in a heap, cut to ribbons. And then he moves on to the next.

Dorian holds his own form of elegance, especially when he slams his fist into one man's chest and wriggles his fingers as it emerges through the other side. Dorian steps back and watches as the man looks down at the gaping hole in his chest, blinks at it, and then looks back at Dorian with a quizzical brow.

Thud.

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