Page 102 of Lost to the Woods

Doruun doesn’t take his eyes off Ghost. “You know what must be done. Are you going to be able to finish it?” He folds his arms, almost taunting. “Or has she already gotten too deep under your skin?”

I don’t have the strength to speak. My breaths come in shallow hitches, everything distant and close all at once. I’m not sure I even understand what they’re fighting over. I just know it’s me.

“Don’t make me remind you who you’re talking to, brother.” Ghost’s voice is quieter now. But deadlier.

Doruun doesn’t respond. Not verbally, at least, because it once again feels like they are having a whole-ass conversation without uttering any words.

Zhyra sighs theatrically, tossing his head back and rolling his eyes.

And then Khalok laughs, low and feral. “You’re ruining us, Bunny. Driving us insane. And you love that power, don’t you?” He steps closer, crouching by my face, voice curling around me like smoke. “Love knowing we’re all so fucking obsessed we’d kill to keep you. That we’d die just to be the last cock inside you. We’d even tear each other apart for you, if it came to that.” His honey-gold gaze pins me in place. “This is what you were made for. To be the center of our fucking madness.”

I blink up at him, barely holding on to the edges of reality, every word sinking into me like venom and sugar. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do love it—their obsession, their violence, the way they come undone over me.

Ghost’s palm slides over the curve of my ass, rougher again. I can feel his frustration, simmering just beneath the surface, as if what Doruun said still bothers him.

“Now, Princess,” he says, his voice hoarse and demanding, “we’re not yet finished here.” He shifts my weight slightly across his lap, grabbing a handful of my cheek and spreading my legs farther apart.

All of them groan in unison.

Ghost spits across my ass, and his fingers brush over my tender, gaping hole. Teasing. Exploring. A muffled sob catches in my throat when he pushes a finger inside me, slow and deliberate.

A deep, satisfied hum rumbles from his chest. “I love breaking in something new.” He adds a second finger, inching it past the tight muscle.

I shake my head, my body rigid, my stomach clenches. But his fingers move, slowly at first, careful, coaxing sensations I’ve never known. The stretch is strange, friction foreign, but not unbearable. The hook did its job preparing me, and now every stroke opens me up further.

“Fuck, look at that sweet ass,” Zhyra purrs, his clawed hand palming his barbed shaft. “I bet she feels like heaven.”

Ghost eases in a third finger. “She’s still so goddamn tight,” he growls, and his pace changes, growing faster, more insistent.

The pleasure builds, twisting, warping into something that terrifies me, something I can’t want—but I do.

Ghost knows. “That’s it. You’re not strong enough to resist us. So stop fighting,” he murmurs, his free hand twisting in my hair, pulling, forcing my gaze up.

And I see them. Hisbrothers, or whoever—whatever—they truly are. Watching, stroking themselves, still fixated.

A fresh wave of humiliation washes over me, but my body is only loving this more. My hips roll against his hand, chasing the forbidden release.

“Look how desperate she is,” Doruun rumbles. “Such a perfect little slut.”

Ghost stops. The sudden absence is so jarring that I gasp, my whole body seizing in confused frustration.

“Not yet, baby.” He snaps his fingers, and Zhyra moves in a flash, handing him something.

Then—crack.

A sharp, stinging slap lands across my ass, making me jolt. Not his hand, but leather. Probably the paddle.

I bite down on the gag, my muffled cry lost beneath his satisfied hum.

The paddle cuts the air again, landing on my flesh harder, certainly leaving a red stripe.

Again.

And again.

Until my skin is burning, hot and tingling, and my pussy instinctively grinds against his knee, seeking friction, heat, anything to ground me.

“What a snack!” Khalok hisses. “Oh, she’s loving this.”

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