Page 46 of Lost to the Woods

I called her name—nothing still.

She wouldn’t wake up. Not for a long time. And I didn’t even have to bind her to have my way with her.

This was too good. I just had to laugh.

She was so peaceful in her deep sleep, but she couldn’t be farther away from safety. The sight of her like that—unguarded, soft, vulnerable—made me twitch with the need to claim her.

Then I straightened, pulling the blanket away. She wore a light pink cami top, the fabric so thin it was nearly sheer, clinging to her like a second skin. The darker outlines of her aureolas teased beneath, the stiff little points of her nipples pressing against the material. Begging for attention. My attention.

But she’d denied me that.

You should have said yes.

Her pajama pants were ridiculously infantile—long, plush, printed with grinning bunny faces—the waistband with a cute bow was loose, just asking to be tugged down. Mocking me.

I stared, shameless, drinking in the sight of her like a man starved, taking mental pictures of every detail. Then, with a slow, deliberate touch, I hooked a gloved finger under the strap of her top and pulled it down, baring one perfect, soft breast. The other followed, her tits spilling free, pale and round, nipples puckered tight. My breath hitched.

Fuck.Even now, after everything, she still had this power over me. I could have bitten them. Sucked them raw. Hell knows how badly I wanted to.

But she didn’t deserve my mouth.

Her bottoms came next—I yanked them down her thighs in one sharp motion, exposing smooth, waxed skin. No redness, no irritation—freshly done. She’d prepped herself.For me.

Only to leave both of us disappointed.

But would you look at that—that pretty little pink pussy, bare and glistening, was mine anyway.

My gloved hand burned to touch her. Before I could stop myself, I dragged a leather-clad finger down her slit, parting her lips. She was already wet.

Poison.

That cunt was fucking poison, and I wanted to drown in it. Choke on it. Let it ruin me.

But she didn’t get to have me. Not again.

The knife slid free from its sheath with a whisper of steel. The blade caught the light, cold and gleaming as I traced it over her chest, following the swell of her breasts, the dip of her collarbone. I imagined slicing her open, watching her skin split like ripe fruit, her blood spilling in thick, crimson ribbons over her flesh.

I wanted to hurt her.

Torture her.

And I would get off on the pain I inflicted upon her.

But then she sighed, and her hips rolled slightly, thighs pressing together before relaxing again.

“Daddy…” The word slithered out of her, breathy, dream-drunk.

My grip tightened on the knife.

She was dreaming.Dreaming of me.

A dark, possessive thrill shot through me—a different kind. Perhaps she wasn’t finished with me yet.

I shook my head, chasing away any confusion. And I dipped the blade lower, trailing it down her stomach—it caught only on her belly button ring with a metallic sound. I moved my hand between her thighs, pressing the flat side of the blade against her pussy, the metal kissing her heat. Her legs parted, giving me a better access, as her body responded even in sleep.

I flipped the knife around, gripping the blade and letting the sharp edge bite into the leather of my glove. Then I dragged the polished wooden handle—smooth, and heavy—up and down her slit, collecting her arousal before pressing against her entrance.

She shifted, her thighs trembling, her breath coming faster. Fuck, she was into it.

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