Page 82 of Lost to the Woods

The cabin door looms ahead, and my pulse roars in my ears. How much worse can it get?

He adjusts his grip, fingers biting into the back of my thigh. “And I’ve been dying to punish you, Bunny.”

20. Ghost

My boots creak against the rotting wooden floorboards as I walk through the main room into what used to be a bedroom. The door locks behind us with a heavy click, sealing us in. The air is thick with dust and the faint, metallic scent of rust.

Her breath comes in quick, panicked little hitches as I haul her over my shoulder, her naked skin still slick from the shower, the heat of her body seeping through my drenched clothes. God, she’s light—like a doll made just for me to play with.

She squirms, putting up a fight, but it’s useless. Adorable, really. Indeed like a little rabbit caught in a snare, kicking and thrashing, not yet realizing there’s no way out.

I give her juicy, round ass a sharp smack—the sound cracks through the room as the sting lingers on my palm, sweet and satisfying. She yelps and the vibration of it travels straight to my cock.

The room—this dungeon—is a shrine to my obsession, meticulously curated just for her. The chains sway slightly from the cracked ceiling, moss creeps along the cracked plaster. Mycollection displayed with care—belts, floggers, Shibari ropes—all hung neatly on the chipped-paint walls. The long dining table by the far wall is lined with toys laid out in perfect order: polished metal, sleek leather, things that’ll make her scream in ways she never has before.

And then there’s the centerpiece—the X-cross I built myself, rough wood planks nailed together, sturdy enough to hold her while she learns.

I set her against it, her back pressing into the unforgiving wood. Her wrists are delicate in my grip, her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird as I fasten the cuffs, pinning her arms apart above her head. The ankle restraints follow, spreading her wide, leaving her open,exposed.

Fuck.

She’sgorgeous. Her skin is still damp from the shower, glistening under the golden light of the setting sun that bleeds through the old, torn curtains. Water droplets cling to her collarbone, trailing down between her breasts. Her chest rises and falls too fast, her pink nipples pebbled from fear or cold—or maybe, just maybe, from want.

I hum, running my fingers down her sternum, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. “Look at you,” I rasp. “All mine.”

She sucks in a sharp, hysterical breath, her fingers twitching against the leather straps at her wrists. Then, she tries to move. Her arms won’t lower. Her legs won’t close.

Realization dawns.

And she screams.

God, I love that sound. I feel it crack apart inside me, splintering through my veins, making my cock throb so hard it hurts.

She thrashes, yanking against the bindings, but she’s got no leverage. The X-cross stand keeps her helpless, vulnerable, mine.

Fucking hell.

She looks so goddamn sweet like this—panting, desperate, pure fucking prey. I was right all along. She was made for this.

Her wide, terror-glazed eyes snap to me, her throat bobs as she swallows hard, but before she says anything, I already step to the table. I get rid of my soaked hoodie and the t-shirt under, but I keep the balaclava with the sewn-in mask—just because I know how much she loves the mystery. I pull on my gloves with a satisfying snap, the leather creaking as I flex my fingers. Then I pick up her choker, running my thumb over the cold metal ring at the front—the choker she loves so much, the one she wore just to tease me with that pretty little throat on display, pretending she wasn’tmine.

“You always did like this one,” I muse, clicking the buckle open. “Knew you were fucking with me.”

She stiffens as I fasten it around her throat, snug but not choking. Yet. The black leather stands out stark against her pale skin—a collar for my pet. She quivers, her pulse fluttering under my thumb.

“You look so pretty scared like this,” I whisper, grazing her cheek with the back of my hand.

She jerks away from my touch, but there’s nowhere to run.

“Let me go!” she snaps, wiggling against the restraints, but it only makes them tighten harder. “Ghost, what the hell is all this?!”

I tilt my head, drinking in the sight of her, my cock aching. “What I always wanted. You, being Daddy’s good little girl.”

Her pupils are blown wide with fear—but also something else. Something I know. Something I recognize.

I inhale slowly, dragging the moment out, reveling in the way she shudders as I seize her chin. She smells like panic and something sweeter—something she won’t admit yet.

“You made me do this,” I murmur, voice low, rough.

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