Page 93 of Lost to the Woods

She screams, and her fear is delicious. But her surrender? That will be divine.

I flip her onto her back, shoving her right on top of Mark’s dying, twitching body. His blood’s still pumping out, slow and weak, soaking into her skin. She looks so pretty, wrecked like this.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re afraid. It makes us want you even more.” I grab her by the chin, forcing her to look at me, at the mask, now dripping in blood, hiding what’s left of my humanity. “So scream louder, cry harder. It won’t change a thing. You’re ours. To share. To ruin. Every whimper, every tear, every shudder—it all belongs to us.”

“No!” She still resists. God, she never fucking learns.

“No?” I pull her legs apart, forcing her open. “But you’re shaking.” I drag my bloodied fingers through her wet, swollen cunt, groaning when I feel her throb around nothing. “Is it fear or is it excitement, little bunny?”

She lets out a choked sob.

I smirk to myself. “Both, isn’t it?” I stroke her tender, ravaged clit. “Your body doesn’t know the difference.”

She bucks, writhes, her whole body working against itself.

She doesn’t want this.

But sheneedsit.

“That’s right, baby—struggle all you want. It only makes it sweeter when you break.” I rub her, slow and cruel, watching her fight herself, fight me, fight the deep, desperate hunger building between her thighs.

She’s soaked. Drenched. Covered in cum and blood. And so fucking helpless under my touch, whimpering like the whore she is.

I make a mocking noise of disappointment. “Messy, messy girl.” Then I slap her clit—sharp, punishing.

She mewls, thrashing, her face contorted in impossible ecstasy that doesn’t end.

“Aww, does it hurt, sweetheart?” I do it again, harder. “Good. Pain is just your body learning how to be ours.” And again. Until her hips jerk uncontrollably, thighs trembling, legs trying to slam shut. But I hold them apart.

I own her body.

And she’s going to know it.

“You love this, don’t you?” I growl.

She shakes her head, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Still, such a fucking little liar.

“You can lie to yourself, but your body doesn’t lie to me.”

Finally, I drive into her in one brutal thrust. She cries out, clawing at my chest, legs kicking, back arching, but I hold her down, pinning her open, forcing her to take every inch of me. Her pussy is tight and wet and hurting—just the way I like it.

“You feel that? You feel how I ruin that cunt?” I snarl, pounding into her. “That’s what you get for being a greedy little slut.”

The air’s thick with blood, musk, lust, and something deeper. Primal. Sick. Addictive.

Around us, my brothers circle like fucking vultures, eyes black with hunger for a taste. For her. For flesh. For violence. I hear the slick, obscene sound of cocks pumping, desperate, aching. They’re stroking themselves, their fists working in time with every brutal thrust I bury inside her.

They feel everything I feel.

They share everything I take.

This desire isn’t just mine.

It’s theirs.

It’s ours.

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