Page 8 of The Invite
It hurts.
His shirtless friend chuckles, digging his fingers into my flesh deeper. His nose nudges my ear, before he taunts, “I can smell your arousal, prey.”
“I am not aroused,” I grit out, shame heating my cheeks. Looking away, I will my body to hate his sinful touch, confusing and distracting me.
The knife appears in front of my face before pressing against my cheek and forcing me to look back at him.
My monster.
I pretend soft fur is grazing my skin instead of the weapon that terrifies me more than the man himself. But doing so heightens the ministrations of his hand between my thighs.
“Eyes on me when I make you come, little runaway,” he orders arrogantly. Curling his finger, he swirls it in my channel until it finds the spot that draws traitorous moans from my lips. “Are you having fun?”
“No.”
Pinching my clit punishingly, he admonishes, “Your wet pussy is telling a different story. Listen to it play my tunes.”
Pressing the knife’s blade against my throat threateningly, his hand picks up its pace and thrusts harder. Massaging my bundle of nerves expertly, a second finger joins the first and bangs my pussy viciously.
Until I’ve no choice but to accept each plunge.
To ride his hand.
To submit to his assault.
“Do you hear how hungry your tight little cunt is?” he darkly murmurs, his palm slapping every time he drives to the hilt. “My hand is a mess from your juices. Does this sound like torture?”
The question isn’t aimed at me.
“Quite the opposite.” His friend hums. Caressing my inner thigh until I throw my head back, mindless and warring against my body’s needs, he murmurs, “They always make a fuss until they’re moaning like a slut.”
A rough hand grabs my throat and tilts it straight.
My eyes barely stay open as they collide with dark and sinister ones. His chest presses flush against my front, flattening my breasts. I forget to breathe, my lungs short of oxygen as he bends his head and cups my jaw. A knuckle strokes my cheek, the corner of my parted lips, and asks, “Are you close? Are you going to come for me, little prey?”
I refuse to answer, as a magnificent ache tightens my lower belly. His fingers scissor inside my walls, stretching them until I whimper.
His fingers are long and thick, hurting every time they slide inside.
“Answer me.” His tone matches the malice in his pupils. “Or it’s my knife you’ll come around, not my hand.”
“Y-yes,” I stammer.
“Good girl,” he praises. “Now, let me hear you come.”
His command sinks into my veins and I lose my senses in his pistoning hand. I’ve never felt this intensity, the barbarity, and so much wicked pleasure all in one breath. It all converges into a powerful throb and I—
“What the hell?” a shrill voice screeches.
I blink past the lustful haze.
The spell is broken.
Horrified, I realize I was about to come at the hands of a lunatic sociopath. While another kept me trapped. At the same time, I notice the chain is no longer tying me to the large tree.
Both my captors’ attention is concentrated behind them.
“You found someone else!” accuses the same voice that interrupted us, and it’s an angry girl, whose silhouette is visible in the shadows.
