Chapter 5

“ W hat shall we do with the little slut, now that we’ve got her?”

The one favoring the knife walks around me, and now that there’s the soft glow of firelight to see by, I can see his hands caressing his blade like a lover. They’re tattooed across the back and up along his fingers. From where I’m frozen to the spot it looks like a skull on the back of one hand and the bared fangs of a snake on the other. His knuckles are tattooed, too. All alchemical symbols in black ink.

The kind often found on tarot cards.

As he stalks from one side of the room, toward where the other masked man fills the doorway, blocking my only escape, I see the one with the sharp tongue and even more lethal knife—his skull mask has streaks of copper down one side. They glimmer seductively as the flames catch the metallic sheen.

My eyes quickly dart around the room, searching for another possible exit. I only find myself surrounded by a masculine-looking study that would fit perfectly into a Victorian horror movie. It’s all heavy wooden panels, bookcases, and an oversized leather lounge suite. Two armchairs on one side of the open fire face a long, deep couch that looks big enough to seat five people.

“Do we want her to strip now, or leave her fully clothed?”

His voice turns me inside out and upside down when I hear him speak that way to the one behind me. As if I’m merely an object to them. I’m too damn wary of what they might do to turn my back, so I move slowly on the spot. Like I imagine doing if I were to ever cross paths with a venomous creature. Carefully, and without any sudden movements.

There are eyes beneath that skull mask that hold me with piercing intensity. I think they’re hazel, but that could just be my mind trying desperately to attach some kind of humanity to these monsters stalking me.

And I’m the fool who willingly gave herself over to them the moment I consented to walk through those doors.

Fixing on the copper streaks over his skull mask, I watch him prowl slightly behind the other man. As my body turns to face them, keeping both of my captors in direct line of sight, my chest tightens. Now, they’re revealed—even if not their actual faces—the silent one blocking the exit is built like a mountain. His long dark hair is tied in a loose bun, and a totally black shirt is fitted to his giant form. The sheer size of him is terrifying. This is someone who could quite literally crush my rib cage beneath two enormous palms.

The other man joins him, and is only marginally shorter. It’s hard to take in all their features at once, but he’s somewhat leaner, yet all muscle beneath a waistcoat and white shirt rolled to the elbows. Both forearms are heavily tattooed, and his short, clipped hair might be light brown or sandy blond; I can’t really tell since I’m busy trying not to collapse.

As my heart thunders, that’s when the tattooed one brandishing the knife moves. I see the hand with the skull tattoo reach around from behind and stroke the other man’s stomach over the top of his suit.

My body is suddenly consumed by fire.

I’m flung back from the brink of terror into horniness at the sight of these two obviously very muscular men together. As I take in more of their appearance, they’re both dressed in fitted black slacks beneath their shirts stretched tight around broad shoulders, with combat boots laced up their shins. Even though I can’t see their faces, I can tell the bodies beneath those fine threads are impossibly strong.

There’s a knowing reaching between them. The way they stand together speaks of the kind of intimate connection that can only come from seeing each other naked. Meanwhile, the silent one studies me with an unnerving dark gaze from behind his skull mask.

The disguise covering his face looks as though it has been drenched in blood. Red coats half of it on one side as though it has fallen off into a pool of thick crimson before being set back in place again.

The copper mask turns and whispers something in the other man’s ear. Words that I can’t make out behind the skeleton mask, but my body feels every pulsing moment of the way they’re both devouring me with their shadowed eyes.

Are they going to fuck each other… and me? My pussy starts doing cartwheels with excitement. Whereas my mind is busy screeching that these masked strangers have probably disemboweled people in that abattoir just down the hall.

Copper Mask is far too skilled with that knife for my liking. The way he holds it—like the thing is an extension of his own body—speaks of someone who has spent his ten thousand hours perfecting the art of slicing up others.

He taps the blade against the bone white of the skull covering his cheek. As if deciding what part of my body would yield suitably beneath a slice of the deadly sharp edge. Then he starts to move and closes the space between us with only a couple of determined strides.

I’m quickly retreating, backpedaling as instinct and self-fucking-preservation kick in once more, but the immovable weight of the long couch at my back prevents me from going any further.

His blade is beneath my chin in the blink of an eye as my heart climbs into my mouth.

Cold metal.

Steel forged to kill.

It sits right against my neck, and I daren’t move, breathe, or even blink. This man staring down at me is raw power and anonymity. He could slit my fucking throat, and no one would even know.

At this point, I think I’m too overwhelmed to even be trembling anymore.

“I wonder if her cunt is desperate for a good fucking?” Copper Mask and his bright hazel eyes are so close I can smell the fresh scent of citrus on his shirt. There’s woodsmoke in there, too, but I don’t know if that’s him or the open fireplace behind me. “I bet your clit is all pink and pouty and just begging to be slapped until you scream for us, little flower.”

The filthy words coming out of his mouth are taunting. Savage . How the hell can my body be so completely on board with being used by these two assholes?

“Rules.” That leering voice, so close that I almost whimper, cuts through the room. “You don’t say a word… we will do whatever we want with you… and you might just earn the right to leave this place still breathing.”

Fuck. That shouldn’t make the pulse in my neck gallop like a wild beast, but here we are.

Keep quiet? I can do that.

I think.

“I don’t mind getting my hands dirty if rules are broken.” Copper Mask presses the knife harder into my skin. If he wasn’t so damn cocky with that thing, I’d be afraid of being cut open right this second.

But his hands are steady.

Another hint of what this stranger might get up to when he’s not chasing unknown women through the dark. Or fucking them.

“Bend over. Ass up.”

I gasp at the crude instruction. For whatever reason, my eyes flick to the other man. As if he might intervene, except, of course, he won’t.

Even though he might be silently studying everything unfolding in this room, this is his game, too. Does he ever talk? Or is this just all part of the insanity of this evening’s entertainment for these two?

Maybe he’s just playing the strong, silent type.

He advances. Long legs bring him so close I have to bend backward just to maintain some sort of eye line with him.

The garish smear of blood on the skull he wears catches in the firelight. With that continued ominous silence rolling off him, I watch on as he now tilts his head toward the back of the long couch I’m currently pressed up against.

My core clenches. The command is clear, without any words required.

Bend over, or else.

At my spine is the solid back of the long couch, and he wants me to fold myself over it?

God, this is humiliating.

They really are just going to do what they want with me.

The thought crosses my mind again to use my safe word. But then again, a darker part of me is in control right now.

So, when the knife leaves my throat, and there’s a dark chuckle from behind the skull visage in front of me, I do as the man with the copper mask says.

As I shift around, now facing the back of the couch, I can’t help but notice his watch with a distinctive leather strap. On the other man, a wrist cuff peeks out from beneath his black shirt.

They’re not really trying to hide their identities at all.

Between the tattoos and the individual elements on their masks—they’re hardly anonymous.

But one thing is very clear to me now. They’re powerful enough that they don’t need to be.

Out of the corner of my eye, the long shadows highlight the way the veins stand out on his hands clasped in front of him, and my mouth waters.

When my stomach hits the couch, I pause. Slightly unsure of what to do next. But I don’t get a chance to do anything because there’s a calloused palm between my shoulder blades, and I’m shoved forward. All of a sudden, I’m face-first into the heavy masculine scent of leather, and my toes are barely able to graze the floor.

My calf muscles are working overtime to try and keep my feet on the ground. But it only gets harder when my ankles are roughly kicked wide.

Spreading me open.

Leaving my skirt hiked somewhere up around my waist.

Moonlight dances on the tip of my tongue.

My soaking wet panties are on full display, and shame flushes my cheeks. I grab tight to the smooth surface of the cushion below my head. Maybe that might anchor me for the unknown that is about to come.

I’ve never done anything like this before in my life, and I guess I’m about to find out what the true price is for playing this reckless game.

There’s a subtle movement behind me, and I’m torn between wanting to know what is happening—what they’re doing—while also squeezing my eyes tight and plunging down the abyss into laying myself bare.

A sharp smack against my ass makes me jolt. My cheeks heat, and in this fucked up position, I’m entirely helpless. Not to mention the fact that it wasn’t a hand that just slapped my skin. It was absolutely the flat of a knife blade.

There’s cracking and popping of the fire, slicing through the unbearable silence. I wish they would say something, but the quiet assessment of my exposed ass bent over the back of this couch is part of their sick game.

Hanging me here, vulnerable and squirming, is exactly what they want.

“What’s this we have here, hmm?” The distinct taunt in Copper Mask’s voice comes from directly behind me. Without a moment to prepare myself, I feel the cold kiss of the metal glide right along the sensitive skin beside the gusset of my panties. The spot where my upper thigh meets my pussy lips.

A shiver runs riot through me.

My blood is pure adrenaline and sparkling lights.

They’re seeing everything.

Panties that I know are absolutely soaked. A silky-champagne color that looks incredible against my skin tone, but is also the kind of delicate pale fabric that will show what I can only imagine is a giant wet spot over my pussy.

He’s using the dull side, angling the tip of the blade… but it would only take a split second for him to flip the grip in his hand and start drawing blood. There’s no doubt in my mind that he is enjoying the power play that comes with having me panting and folded in half with my ass in the air for him.

“Fucking filthy slut.” Punishing words hit me next, filled with the taunting of his voice. The man is hovering so close to my ass that he must be crouched down at eye level, and my core clenches with a building wave of sensation. Christ, I’m so turned on and embarrassed and terrified; my body doesn’t know which way is up.

My nipples are hard diamonds, rubbing against the inside of my top, which in turn is shoved up against the leather cushion. Just enough friction in this demeaning position to lure me closer and closer to moaning out loud, while also not anywhere near enough to really do anything other than keep winding my body up.

The ache in my core is blooming and blossoming and announcing itself with horny glee.

Next, I feel the threatening, pricking sensation travel along my skin as my masked stranger runs that deadly tip from the back of my knee, up, up, up, along the inner swell of my thighs. This time, digging in and applying just enough pressure, I can tell there will be tracklines of raised, reddened welts left in the wake of his movements.

A dark, devious hum of satisfaction marries with the precision of his movements.

Now he’s running the steel up and over my ass cheeks, pausing to slide the tip just beneath the lacy edge of the fabric in order to hike it up higher, tightening the fabric against my pussy, before repeating the same actions on the other side.

Again, he uses the knife to dig the tip in and draw long lines, leaving welts that set my skin on fire. Along with the ever-present and entirely unspoken threat of drawing blood, Copper Mask knows he doesn’t need to say a thing. My imagination is running haywire, coming up with all sorts of scenarios where my body is left cut open and bleeding out on the floor.

“Look at the mess she’s making. Her cunt is dripping... bet she’d beg to be cut open, too.”

I squeeze my eyes tighter.

“Nothing to say?” The raw amusement in his voice at the power imbalance here sends flames licking up my cheeks.

No, I can’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. If I utter a single word or noise, there’s every chance they might punish me even more than they already are.

So I bite my lip and flex my fingers against the leather.

“Didn’t think so,” he says.

From the other side of my hips comes the sound of Bloodied Mask shifting his weight, but it’s hardly more than a scuff of his boots against the floor.

“I’ve had enough. Cutting her open seems like a fun idea.”

Oh, fuck.

Reflex makes me start to struggle in an attempt to get my feet back under me. But two sets of heavy boots keep my legs spread wide open.

Copper Mask lets out a dark laugh. “Oh, no, you fucking don’t, love.”

And then I feel it. The smooth, cool tip of his knife slips beneath the soaking wet gusset of my panties. My entire body is trembling, and I’m reeling at how completely helpless and entirely fucked I am. He twists the weapon, and I can’t stop the yelp that escapes my lips. There’s no time for me to react more because there’s just an unnatural sensation against the most intimate part of me.

Cold metal against my overheated, delicate skin.

The press of something so hard and unfamiliar against my sensitive pussy lips.

It all feels foreign and wrong and jarring. He could so easily maim me right now; it’s sick.

With the kind of wicked precision that makes my stomach churn, he manipulates the blade and slices straight through the fabric. There’s a momentary tug against my body before a gust of air hits my skin. My soaked entrance is fully exposed, and they’re both going to see every drenched inch of me.

Another shove of the knife against my flesh comes when he does the same on one side of my hip before the material peels away completely, and he uses the knife to flick my panties onto the floor.

I’m left gasping as two masked men stare at my bare pussy.