Page 14 of Final Girls and F*ck Boys

I trembled beneath him, my body betraying me with every passing second. I wanted to resist, wanted to shove him away and prove I wasn’t his to take. But the truth was, I was already his. I had been from the moment I stepped into this dark, twisted game.

From the moment I accepted the invitation to the party.

And maybe even before then. Maybe since we were children.

“Don’t move,” Atley said suddenly, withdrawing from me wholly, leaving me naked and shivering in the dirt. “Close your eyes and remember that you trust me.”

From his back pocket, Atley pulled out a length of rope. I started and immediately attempted to sit up, but the intense look Atley shot at me stopped me in my tracks.

“I said,” he started, “do not move.” He unbound the rope, letting it slither to the ground like a snake before he grabbed one of my bare feet in his hands. Breath hitching, I watched, entranced, as he wrapped an intricate lacework of rope around my ankles and calves before binding them together. He worked quickly and efficiently, testing the tautness against my skin with a finger before moving on to my wrists.

He bound my hands together as though I was praying, weaving the rope in and out between my fingers in intricate-looking knots and patterns.

“Someday, when we have more time,” he murmured as he worked, “I want to tie you up like this when you’re on your knees in front of me. But I’ll do the reverse prayer tie so when my cock is finally down that pretty throat of yours, you’ll be forced to gag on it.”

Unbidden, a moan of want slipped from my lips at the image.

“Yeah, little saint. I know. You need it so bad.” Atley finished his last knot and leaned over me, his face, so beautiful, taking up my line of vision. “And you’ll have me in your mouth soon enough, but not yet.”

Atley stood and reached back over his head, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and dragging it over his head. He swooped down, snatching something from the ground and slipping it on his head. When he looked back toward me, I saw it was his Ghostface mask.

Despite knowing it was Atley, my breath immediately started shaking.

Fuck.

11

Atley looked powerful in that mask—dangerous.

Deadly, even.

The moonlight bathed him in a silver glow, highlighting every cut of muscle on his bare chest. His shoulders rolled back slightly, and I watched the flex of his pecs and abs, every movement deliberate, controlled. His skin was smooth except for the sparse, dark trail of hair leading down to the open button of his jeans. There, it thickened, a shadow that disappeared into the space where his pants barely clung to his hips, the V of his muscles framing the subtle swell of his shaft. The sight made my mouth go dry, and I caught myself licking my lips, anticipation crawling through my veins.

Atley’s deep voice broke through the haze. “Like what you see?” His tone was dark, teasing, sending a shiver down my spine. My gaze snapped upward to his mask, to those hollowed-out eyes that made him look more like a creature of the night than a man. I couldn’t see his eyes, just the empty pits that watched me, dissecting me like prey.

My pulse quickened. Atley tilted his head to the side, his posture animalistic, eerie, as if deciding which part of me todevour first. He didn’t need words to communicate his power—he was the power, and he knew it.

I nodded, struck dumb by the sight of him like this—so raw, so unfiltered.

“Want my cock in your mouth, little saint?” His voice dipped lower, more dangerous, and he palmed the bulge through his jeans as he stalked toward me. Each step was deliberate, commanding. “Want a taste?”

“Yeah,” I breathed, my voice a rasp. “Yes, please. Just a taste, Atley. I’ve never had my mouth on you.” The admission slipped out before I could stop it, my tongue darting out again in anticipation. My mouth was practically watering, my body humming with need.

“Christ.” Atley let out a rough chuckle, his fingers kneading the length of his hard cock through the fabric. “How’d I never know you had such a filthy fucking mouth?”

He loomed over me now, a shadowy figure, the mask turning him into something more than just Atley—he was my sin, my craving, the dark thing that knotted my insides. He unbuttoned the rest of his fly with slow precision, each click of metal against metal making my heart race. “You can have a lick, and that’s it. Only because you’ve been such a good girl.”

He dropped to his knees, straddling my chest, pinning my arms between his legs. The weight of him was intoxicating, the musky scent of him making me dizzy with want. “One taste,” he murmured, his voice thick with excitement, “and then it’s all about you, little saint.” There was a sharp edge to his voice, a barely-contained hunger that made me ache.

I could barely breathe as he reached into his jeans, tugging out his cock. It was thick, veined, and already glistening with precum. The sight of it made my throat clench with need, my body responding in ways that defied logic. He stroked himselfonce, twice, focusing on the head as he brought it toward my waiting mouth.

“Open,” he commanded, and I obeyed, parting my lips as I stared up at him through my lashes. “Yeah, that’s it. Good girl. Good girl.”

The tip of his cock pressed into my mouth, and the taste of him hit me—salty, musky, masculine. I moaned softly, swirling my tongue around the head, savoring the flavor, the texture.

I wanted more.

Neededmore.

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