Page 15 of Final Girls and F*ck Boys

Atley groaned, his hips jerking forward just slightly as I sucked him deeper, my lips tightening around the swollen head. “Fuck, Priest,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “You want it all, don’t you?”

I nodded as best I could, my mouth full of him, the need to please him driving me insane. His hand rested on top of his cock, pressing down into my mouth, feeding me inch by inch.

In this moment, it was all about his pleasure. Atley’s head tipped back, his jaw tight as he started to rock his hips into my mouth. He wasn’t pushing for depth, wasn’t trying to make me gag; instead, he kept the pace steady, controlled, each thrust designed to feel good for him, to draw out his pleasure. His breathing grew heavier, his cock slick and wet from my mouth.

“I’m almost there,” he warned, his voice ragged. “Can I go down your throat? Fuck, I’m so close.” His body leaned over mine, elbows in the dirt, grinding himself into my mouth harder now. His scent, his weight, everything about him overwhelmed me.

I moaned, my throat making involuntary sounds as I worked to take him deeper, drool and precum spilling from the corners of my mouth. My thighs clenched together, desperate for any kind of release. I wanted to come, to feel everything crash at once.

Atley’s voice broke into a series of curses, his body tightening as he pushed one last time, filling my throat. “Here it comes, little saint… Fuck, oh shit—” His words dissolved into a groan as his release hit, his cock twitching in my mouth. I swallowed him down, taking everything he gave me, lost in the sensation of it.

By the time he pulled away, I was a wreck—my body trembling, my cunt aching with need, my hands desperately trying to reach between my thighs even though they were still bound. I shot him a pout, hoping he’d give me the release I was so close to reaching.

Atley’s response was a sharp slap to my hand, the sting quick and startling in the cool night air. “No,” he said, voice rough but filled with dark amusement. “Don’t move.”

He stood, tucking himself back into his jeans, and walked toward the bag he had brought with him. From inside, he pulled something that caught the moonlight—a glint of metal.

A knife.

My breath hitched as I stared at the glint of the blade in Atley’s hand, the sharp edge catching the dim light in the moon. My pulse quickened, a mix of fear and anticipation coiling tight in my chest. I wasn’t sure if I should speak or stay silent, torn between the rush of adrenaline and the flicker of uncertainty gnawing at the back of my mind.

“Atley…” I whispered, my voice softer than I intended, barely above a breath.

An anxious tremor laced the words as my eyes met his. There was something about the way he held the knife—not as a threat, but as part of the unspoken game we had begun. Still, the sight of it sent a shiver down my spine, a reminder of how dangerous this moment could be.

He knelt beside me, his movements slow, deliberate. “Trust me,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. His gaze didn’twaver, and in it, I found a strange, unsettling calm. “We might hurt you, but we will never harm you.”

The words should have sounded like a warning, but they didn’t. There was something darkly sensual about the way he said it, as though pain and pleasure were two sides of the same coin—something I was on the verge of discovering. He pressed the cool edge of the blade to my sternum, so lightly that it was more of a whisper against my skin than a threat, tracing a delicate line down the tender flesh there. I exhaled sharply, my back arching involuntarily at the sensation.

“There’s a difference between them,” Atley continued, his voice smooth and dark, “pain and harm. A difference you’ll learn soon enough.” The blade continued its slow, deliberate path down my chest, never breaking the skin but teasing it with a sharp reminder of what it could do if he wanted. His words washed over me like a vow, something sacred in the way he said them, as though he was sharing a truth I hadn’t yet learned to see.

My heartbeat echoed in my ears, loud and erratic, but beneath the pulse of fear, something else stirred.

Curiosity.

Excitement.

I watched the blade move, a strange sense of calm settling over me as his focus sharpened on the task. He wasn’t reckless; he was careful, controlled. Every movement was a promise he wouldn’t let this go too far.

“Trust will be key as you join us,” he murmured, lifting the knife for a moment, his masked face locking onto mine again. “It can never waver. Do you trust us?”

His question hung in the air, thick with meaning, the blade still resting just over my heart. I didn’t answer right away, my mind reeling, my body torn between the urge to pull away and the inexplicable desire to lean in closer. The fear was real, yes,but deeper than that was something else—something primal and undeniable. I didn’t trust easily, never had, but when it came to them—Atley, Camber, Chamberlain—there was a part of me that knew I was safe, even in the darkest corners of their world.

I licked my lips, trying to steady my breath, my gaze dropping to the knife once more before I met his eyes again. Deep down, if I looked past the cold edge of the blade and the adrenaline thrumming through my veins, I knew the answer. I had always known it. Beyond the surface fear, past the uncertainty, I trusted them. I trusted him.

“Yes,” I whispered, the word soft but resolute, surprising even myself as it fell from my lips. My heart hammered in my chest, but there was no hesitation in my voice now. “I trust you.”

Atley’s smile was slow, dark but approving, as if he had expected nothing less. His hand, steady and sure, continued to trace the knife along my skin, a silent acknowledgment of my answer. The blade moved lower now, over the curve of my ribs, down to my stomach, the cool metal kissing my skin in a way that sent shivers rippling across my body. There was no pain, not yet. There was only the promise of it, the delicate balance between fear and pleasure I hadn’t known could exist.

“Good,” he said, his voice a low murmur, almost a purr. “You’ll need that trust, little saint, because we’re not done yet.”

I shivered—not from the cool wind that blew over my naked skin but from the weight of his words. There was something darkly magnetic about him in this moment, something that drew me in even as I felt the danger coil around us. This wasn’t about submission, not entirely. It was about surrendering to the unknown, about stepping into a world where I wasn’t in control.

And strangely, that thrilled me more than anything else.

12

The blade grazed the sensitive skin between my thighs, a cold kiss that sent a shock of sensation rippling through me. Instinctively, my thighs twitched, tightening around the sharp edge. That slight movement was enough—enough to feel the first sting, a sharp, precise nick against my flesh. The pain was quick and bright, followed by a rush of heat.

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