Page 30 of Touchdowns and Tinsel

"Dude, did you fucking kill her?" He gasps, frantically checking for a pulse, relaxing slightly as the thump of her veins throbs under his fingertips.

"No, she's just passed out. I like my woman sleeping while I fuck them," I chuckle, tucking my cock away and lighting a smoke to enhance the pleasure still surging through my veins.

"You're fucking sick. Get the fuck out, Hudson." He waves me away, and I laugh again, feeling much more relaxed than I was earlier.

Even if he calls the rest of our time off, at least I got to fuck his stepmother and fill her with my cum—maybe knocking her up. Now all I have to deal with is the aftermath of an angry Cole, and all of us know that's not something anyone wants. I might have just made an enemy of my best friend. But was it worth it? Shit, ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY.

fourteen

Noelle

The oppressive sensation of being watched jolts me awake from what I can only assume was a blackout. The last memory I can grasp is of the short, masked man choking me with his belt, his disregard for my pleas ringing in my ears. Then, everything went dark.

My neck aches, a throbbing reminder of my ordeal, yet the belt is no longer tight around it. My body feels as though it has been hit by a bus, every muscle aflame with pain. Though my hands remain bound by leather cuffs, my eyes have been freed from the blindfold, allowing me to see three of the four masked figures surrounding me. I lie exposed on the bed, the warmth of the cabin blending sharply with the relentless snow piling up just beyond the wooden walls.

The short man—the one who choked me—is missing from the group. Instead, I see Q, a gleam of concern evident in his eyes, which I can only imagine mirrors the worry etched onto his mask-covered face. He sits closest to me, his hand lightly brushing against my upper thigh, while the other two men, shirtless and arms crossed over their chests, loom above me.

"Well, look who's finally awake," one of the standing men remarks, a playful lilt to his voice.

"What happened?" I whisper, my throat sore, my voice hoarse.

"Just a little roughness, but you're fine," Q informs me, moving his hand between my thighs, gently swiping his eager fingers up and down my pussy.

I can't help but moan, instinctively parting my legs to give him easier access, feeling like a neddy, desperate whore for allowing these strangers to do these things to me. But I fucking love what they've done to me. I love the way they've made me feel. The way they've made me forget. The way they've taken my pain away... even if it's bound to return when our night together is over.

“Hope you enjoyed your little nap,” he sneers, his confidence radiating like heat from the fireplace in the corner of the room.

I feel my heart racing, every instinct in my body urging me to fight, to flee, but the leather cuffs remind me of my current helplessness.

“What do you want now?” I manage to croak out, voice hoarse and weak.

My throat burns as if I’ve swallowed fire, and I struggle to suppress a cough that feels too dangerous in this moment. Q shoots me a quick look, his expression shifting, a blend of guilt and determination crossing his features. The way he glances toward the door makes me wonder if he is contemplating making a run for it.

“The real question,” the second standing man—tall and wiry with wild hair—chimes in, “is what we’re going to do with you now that you’re awake. You provided quite the entertainment for our little group.”

I squirm, testing the strength of my restraints, adrenaline pumping through my veins. “Let me go. I'm done now.” It’s a desperate plea, but it seems to amuse the wiry one even more.

“She’s got spirit; I’ll give her that,” Q laughs, but the sound is devoid of warmth. “But we’re not in the business of letting people walk away once they’ve seen too much, and you, Little Freak, have seen a lot... and we're nowhere near done with you yet.”

A sickening twist of fear replaces my anger. “I haven’t seen anything!” I protest, knowing that my words are likely useless against their intentions.

I can feel Q's eyes boring into me, silently urging me to remain calm. Just then, the door swings open with a creak, and a gust of cold air sweeps into the cabin, causing the flames in the fireplace to flicker erratically. In walks the short man, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his thick coat. The moment I see him, a feral urge to recoil overwhelms me.

“Glad to see you’re up,” he says coolly, a sinister, twisted look flickering in his eyes, his mask, of course, covering his face. “It’s time for us to have a little chat.”

The others part slightly, allowing him to take center stage. Dread pools in my stomach as I remember that I’m in fact the focal point of their sinister gathering. I lock eyes with Q, who seems to be weighing his options.

“Why are you doing this?” I stammer, desperation creeping into my tone. “You don’t have to hurt me!”

The short man tilts his head, as if pondering my words. “Oh, but we're not,” he replies, lowering his gaze to the floor. “You’ve stumbled into something far beyond your comprehension. We’re just trying to give you what you've been begging all those strangers online for.”

“I told one person,” I whisper, grappling with the words as I deliberately shoot Q a glare for not saying anything in my defense. "So what does that even mean?”

“We’ll explain everything,” he says, his grin widening. “But first, we need to know just how much you’re willing to endure.”

With a subtle nod, he signals the other two men to shift closer. I brace myself against the bed, panic igniting within me. I can’t let them break me; I have to endure to survive whatever nightmare or pleasurable experience comes next.

As the first man leans down, a glint of something sharp catches my eye—a blade concealed beneath his belt. Every instinct screams at me to fight, to scream, but nothing comes out when I open my mouth. Plus, Q puts his hand over my mouth, prepared to muffle my screams, keeping it there even though nothing comes out.

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