Page 25 of Of Heathens & Havoc

A shudder wracks my body when cold fingertips skim the silky skin of my inner thigh. He squeezes my middle, as if reminding me to stay silent, then slips his fingers even higher. Goosebumps race over my skin when his fingers meet the hot, wet fabric between my thighs. He sucks in a breath, and a tremor goes through him. At the same moment, he sinks his teeth into the juncture between my neck and shoulder.

I cry out in shock, the beads spilling from my mouth and rolling into the inside of the mask with an echoing rattle that sounds deafening in the silence. I can still taste them, the soapy flavor mingling with the bitter sting of blood. My captor’s tongue lathes across my bitten skin. It’s obscenely hot and wet, and a thrill of the darkest sin bores down deep into me. He drags his hand up, kneading between my thighs. I whimper as he squeezes my swollen, aching flesh. The sensation is too much. My knees give, my thighs pliant for him.

He growls against my throat, biting down on the tendon on the side of my neck this time. I writhe in his grip, my back arching, which grinds my bottom into his groin. I can feel him stiffening as he holds me pinned with the hand lodged between my thighs.

“Please,” I gasp as he sinks his teeth in again, biting down so hard I’m sure he’s going to draw blood. He drags my skin between his teeth, sucking greedily and sending waves of pleasure and spikes of pain through me in rapid succession as his lips, tongue, and teeth abuse my flesh.

At the same time, he eases his fingers under the edge of my panties. Tears of shame burn my eyes at the low rumble of approval that rolls through his chest, vibrating into my quaking body. His fingers skim my sensitive, tingling skin, teasing until I’m squirming and panting, not sure if I’m trying to escape or find relief. I don’t even know what relief I need, just that I feellike I’m going to shatter into a thousand pieces if he doesn’t do something.

His teeth sink into my shoulder in an especially fierce bite, and I shriek and buck against him, my back bowing and my head falling against his shoulder.

“Please,” I beg. “Please—”

His fingers slip deeper under the fabric, their coldness sending a shiver all the way to my toes when they sink into the wetness between my lips.

“Oh God,” I whimper, frantic for something I can’t name.

A groan builds inside him, the sound low and primal, like it’s being dragged from the depths of his soul, and he’s as powerless to stop it as I am to stop the need consuming me.

His fingers move up, slowly circling the bundle of nerve endings that makes me see stars when he touches it. I’ve never even touched it myself, except in the shower. I don’t even know who this person is, the first person to touch me in the place of shame. Somehow, that makes me feel both soul-rending humiliation and excitement that bathes his fingers in a fresh wave of wetness.

I hear a rustle in the darkness, and suddenly, I’m sure we’re not alone. I feel a presence, even in the blind darkness with the smell of dirt and the masculine scent of my captor filling my nostrils. The hair on my neck prickles, and I open my eyes wide, blinking into the pitch darkness, searching for someone who made a noise. “Wait,” I gasp.

My knees clench together, the urge to hide my shame too deeply ingrained to ignore. I shove my hips against the Hellhound’s hand, trying to push it away. I grab onto his wrist, tugging at it with my bound hands. In response, he jerks his hand from between my thighs. I have one moment of relief before he grabs my hands and pulls them up over my head, then behind me, dragging them down over his head.

I cry out, trying to twist away and raise my arms back in front of me. They’re the only protection I have, the only thing that keeps me from being exposed.

But he yanks the ends of the cincture down behind him, and I feel him move for a minute as he secures it to his belt. The front of my body is exposed and helpless. If he takes off my clothes the way Heath did, I have no way to cover myself.

When I’m secured in the position, he dives back into my neck, this time on the other side. He bites down, rolling my skin between his teeth before he drags my nightgown up again. This time, he pulls it all the way up above my hips, shoving the fabric into the hand that’s still holding me secured to him by my waist. Then he dips his fingers down the front of my panties.

A shudder of helpless desire quakes through me as he spreads me open and finds that nub again, circling his finger around it. Then he clamps his finger and thumb down, squeezing it so hard my whole body seizes with pain. I shriek, convulsing against him. His teeth scrape over my skin as his mouth is torn free by my sudden movement. I can hear his ragged breathing over the echo of my scream.

“Please,” I cry yet again. “I’m a virgin. Don’t defile me!”

He chuckles, the sound even more dark and sinful than the feelings gripping my body. He pinches down again, the pain electrifying my body. Suddenly the pressure is gone, and he slides his finger down my slit, burying it in my folds, violating me in a new way. I can hear the sloppy sounds as he opens me, sweeping his finger back and forth, back and forth, gathering the arousal that’s clinging to my flesh, threatening to drip down my thighs.

“Please,” I beg. “I’m not supposed to be here. It’s a mistake. Please let me go.”

His fingers close, and he squeezes my lips together. Wetness dribbles down my thigh, dripping from my pinchedflesh. He begins to massage, then slips his finger inside again. A dangerous heat builds low in my belly as the tip of his finger settles over the entrance to by body.

A choked sob escapes me, and a tear tracks down my cheek. I shudder violently, terrified as he taps his finger, the wet sound making me cry harder. Then he slowly circles the tip of his finger around the rim, eliciting a helpless moan of pleasure from my lips even as fear grips my body in paralysis. My knees give way completely, and he holds me up easily with his other hand while I begin to rock my hips, desperate for…More.

All I can think about is him pushing that long, strong finger inside me, and how something will happen that will change my life. The thought is both terrifying and so erotic that the wetness trickling down my thighs comes faster, bathing his fingers in my need.

“Oh God, oh God,” I chant, but I know I’m not praying to God anymore, but to him.

I want to scream when he slips his finger away from the hunger raging inside me, sucking like a vortex, the craving eating me alive from the inside out. I want—need—him inside me.

Instead, he clamps back onto that torturous bud, rolling it between his thumb and finger, tugging gently at it until he loses his grip on the slippery nub. Then he gets it again, squeezing until another shriek echoes down the corridor, the cries falling from my lips in rhythm with his tormenting fingers.

My thighs spasm each time he plucks at it again, biting along my shoulder at the same time. His stubble is rubbing my skin raw, but I can’t help the mewling cries and panting breaths leaving my lips. He pulls mercilessly, stretching my flesh, the bud swollen and throbbing with pain even as pleasure pulses deep inside me with each stroke.

Suddenly, a glare of light pierces the darkness, so bright I have to squeeze my eyes closed even inside the mask. The Hellhound clamps down on my nub, holding it between his first and middle finger now. I cry out in shock at the new sensation, my eyes flying open.

In front of me kneels the Ghostface mask, tilting his head in a disconcerting way, his blank scream mocking mine. He’s holding a cellphone, the flashlight aimed straight at my sex as the man holding me gives me a reassuring squeeze, his grip comforting somehow in the face of this new horror. As my eyes adjust, soul-destroying shame settles into my bones. The Ghostface mask isn’t the only one with us. A crowd of a half dozen Hellhounds and a handful of the sheep all crowd into the hall, watching me give in to this most unholy temptation.

The hellhound mask with glowing eyes and fearsome fangs shoves through the group, kneeling next to Ghostface. He reaches out, and a squeak slips from my throat as he grips my white cotton panties, now drenched, and lowers them, letting the whole group see the hand forcing this torturous pleasure upon me.

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