Page 13 of Noire Moon
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 tattooreach 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 yieldsuitably 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.
