Page 14 of Noire Moon
He advances. Long legs bring him so close I have to bend backward just to maintain some sort of eye line with him.
The garish smear of blood on the skull he wears catches in the firelight. With that continued ominous silence rolling off him, I watch on as he now tilts his head toward the back of the long couch I’m currently pressed up against.
My core clenches. The command is clear, without any words required.
Bend over, or else.
At my spine is the solid back of the long couch, and he wants me to fold myself over it?
God, this is humiliating.
They really are just going to do what they want with me.
The thought crosses my mind again to use my safe word. But then again, a darker part of me is in control right now.
So, when the knife leaves my throat, and there’s a dark chuckle from behind the skull visage in front of me, I do as the man with the copper mask says.
As I shift around, now facing the back of the couch, I can’t help but notice his watch with a distinctive leather strap. On the other man, a wrist cuff peeks out from beneath his black shirt.
They’re not really trying to hide their identities at all.
Between the tattoos and the individual elements on their masks—they’re hardly anonymous.
But one thing is very clear to me now. They’re powerful enough that they don’t need to be.
Out of the corner of my eye, the long shadows highlight the way the veins stand out on his hands clasped in front of him, and my mouth waters.
When my stomach hits the couch, I pause. Slightly unsure of what to do next. But I don’t get a chance to do anything because there’s a calloused palm between my shoulder blades, and I’m shoved forward. All of a sudden, I’m face-first into the heavy masculine scent of leather, and my toes are barely able to graze the floor.
My calf muscles are working overtime to try and keep my feet on the ground. But it only gets harder when my ankles are roughly kicked wide.
Spreading me open.
Leaving my skirt hiked somewhere up around my waist.
Moonlight dances on the tip of my tongue.
My soaking wet panties are on full display, and shame flushes my cheeks. I grab tight to the smooth surface of the cushion below my head. Maybe that might anchor me for the unknown that is about to come.
I’ve never done anything like this before in my life, and I guess I’m about to find out what the true price is for playing this reckless game.
There’s a subtle movement behind me, and I’m torn between wanting to know what is happening—what they’re doing—while also squeezing my eyes tight and plunging down the abyss into laying myself bare.
A sharp smack against my ass makes me jolt. My cheeks heat, and in this fucked up position, I’m entirely helpless. Not to mention the fact that it wasn’t a hand that just slapped my skin. It was absolutely the flat of a knife blade.
There’s cracking and popping of the fire, slicing through the unbearable silence. I wish they would say something, but the quiet assessment of my exposed ass bent over the back of this couch is part of their sick game.
Hanging me here, vulnerable and squirming, is exactly what they want.
“What’s this we have here, hmm?” The distinct taunt in Copper Mask’s voice comes from directly behind me. Without a moment to prepare myself, I feel the cold kiss of the metal glide right along the sensitive skin beside the gusset of my panties. The spot where my upper thigh meets my pussy lips.
A shiver runs riot through me.
My blood is pure adrenaline and sparkling lights.
They’re seeing everything.
Panties that I know are absolutely soaked. A silky-champagne color that looks incredible against my skin tone, but is also the kind of delicate pale fabric that will show what I can only imagine is a giant wet spot over my pussy.
