Page 23 of Noire Moon
The heavy length of him twitches beneath the fabric and my eyes fly up to finally take a proper, longer look at his hidden face. Gold splatters cover those hollow cheekbones of the mask illuminated by the dancing flames, and from behind the eye holes I meet his gaze.
It’s enough to have my heart stall in my chest.
Searing blue eyes, darkened by the night and the shadows of his mask, bore into me with such ferociousness I’m at risk of forgetting who I am and how I’ve ended up amongst this depravity.
If I thought for a second this man was unaffected, or indifferent to what is happening here, then I was entirely wrong. He’s looking at me as if I’m his last meal, and the unexpected hook sinks deep inside my stomach. The assault of renewed awareness of how much I want to please him winds into a vibrant riot of color inside me.
My fingers tremble as I reach forward for his belt. Not knowing if I’m entering an arena, naked and quivering, with a fanged predator on the loose, or whether I’m going to come out of this unscarred.
While I work to free his cock, there’s a pulsing tension in the room from all three men, who keep their focus on my actions. Somehow, even though I’m on my knees, desperate and already marked in the most sordid fashion, I still hold a tenuous thread of power here.
They’re giving me the opportunity to perform for them.
My heart and mind are currently in a standoff over that glimmer of realization.
Perhaps they’re doing this purely for their own selfish reasons. Or…
No, there is no possible way these strangers know a single thing about me or my fantasies or my wants. I can’t keep drifting back to that place where my brain fixated on the way they seemed to know details about me. That’s just my lustful orgasm brain talking. An impossibility I need to forget.
With hesitant fingers, I work his fly, and hook the waistband of his briefs. All while sweating under his disapproving, cool stare. I quickly swallow my nerves, and now, every ounce of my attention is firmly drawn to the impressive length that springs free as I drag the fabric down.
This time, there are no crude words to instruct me, only rippling tension filling the room. My nostrils flare, and my teeth catch my bottom lip as I follow my instinct and weigh the thick, velvety feel of his cock beneath my fingers.
Jesus, this man has a dick worthy of worship.
All three of them do. I’ve stumbled upon the dick jackpot tonight, and the price I’ve had to pay seems insignificant in comparison to the fact I’m about to enjoy the sensation of this man filling me, too.
Gold Mask’s position in his chair—his vast seat that might as well be a leather throne—doesn’t shift, but the size of his erection, the way it swells and thickens in my palm, has me swallowing thickly, already feeling the imprint of what he might feel like to take him in my mouth just like I’ve done for the others.
Now that he’s right here in front of me like this, I want to taste him, too. Though, I haven’t been given permission for that, and in this game I have no right to ask, either. They only tell me what and when and how, and in this dark room with firelight dancing across my bare skin, I’ll gladly keep following their commands.
All thoughts of finding my friend have long since vacated my mind.
I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.
Nor do I want to think about what comes next after I leave here.
Maybe I don’t want to leave here at all.
Except, as much as I refuse to admit morning will eventually arrive, I can’t sit here on the floor indefinitely drooling over this man’s perfect cock, so I begin to shift my weight in an effort to stand up. My legs are definitely still wobbly, but my pussy aches to be filled again.
There’s every possibility this man isn’t going to bother with touching me, judging by the way he’s filling that armchair and surveying me from behind his deathly mask. So, I’m going to have to climb into his lap and do all the work.
Which makes the whole thing unbelievably hotter.
Just as I’m about to clamber into his lap, I sense movement behind me. The flash of a blade appears in front of my eyes, and is at my throat within a second. Copper Mask is right at my ear with a disapproving noise, and his hard cock digs into my lower back.
“Oh, no, you don’t, love. Not that way. Face this way.” Oh, fuck. They really do want me to put on a show. “Make sure we can see exactly how desperate your cunt is to take three of us.”
My entire body flushes down to my toes.
The blade leaves my throat, only to be flipped in his tattooed hand, and plunges down toward my waist. For a second, I’m terrified that blood is about to start pouring from my stomach—that I’m going to be gashed open like some kind of sex-ritual sacrifice. A muffled noise escapes me as my fear climbs up the back of my throat, and then the pressure of the blunt edge digs against the swell of my lower stomach, followed by a forceful tug. The swift, brutal motion makes my hips jerk forward.
Holy shit.
Fabric rips, and that’s the only warning I get, as his knife makes efficient, calculated work of slicing through my top and skirt. It should be terrifying how easily that weapon ridded me of the last vestiges of clothing.
It should be a lot of things… most certainlynotsomething that leaves me gasping and aroused.
