Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)
“You want us to be truthful about why we’re here?” The Stag finished.
I looked between all three of them, my eyes feeling wide. Fear of the unknown, of what they were about to say, made my pulse pound wildly.
“Here’s what you need to understand, sweetheart. Last night was supposed to be a job. In and out. Masks, some mind-fuck theater, give you the scare of your life so you could finish that goddamn book.” The Skull smiled, slow and filthy. “Kai thought immersion therapy would break through your writer’s block.”
My stomach dropped so fast the room tilted. Kai. “W-What?” I blinked rapidly, bounced my gaze between them, and finally leaned back in my chair. I grabbed the mug and tried to down the rest of the coffee, but it was hot as hell and I sputtered.
The words hung in the air like smoke I couldn’t wave away.
Kai. My editor. My friend. The one who’d laughed with me over margaritas about deadlines and panic attacks and how I hadn’t written a decent sex scene in six months. My hands were steady. That was the scariest part.
“You’re telling me,” I said slowly, tasting every syllable, “that Kai hired you? Paid you… to break into my cabin, scare the shit out of me, and then… what? Leave?”
The Skull’s mouth curved, lazy and cruel. “That was the original contract, yeah.”
I stared at him. At all three of them and waited for the punchline that never came. A laugh cracked out of me—ugly, incredulous, nothing like amusement. “You’re serious.”
The Black Mask didn’t blink. “Dead serious.”
Another laugh, sharper this time. “She hired actors? Like some kind of fucked-up haunted house experience for writer’s block?” My voice climbed. “Do you have any idea how insane that is?”
The Stag moved to stand behind me, his hands now on my shoulders. His thumbs pressed in harder, grounding, possessive. “She said you were drowning. Said immersion has worked for others before.”
I shook my head hard enough that my hair whipped my cheeks. “No. No. This… this crosses every line. This is crossing every fucking line. This is—” My throat closed. If I were being honest, this hadn’t felt like crossing lines when I was begging them to fuck me harder. Or when I was coming apart under their mouths and hands and cocks.
The Skull leaned forward, forearms braced on the table, voice low. “Listen closely, Gwen, because we’re only saying this once. The job was simple: three masked men, a blizzard, a few hours of controlled terror to rattle your cage and kick your muse back to life.”
“We were paid to scare you, not to touch you. Not to taste you. Not to put a single finger on you,” The Stag started in. “Kai made that part crystal-clear in writing, and we signed it. When you opened that door with the knife shaking in your hand, the plan was already crumbling. When you looked at us like you were daring us to cross the line instead of begging us to leave, we knew you’d be ours.”
The Black Mask growled the next words low and heated. “We didn’t plan the sex. We didn’t plan to strip you down, tie you up with Christmas garland, or come inside you until you forgot your own name. That wasn’t the job. That was us deciding the job was over the second you moaned for more instead of screaming for help.”
The Stag moved back enough when I shoved up from the chair so fast it scraped back and almost tipped. He was a wall of heat at my back.
“Sit down, Gwen,” The Black Mask said—ordered—quietly.
“Fuck you,” I snapped, voice shaking. “All of you. Get out. Get the hell out of my cabin right now.”
The Skull stood too, slow, unhurried. Now, all three stood in front of me staring with unflinching, stoic expressions that should have terrified me instead of turning me on. “We’re snowed in, sweetheart. Roads are gone. Even if we wanted to leave—”
“I don’t care.” The words tore out raw. “You don’t get to,” I stuttered. “You don’t get to do what you did and then tell me my editor thought it was a good idea.”
Tears burned suddenly and furiously. I hated them. I hated how my body still hummed, how every bruise felt like proof I’d wanted it. I hated that part of me was already trying to rewrite the story so it made sense, so I wasn’t the woman who’d let three strangers wreck her and then asked for more.
The Black Mask moved first. One step, two, until he was close enough that I had to tip my head back to keep glaring. His hand lifted. It wasn’t fast, not threatening, as he cupped my jaw like he’d done it a hundred times.
“You’re angry,” he said, low. “Good. Be angry. Scream at us. Hit us. We’ll take it.” His thumb swept over my cheekbone, smearing the tears I hadn’t realized were there. “We’ll probably fucking get hard because of it. But don’t lie to yourself about what happened after the masks came off.”