Page 35 of Craving Consequences

EVERLY

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I bolt.

I leap off the blanket and run. Run like I have never run in my life. My feet pound against the mossy forest floor as I put an ocean of grass between me and the two men plotting my death.

I don’t slow. I don’t even look back until I hear nothing, but the drum of my heart, but when I do, they are no more than dots in the distance. Tiny, still figures standing, side by side, watching me.

Lachlan has his arms folded, head cocked. Van is rubbing his hands together. But neither is moving.

Then it hits me ... they’re giving me a head start. They are intentionally letting me get away.

Frantic, excited, thrumming with an adrenaline that burns through me, I spin and run faster. I beat the ground, ignore the scorching fire in my lungs. The cramp in my legs — I am grossly out of shape. I race to the tree line because I know exactly what will happen when they catch me and I want it.

Dear God, I want it so badly I’m dizzy with it .

I’m sore and tender, and so wet it’s running down my legs, but I am not going to make this easy on them. They’ve been torturing me all day. Let’s see how they like it.

The trees and descending darkness swallow me. I’d forgotten how dark the woods get even midday. This late in the evening, even with the sun a hot globe in the sky, here, amongst the thick brush, it’s murky black with streaks of dwindling blue.

I hate it.

I already regret this game. I want to run back to them, back to their safe arms and take my punishment.

But there’s no time for second guessing when I’m ready to break an ankle before admitting defeat.

Branches whip at my arms and snag in my hair.

Roots hook my ankles, slowing my escape.

The rock stabbing my toe is the final straw that stops me.

I hobble as I turn in a circle, trying and failing to slow my breathing and only making it worse.

My throat is the dry, hot ash of a campfire. My head buzzes.

I can’t hear them. There are no footsteps. No rustle of brush. The silence is weighted. Ominous. The kind of stillness in horror movies before the idiot cheerleader trips on air and gets axed to death.

They’re not chasing me.

They’re hunting.

Stalking .

Messing with my head because I know they would never let me just run off into the woods and not come after me. But it’s deeper than that. This is war. I hit their egos, and they have a point to prove.

A branch snaps behind me. The crack spins me only to find nothing. Just shadows and trees.

I stumble back, eyes sweeping, pulse hammering.

“Everly...” Lachlan’s voice breathes in my ear, low and taunting.

I whirl ... and find nothing.

“Bad girl,” Van drawls, voice disembodied, floating between the trees like fog. “She has no idea what she’s done.”

Goosebumps prickle my skin. My heart is threatening to escape my chest.

I can feel them circling.

Toying with me.

I turn and run.

The ground is a black void I can’t make out. I see nothing, not even the frigid stream of shallow waters I fall into.

“Stop running, little doe,” Van purrs somewhere to my right.

“Surrender and we’ll only torture you a little,” Lachlan adds .

Ignoring them, I stagger out of the stream, slip on the muddy shore, but push to my feet and sprint in the opposite direction of the voices.

I dive behind a thicket of ferns. I crouch, barely breathing, curling up into a tight ball.

And for a moment...

No sound.

No movement.

Then a figure steps into view, long legs encased in jeans.

Lachlan.

“Clever girl,” he murmurs with sweet endearment.

I hold my breath, moving not a muscle as I watch his back from between tangled branches.

He’s turned away from me. Hands on his hips. I think I’ve won.

An iron shackle clamps down on my ankle and I am dragged out of my hiding spot. Across the forest floor. My scream cuts through the dusk. I kick out only to have my other ankle caught. Then my wrists. Lachlan wrenches my arms over my head.

I’m spread open wide. Pinned and captured.

Van forces his hips between my thighs, hands fumbling and ripping at his fastens. His belt jingles loudly in the silence while his friend restrains my hands .

“Now, repeat what you said,” Van taunts, not the least bit out of breath.

The hiss of his zipper rips through me on a visceral level that nearly has me cumming from the sound alone.

“Please,” is all I can pant around wheezing wisps of breath. “Please...”

“Did you enjoy getting hunted?” My skirt is torn and tugged up around my waist. “I was going to be so gentle with you, little doe. I was going to let you cum.”

I try to speak, but only a moan escapes when his fingers slip through my folds. Nudge my swollen clit. The simple act has my eyes rolling back into my skull as my entire body crests.

“Uh-uh.” His hand pulls away and I collapse on the forest floor, sobbing.

Lachlan fastens my arms to the soft earth, holds them there with his knees, freeing his hands to drop to the front of my dress.

With a tug, he tears the fabric, baring my breasts.

Van takes that as a cue to shred the rest, splitting it down the front and tossing the tattered remains apart like torn butterfly wings, baring me to the night.

“Fuck, look at you.” He looms over me on his knees. His cock fisted in a meaty hand. Stroking it while taking me in. “So fucking perfect.” For the first time, his voice is ragged. Breathless. “Hold still, baby. I need to be inside you.”

My thighs spread wide, giving him full access .

But instead of taking me, fulfilling his promise, he pauses, growls a curse deep in his throat and pushes up. His cock is tucked back into his pants that are quickly fastened, except the belt.

“Not here.”

I blink, head still swimming. “What? Why?”

The hold on my arms loosen as Lachlan pushes onto his haunches. “We’re not fucking you in the dirt,” he murmurs like he can read his friend’s mind.

Van makes a grunt of agreement before he hauls me to my feet. I’m swept up into his arms and cradled close.

I wrap my arms around him and nuzzle the side of his neck. My reward is the tightening of his hold.

“Are you mad at me?” I ask quietly as he starts back in the direction of the clearing.

“Yes,” he mutters.

I brush my nose to the side of his stubbled face. Kiss the spot. “Even if I say sorry and it’s not true?”

He grumbles. “Yes.”

I kiss the corner of his mouth. “What can I do to make it better?”

His head turns and his lips find mine. “You’ll see when I get you on the blanket.”

His words stroke the flames, rekindle the gnawing need to finally .

.. finally have them. I’m a shivering mess even before we break into the clearing.

Lachlan sprints ahead to smooth out the blanket and gather up the discarded food wrappers.

It’s all ready when Van reaches it with me bundled in his arms.

He sinks down onto his knees and lowers me onto the square of fabric.

“Do not run again,” he warns, silver eyes bright with warning.

I lie before them in my ruined dress, naked and exposed, so ready for this moment. Running isn’t even an option.

“I won’t.”

He leans over me, one hand fixed just next to my head.

the other at his fastener. The hard flex and roll of muscles are unmistakable in the crisper light of the clearing.

There is no missing anything as his powerful body pushes between my willing thighs.

When he frees his cock a second time, I’m transfixed.

Terrified and excited. It hangs between us flushed and leaking, a smooth spear textured with veins that pulse with every stroke of his fist.

“Last chance,” he murmurs gently. “Tell me now if you want to stop.”

My arms close around his shoulders, pull him down to me. “Don’t. Please.”

Rather than slam home and end the task, he lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me. It’s the kind that curls down to my toes. It’s sweet, and patient, and loving .

“I’ll be gentle,” he promises, coming down to brace on his forearm. “Hold on to me.”

I nod only to break off with a cry when the hard head of his cock nudges my entrance. The cap stretches the ring.

“Van...”

“Shhh,” he whispers, voice tight. “Open for me, Evie.”

I’m trying, but the girth of him, the sheer strain of something that size sinking into me, has panic welling up in my chest.

“You’re too big,” I grunt through gritted teeth. “Hurts...”

“You can take it. You were made to stretch for me.”

Tears collect at the corners of my eyes, but I don’t stop him. Even as the pressure burns through me and the pain has me wanting to push him away, I cling to him. I dig my nails into his shoulders and watch as he tries to rock himself in.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re doing so good,” Lachlan murmurs from his reclined place next to me.

I want to argue he’s wrong — I feel like a failure — when he slips a hand down my belly and finds my clit. The tease has me clinching, eliciting a grunt from Van.

“Don’t make her tighter,” he growls at his friend. “She’s already so small.”

I do like the look of him like this. It’s a strange thing to notice when the discomfort is all-consuming but seeing him trying to get all of that beautiful meat inside me, to fill me, has my body shuddering. My core heats, excited all over again to feel him stretching me.

“Fuck...” he groans as my fresh arousal coats him. “What are you thinking about?”

It’s hard to avoid eye contact when he’s inches from my face, but I stare at his lips when I whisper, “You, stretching me.”

Van’s smirk is dark and predatory as he bucks a little harder. “You want me to ruin this tight little cunt until you can’t take anyone but me?”

My breath catches. My thighs quiver.

“Please.”

Without taking his eyes off me, Van calls for his friend. “Lach.”

“On it,” Lachlan says without even being told.

His fingers return to my clit, but it’s his lips at my ear that has my back lifting off the blanket. Has my heels gouging into the earth for leverage as I lift to take Van deeper.