Page 25 of Lustling

“Sweet,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl.

My whole body trembles. Something coils inside me, hot and wicked and shamefully eager. I hate how much my thighs press together, how my pulse pounds, how the scrape burns under his tongue like a brand.

Deimos tilts his head, still holding me as he glances at his brothers. “She tastes like fear,” he says, almost amused. “And hunger.”

Bastion makes a low sound behind him, a rumble in his chest. “I feel it,” he replies.

So do I. God help me—I feeleverything.

Deimos leans in even closer until his breath grazes the shell of my ear. “You’re going to run, little lamb, while my brothers and I chase you.” His voice lowers to something silkier, heavier. “And when we catch you, we’re going to make you ours.”

My stomach tightens. My thighs clench harder. “What?” Panic and raw, unfiltered arousal mix in my voice.

Cassiel steps forward just enough for the moonlight to strike his eyes. His voice is soft, but it carries through the trees. “If you’re caught too easily, you don’t get to choose who takes you first.” The words land heavy, like a sentence passed down. “Let’s hope you make it interesting.”

Bastion’s growl is low and guttural. “He said run.”

Deimos pulls away, violet eyes locked on mine. “Run.”

And I do.

I run into the woods, heart hammering, breath sharp and fast. Fear claws at me, cold and sharp, but it is layered with something else—something molten, something wrong. Hunger unfurls in my chest like a living thing. Branches whip my arms and legs, scratching, stinging. One lashes across my thigh, leaving a wet warmth that slides down my skin. My lungs burn, but I don’t stop.

The bonfire is gone, swallowed by darkness. I don’t know where I’m going. I only know I have to move. Because they are coming. I can hear them. Not running. Not rushing. Just moving. Slow. Deliberate. Taunting.

They’re stalking me.

The thought should terrify me. It does. But the terror is tangled with desire, molten and wicked in my stomach. Sweat drips down my spine. My thighs tremble. I am soaked, and not from fear.

What is wrong with me?

Leaves crunch behind me, closer now. Bastion’s low growl. Deimos’ mocking laugh. Cassiel’s silence. They are letting me think I have a chance. They are enjoying this.

I push harder, panting, heart racing, muscles screaming. The woods blur. My vision swims. And then?—

“Found you,” a voice rumbles.

Something slams into me from the side, knocking me off my feet. The ground rises to meet me, cold and damp, leaves flying up around me as I hit the earth. My breath is knocked from my lungs.

Deimos is on me before I can move. His weight pins me down, grinding my hips into the dirt. His breath is hot against my neck, his hands prying my thighs apart with ease. Cassiel appears on my left, his fingers wrapping around my wrist and pinning it to the earth. Bastion looms at my right, his massive hand curling around my other wrist, holding me as if I weigh nothing at all.

I am stretched open. Exposed. Trapped. And soaking wet.

“Don’t,” I whisper, breathless. The word sounds weak even to me.

Deimos laughs low, dark, triumphant. “Don’t?” he echoes softly, his voice velvet and ash. He straddles me fully, his body a furnace of heat and danger. His fingers move to his belt, undoing it slowly, taunting. His eyes never leave mine as he frees his cock.

My breath catches. He is massive, thick and heavy, the head already slick. His hand wraps lazily around it, stroking. “What was that?” he asks again, voice soft.

“I said don’t,” I stammer. “Please.”

His grin widens. “She begs. How quaint.” He leans down, mouth brushing my ear, his breath a hot ghost along my neck. “You may be a virgin, but you smell like sin.”

My whole body seizes, heat and fear and desire colliding inside me. Then he thrusts into me. The sharp, tearing pain is drowned in a flood of pleasure so intense it feels like being split open by light. I scream. “Oh God!”

Deimos growls, his hand snapping to my chin, forcing my gaze to his. His eyes are violet fire, fury, hunger. “There is no God here,” he snarls. “I am your god, Lustling. And you will praiseme, not Him.”

Beside me, Bastion lifts his head slightly, nostrils flaring. His gaze drops to my thigh where the branch scratched me. Blood beads along the cut. With a low, hungry sound, he leans in, tongue dragging along my skin, lapping the blood into his mouth like it’s sacred. His golden eyes darken. “Sweet.”