When I told him my most depraved fantasies, I figured he’d run like all the rest. Discover I’m too deranged for him. A bigger psycho than he could handle. Maybe I’ve met my match.

  And now I’m well and truly fucked.

  “Good girl,” he purrs.

  “Fuck you.” I don’t give a shit if he has me at knifepoint. I’m not going to roll over without a fight, even if I can only fight with my words.

  One hand drifts to his zipper and he pulls it down. Oh my god. “If you use your teeth, I’ll use my knife.”

  He already said he won’t kill me, but if I bite him, he could hurt me. Or change his mind. Leave my body in the woods to decay until they find me. For all I know, he might get off on dead bodies.

  Maybe if I bite his cock hard enough, I’ll be able to get away while he’s writhing in agony. Surely, nearly biting it off will hurt worse than a knee to the groin⁠—

  He nudges the knife against my neck, a sharp reminder of the threat. “Quit thinking about it.”

  “Stop reading my mind,” I spit. “It’s disturbing.”

  His laugh is something out of a horror film, coiling around my ears and twisting them. I’ll hear that laugh in my nightmares. Or maybe my wet dreams. “You have no idea how disturbing this is going to get.”

  Even with a mix of fear and adrenaline pumping through my veins, even as every sensible brain cell and survival instinct tells me to run, to get the hell away from this masked man as fast as I can . . . part of me wants to know what he tastes like. Part of me wants this to happen, and that part of me is winning.

  “Pull out my cock.”

  At his delicious, sultry command, my hands curl into fists. “You’ll regret this. You have no idea how disturbing I can get.”

  He has no fucking clue what I’m capable of. He’d shit his pants if he knew. If he forces me to blow him at knifepoint, I’ll get my revenge. Karma is a bitch, but I’m a monster.

  The masked man grabs my hand and plants it on the hard ridge of his cock through his jeans. “I can’t wait to find out. Now take out my cock, pretty girl. I won’t ask nicely again.”

  “You haven’t asked nicely at all,” I grumble, but at the sting of the blade against my throat, I reach into his boxers, brushing past smooth skin to⁠—

  Jesus. I can’t fit that in my mouth. Or anywhere else.

  I wrap my hand around the tip before stroking down his hard cock while it springs free from his boxers. Every rock-solid inch is wrapped in velvety smooth skin, soft and hard at once. Inviting and intimidating.

  He groans as I stroke down, his length twitching in my hand and reminding me of that night at the haunt when his cock struck my pussy and I nearly combusted. What kind of unhinged psycho did that haunt unleash? “That’s a good girl.”

  My teeth grind together. “I’m not. This is called doing what it takes to survive the deranged sociopath wielding a knife in the woods.”

  His hand fists my hair, tugging so hard tears sting my eyes and I let out a yelp. “You’re my good girl.”

  “I’m not your anything.” For a brief second, I wish he’d take the mask off so we could make eye contact while I glare at him. He can see me clearly, but he’s still a mystery to me. “And I’m definitely not good.”

  “Then be my bad girl, little demon.” He jerks his hips forward, nearly hitting my face with his cock. “Down your throat.”

  I can’t believe an insane masked man is about to make me blow him in the middle of the woods. He has no idea the hell I’ll unleash on him. I almost smile at all the revenge fantasies that race through my mind.

  Even on my knees and with his knife on my neck, I keep my shoulders back and chin high. “This is your last chance to walk away. If you don’t, you’ll regret it.”

  His blade digs harder against my throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to pull away from the pain, but he keeps me firmly in place with his fist in my hair. “If you don’t swallow every drop of my cum, you’ll regret it.”

  My eyes spring open. “I am not⁠—”

  He drops my hair only to tug my chin down before he shoves his cock past my lips, the slightly salty taste of his hot, smooth skin gliding across my tongue.

  My jaw comes unhinged as I swallow his girth and new tears spring up as the ache builds. This is how people get lockjaw.

  His shaft rubs over my tongue as he groans loud enough to wake the whole campus, the saltiness of his precum hitting the back of my throat. The hand gripping the knife smacks against the tree above my head so he can brace himself while the hand in my hair guides me, forcing me to swallow every inch he slides into my mouth.

  I could bite down now while he doesn’t have the blade against my neck, but I don’t feel like getting stabbed and bleeding out tonight. Not before I make him pay for this.

  I’m not swallowing his cum. I’ve never done it and I never will. I don’t even like giving blowjobs. At least, not until now.

  I shouldn’t be enjoying any second of this. I should be plotting my escape, figuring out a way to get this masked man’s dick out of my mouth and running from him without getting killed.

  Instead, I dig my nails into his thighs and dart out my tongue when he pulls back, leaving only the tip in my mouth. He hisses through his teeth and I grin around his cock. He thinks he’s the one with the power here, but he’s not.

  A clatter above my head like he’s stabbing the tree with his knife. “Fuck. That’s my bad fucking girl.”

  That’s right. That’s what I am. Bad. Way, way worse than he realizes.

  My tongue swirls around his wide girth, salivating over him. His taste, his groans, the feel of his cock wrenching my jaw apart.

  The hand in my hair yanks me back, my skull colliding with the bark. I cry out, the pain making my head spin.

  He takes advantage of my open mouth and rams back in, his hips thrusting back and forth like he’s sprinting to the finish line. His heavy breathing and the rustling of his jeans with every thrust fill my ears.

  I shove at his thighs, trying to push him off, to get him to ease up, but it’s like I’m not even here. Simply a mouth for him to fuck. I shouldn’t be getting off on him using me like this, but the warmth pooling between my legs tells me that if he were to fuck me, I would be unraveling around him in seconds.

  His cock drags over my tongue, smacking the back of my throat over and over. My stomach lurches, aching as I gag with each punishing thrust. Tears burn before spilling down my cheeks, saliva trickling out from my mouth and down my chin.

  I need to bite him. Need to somehow get him to stop before he breaks my jaw⁠—

  “I’m going to come.” His warning is low and guttural, and a delicious shiver coils down my spine.

  I punch his thighs, my silent warning that he better not come in my mouth, but he ignores me. He doesn’t pull out or stop fucking my mouth until hot liquid shoots down my throat.

  My garbles echo around us as his cum threatens to drown me, hot and salty as it burns its way down. He stops thrusting, groaning out a loud “Fuuuuck” to the night sky as he fulfills his promise to make me swallow every drop.

  Ropes of his cum spurt down my throat, suffocating me until he finally pulls out.

  I gasp, hands smacking against the cold ground as I heave, simultaneously trying to drag down air and rid my throat of his salty taste. “Fuck. You.”

  He tsks, grazing the tip of his knife down my spine. “I thought you were tougher than that, pretty girl. A little cum won’t kill you. Or a lot.”

  My stomach churns, nausea building until I puke. My limbs go weak, and I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand before collapsing against the tree. I don’t have it in me to run anymore. To try to escape the masked man with the knife.

  He doesn’t take off. Not yet. He’s enjoying the aftermath of what he’s done to me. “That smart mouth sure can swallow a cock. Might not even need to take your pussy or ass if you keep blowing me like that.”

  I flip him off and finally stand on shaky legs. He’s not going to take anything else from me tonight.

  But before I can run or open my mouth, he drags the dull edge of his knife across my collarbone. I freeze. God, I can’t fucking wait to make him pay for tonight. For making me his prey, when I’m anything but.

  “Get home safe, pretty girl.” He retreats a step, pointing his knife toward the woodline. My knees nearly wobble with relief. “Before another masked man finds you in the woods.”

  Chapter 4

  Trey

  In front of the hockey house, a puck bunny waits for her invite. At least until she spots me coming and spins to head in the opposite direction, brown hair swinging. Guess she’s not brave enough to try her luck with the Devils yet.

  Inside, Rockefeller blasts metal from his phone while he shovels cereal into his mouth from a bowl damn near overflowing with milk.

  Of the Devils my father has forced me to live with, Rockefeller is the most annoying. Vanderbilt the most insufferable, Valentine the most irritable, and Ashby the most tolerable, only because I still haven’t heard the guy say a fucking word.

  Novak stayed here last semester. This is where the best players on the team live, and according to my father, where the captain of the Devils belongs.

  I’d rather live in a fucking shack alone than with these assholes.

  “Where’ve you been?” Rockefeller asks.

  I halt in my tracks. None of them has ever cared to know where I go or what I’m up to. “Getting blown by a good girl on her knees.”

  He grins. “Lucky son of a bitch.”

  Don’t know why he’s acting like we’re buddies, but I shrug it off and head for my room. Whatever he’s up to, I’m not in the mood. He’ll spoil the high from the best blowjob of my life. Not that she did much—swirled her tongue around my cock, tasted and swallowed me until I took her the way I craved. The way we both did. I didn’t need her to do anything. Just open that pretty mouth and take my cock like the demonic little psycho she is.

  When she ran from me, the blood pumped straight to my cock, the agony from her knee colliding with my groin forgotten. I made sure she paid for that one. But I didn’t expect seeing her tears and saliva mix and drip down her chin to turn me on as much as it did. Once I had her head pinned against that tree and fucked her mouth like I was trying to bruise her throat, it took every ounce of willpower not to come in three seconds.

  I resist grinning at the memory. Juliet on her knees before me. Her tongue gliding up my cock. Her gags and violent lurches with every hard thrust. Her promise to get revenge.

  Can’t wait to see what she has planned for me. I can’t think of a single game I’d rather play more.

  Rockefeller follows me to my room, and I grind my teeth. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  I briefly shut my eyes and force a slow breath out through my nose so I don’t punch him in his stupid face. He lingers while I unlock my door and head inside, then peeks into the room while keeping one foot beyond the threshold. His eyes dart over the ceiling and walls like he’s bracing for them to cave in.

  “Dude, what’s your deal?”

  He grins. “You might’ve had a visitor earlier.”

  “Like who?”

  “Let’s just call her a . . . beloved psycho.”

  Only one girl who would dare to step foot in this house could fit that description. Either one of the Devils let my little demon inside or she broke in.

  My cock throbs in my jeans, already aching for her again. Blood pulses through my veins at the image of her inching open my bedroom window and crawling inside. What did she do in here? Take or plant something? I didn’t think this girl could pique my curiosity more than she already has, but now I’m dying to know everything about her.

  I search the room, waiting for a trap to spring up. But there aren’t any mouse traps or rotten banana peels. Nothing on the desk or in my dresser or closet or shoes. Nothing⁠—

  Until I lift the sheet on my bed. A massive tarantula scuttles to my pillow.

  I grin and lay my hand down until he crawls into my palm and I scoop him up.

  “What is it?” Rockefeller calls.

  When I turn to show him the spider, he jumps, eyes going wide. “Oh hell no!”

  He slams the door, shutting me and my new pet in my room while I laugh. “I think I’ll name you Fluffy. You’re my new pal now, huh?” I slip him back into the container she must’ve transported him in. I’ll get him some better shit soon.

  If she thinks a tarantula is enough to scare me, she’s going to really need to step up her game.

  From the other side of my door, Rockefeller shouts, “Did you kill it?”

  “I’m not killing it! He’s my new pet.”

  “You’re both crazy!” he calls, footsteps fading as he gets as far away from Fluffy as he can.

  “Exactly,” I murmur to Fluffy, watching him scuttle around his home looking for a place to hide. “That’s what I like about us.”

  Tonight wasn’t enough. I need more of Juliet Hayes. A lot more.

  In the darkness, the bedroom door creaks open. My stomach twists into a nauseating knot, heat warming me until the blanket becomes an insufferable cocoon.

  The familiar shuffle of flats. She slips them off at the edge of my bed as she does every night before the mattress dips under her weight.

  I pretend to be asleep. I always pretend to be asleep. It’s never enough to make her go away. I just want her to go away.

  “Trey.” Her whisper makes bile rise in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, willing the monster in the dark to disappear. “You forgot your goodnight kiss.”

  No. No, no, no. I don’t want her slimy lipstick on my mouth. On my neck. On all the places she isn’t supposed to be kissing me.

  Her cold hand grazes my cheek like a ghost’s. I dare a frantic glance at the door she closed behind her. But my father isn’t coming to save me, and my mother is dead.

  She slips her frozen hand down, ice spilling over my spine. “Give me a kiss.”

  I lurch awake, heart pounding and back coated in sweat. All these years later and I still want to puke my guts up at the memory of that woman. That vile fucking monster my father called his girlfriend, who claimed to have previously worked as a nanny. As a caregiver of children, when she was nothing more than a predator in disguise.

  Bleary-eyed, I stumble into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. The nightmares never go away, no matter how fast I run or ride or hide. A swipe of cool water on the back of my neck helps, but the relief is only temporary. She’ll keep haunting me like she has since that day she showed up at our house when I was fifteen.

  I check on Fluffy in his new home, a massive tank beside my TV stand. He’s got everything he could possibly need—peat moss for burrowing, flower pot for hiding, rocks for climbing, water dish, and temperature and humidity gauges to make sure he’s comfortable. Hope Juliet didn’t think she’d be getting him back. At best, we can share custody, but he’s mine just as much as hers now.

  On the TV stand, an unfamiliar, tiny bead of red light blinks. I rub my eyes before shuffling closer.

  Is that a fucking camera?

  I smirk, tracing a finger over the discreet lens. Juliet’s spying on me. Fluffy was merely a distraction from the real reason she broke into my room. She’s not as uninterested in the version of me without the mask as she pretends.

  In that case, I better give her a show.

  Chapter 5

  Juliet

  While my masked man had me on my knees in the woods, I had to open my big mouth and vow to get my revenge. But how the hell am I supposed to do that when I don’t know what this motherfucker looks like beneath the mask? I don’t even know his name, so it’s not like I can hunt him down. I’ll have to wait until he shows his masked face again. Somehow, I’ll get that knife from him and get my revenge.

  On my way back to the dorm, I grab a coffee. I’ll need the caffeine to stay awake while I study for tomorrow’s exam until the early hours of the morning. I glance around the dark campus, making sure my masked man isn’t following me or lurking somewhere to ambush me, paranoia my constant companion since that night in the woods.

  A few yards away, a girl in scrubs squeals and races toward a man leaning on a brick wall, waiting for her. “Craig! I missed you!”

  He grins and picks her up when she jumps into his arms, letting out an oof when he stumbles back.

  I freeze. Under the row of lamps that light up the campus, I catch his profile. Then the rest of his face.

  A bulbous nose, wide-set eyes, and a salt-and-pepper beard to cover his aging skin. He’s stocky with a buzzcut and a sickening, cocky smirk, gut sloping over his too-tight jeans and shiny leather belt.

  He may be six years older than the last time I saw him, but I’d recognize him even in a nursing home.

  Craig. Now he has a name.

  I move slowly into the shadows, ducking around the corner of the dining hall. Heart in my chest, I glance back. They haven’t seen me.

  With a trembling hand, I snap a photo of them.

  When the girl kisses him, my stomach turns. How can a man like him have a girlfriend? Doesn’t she see the sickness in him?

  If she hasn’t yet, she will. Men like him can only hide for so long. Then they have to let their fangs out.

  Craig sets her down and takes her hand, meandering to the parking lot. “How were your classes?”

  His voice alone makes bile rise in my throat. Hey, there. No need to be shy.

  I shove the memories down, forcing myself to concentrate even as my heart gallops and anxiety seeps into every pore.

  “Clinicals.” A bite of irritation in his girlfriend’s voice that he doesn’t pay enough attention to what she says to remember a damn thing that comes out of her mouth. Of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t care what comes out of her mouth—only what goes in it. “They were fine. But guess what? I heard about this spooky carnival that we have to go to! It sounds so fun!” She bounces, the excitement obvious in her huge grin. “It’s called Carnival of Terrors and everyone goes in costume! I was thinking we could go Friday night.”

 

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