Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
The smack of flesh slapping flesh closed in as the tribute’s moans grew to a peak of ecstasy. Was this Daisy’s future? Was there any hope of ever making it out of there unharmed?
Uninhibited jazz shrilled from hidden speakers, as whoops and hollers bled from multiple directions. Primitive calls of men. Overpowered moans of women.
Whatever dignity they had at the start of the night had crumbled into affluent decay. They scented blood and wanted more. This depraved playground of madness was nothing more than a soulless graveyard where innocence came to die.
Deep moans bounced off hedges and surrounding stone walls, multiplying, until the entire garden wailed with primal, carnal yelps of life that were too close to cries of death for Daisy’s ears.
Backing up, deeper and deeper into the overgrowth where the critters nested and wild things crawled, Daisy stumbled. Disoriented by the darkness, she stared up at the tall pines blocking her view. Mud squelched through her pantyhose and between her toes
A woman’s cry belted through the night. Spinning, Daisy found an opening in the branches and spotted a man, sitting on a concrete bench, with a tribute bent over his lap, her gown thrown over her head. He spanked her and grinned with twisted glee.
The tribute cried out, and he hit her again.
No more.
Daisy needed to get out of there.
Rushing toward a grove of silver birch, away from the debauchery on the lawn, into a copse of trees. She staggered to a stop as two bodies entwined ahead. They didn’t see her. Not yet.
She backed away slowly, but there was little cover. The bark of the birch trees glowed ghostly white in the dappled moonlight, their branches reaching overhead like fingers spread in supplication.
She was cornered from all angles. Spanker on the left. Orgy on the right. And a couple up ahead.
Through the trees, she glimpsed movement.
The direction of the lone couple was her safest bet. Two bodies intertwined on a carpet of moss, shadows merging and separating in a slow rhythm. Not nearly as aggressive as the last few.
They were so involved, they didn’t look up as Daisy crept by, even when she stumbled, realizing they were two men. A hunter and a tribute, or maybe two hunters. They were both stripped down to their masks and so engrossed with each other, they didn’t notice her—or if they did, they simply didn’t care.
Their dance was a mixture of surrender and conquest, a tango of power over virtue that ended in the truest form of invasion. Or was it surrender?
The distinct difference between passion and fetishism sharpened. Did they know each other? How long they waited for an evening like this, when gender roles dissolved in the darkness and baser instincts were fully accepted?
Here, no fantasy was too taboo.
Society was not always so accepting.
Their moans spiraled upward, ragged breaths colliding until they broke into gut-wrenching sobs.
Another bell tolled far in the distance.
Not seeing anyone on the lawn, she ran as fast as she could toward the crossing ahead.
The gravel had done its work. Her feet ached at the slightest touch. Every step caused painful awareness of just how long one night could be.
She kept moving in the direction of the grotto.
Almost there…
Daisy had no idea if she was pepping herself up with truth or lies. But it kept her from curling into a ball and giving up.
Moving faster now, she burst through a hedge and sucked in a sharp breath, nearly colliding with a marble statue of a female huntress, bow drawn, stone eyes fixed on some invisible prey.
Her eyes narrowed. Even the decorations here were predators. “Stupid statue.”
“Ah-ha!”
Daisy screamed as hands sprang from the shadows and jerked her back.
Chapter Sixteen
Lost Boy
“Found you!”
Daisy threw her elbow back without thinking and spun with her fists in the air.
The hunter doubled forward and laughed. His haphazard, blond hair stuck out from his golden stag mask in all directions.
“You were much more docile on the dance floor,” he grunted, then slowly unfolded, his face contorted with pain.
She frowned as she recognized him from the ballroom. “Peter?”
His mouth shifted into a smile. “You remember me! Well done.” He pranced out from behind the statue, spinning dramatically, green eyes glinting beneath his golden mask. Bowing with flourish, he asked, “Now, my lady, what game shall we play?”
Was he joking?
His bow tie hung loose around his neck, both ends dangling against his chest like ribbons on a present that had already been opened. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms dusted with fine blond hair. He looked like a man at the tail end of a very good party, not the beginning of a hunt.
Daisy took a step back, and he mirrored her like a shadow.
“Don’t run,” he warned, grinning. “Running’s no fun. Actually, that’s a lie. Running’s the fun part. It’s the catching that’s tedious. Over so quickly, and then the messiness of all that talking that has to follow.” He stopped and waved her off. “Carry on, then, but make a good effort. Scream and cry if you like. I’ll give you a head start so you have plenty of time to make it fun.”