“Undo the handcuffs,” she purred.
He wanted to, she could see it in the slight movement of his body towards her and the glitter of his eyes beneath the hood. He wanted her, wanted more of her, wanted to bury himself inside her and scream out loud when he came. She had him right where she wanted him.
“Take off the mask,” she urged.
His hand rose to his hairy throat.
“No.” A scream pelted her.
She lost him. He moved away. The wolf’s head stayed firmly in place.
Something changed. Max watched, now as an observer. Something shifted, as if this was Tiffany’s version of what happened, as if, even in dying, she’d distorted reality.
“That’s enough. Get out. Now.” Dracula.
Tiffany had watched the figure from the corner of her eye even as she sucked wolf cock. Dracula. The one that needed to be unmasked.
Wolfman slinked away, tail between his legs, the heavy door closing behind him.
She didn’t expect the blow. Handcuffed, she almost fell off the seat. Rage, the same color as the blood that flowed into her mouth, consumed her. “You’ll pay fucking big time for this.”
Dracula laughed. “And who’ll make us pay?”
“Take the fucking mask off, you bastard.”
Dracula faded to the back by the wall, as did the laughter, and there was only Frankenstein to terrorize her. But she refused to be intimidated.
She watched the slap-slap of the baseball bat against its palm.
“Take off the fucking mask if you’re going to hit me with that thing, you goddamn coward.”
She didn’t scream with the first strike of hard wood across her chest. Pain exploded like hot flames, extending even to the nerve endings in her eyeballs. They pulled her upright. She didn’t scream with the second or third blow. She didn’t scream at all. She was stronger than that, stronger than they were.
Even as she died, she died without giving them satisfaction, without giving them her power.
But no one had removed their mask.
Max gasped, found she had not died with Tiffany after all, and drew a deep breath. She’d tried to unmask the killers, the way Cameron had told her. She’d failed.
Feeling came back to her battered body. The pain was gone; it had never really been hers. She was lying in Witt’s bed, his body nestled tight against her butt. Behind her closed lids, colors swirled in the darkness, a kaleidoscope of shifting, changing, bright and overwhelming colors.
Perhaps it was the colors that made Max think she was still dreaming, but it was the feel of his hard penis against her backside that made her decision. Fantasy, dream, reality, she didn’t care. She wanted Witt. Right here, right now. She’d let his dream touch wash away the visions of murder and the memory of Bud’s eyes on her breasts.
His hand was beneath the covers, outside her T-shirt. He swept fingers up, around, across, under her breasts. The bedclothes fell away from her.
“Ooh,” she murmured, making the throaty little noise he wanted.
“God, I want you,” he murmured into her hair. He fingered a nipple, the nub tightening beneath his touch. She burrowed against him, rocking gently against the hard ridge of penis.
“Make love with me, Max.”
She couldn’t say anything, because she’d have to tell him she didn’t know how. Instead, she showed him what she wanted. Taking his hand, she pushed it to the elastic of her panties.
He took it from there, slipping inside, running a finger across her belly. Tantalizing her. She lifted her leg and draped it across his thigh, opening herself to him. She almost came with his first touch on her clitoris. But she bit down hard on her lip, holding back, savoring the rough edge of his finger.
“Come for me, Max. Please.”
The hoarse quality of his voice reached inside her. She wanted him to want her badly, as badly as she wanted him. He gathered her moisture, then circled her clitoris. Heat welled up. Sensation climbed through her body. She reached back, pulled his head down, begging him without words to suck on her neck. His tongue stroked her, then the sting of his teeth. His finger never stopped as he swirled in her own wetness, driving her higher and bringing her closer. Her body moved against his, her backside caressing his cock.
“Do it again,” he whispered.
She knew exactly what he wanted. “Ooh.”
He arched into her, driving himself hard between her butt cheeks. His finger was relentless, the pressure, unceasing.
“Do it now. Come. God, please, I want you to come all over me.”
She was there, a hair’s breadth away, straining, moaning, rocking, wanting to go with him.
“Look at us.”
She opened her eyes to the mirror on the wall.
She stopped breathing altogether as she stared at herself.
Long, blonde hair spilled across the pillow and her breasts. Aqua eyes seduced with a look. Endless legs stretched against the length of his. She was beautiful.