Three of them.
Not human. Not entirely. Horned. Eyes like polished obsidian. Bare chests slick with dew and muscle. Their scent was earthy, primal, sweet like rot and roses. One stepped forward and curled a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze.
“You entered willingly,” he said, voice thick as honey. “You feel the heat between the worlds.”
She nodded. Breathless.
“No one leaves the forest untouched.”
The others circled behind her.
A palm pressed flat between her shoulder blades, forcing her gently to her knees. The earth was soft. Warm. Welcoming. Fingers tangled in her hair. Another hand slipped beneath her slip, cupping her soaked center, groaning at the heat.
She was going to be ruined.
And she wanted every second of it.
She expected darkness.
But the inside of him glowed—soft gold, pulsing like breath. The air was warm, wet, and thick with magic. Her skin tingled with it. Her nipples were hard. Her thighs were slick. It wasn’t a stomach… it was a temple. And she was the offering.
And the walls… they moved.
Tongues? Hands? Flesh made of need? She couldn’t tell. They stroked her, slowly at first—her breasts, her thighs, between her legs—like they were learning her shape. Worshipping it. A dozen caresses, tender and endless, until she gasped, hips twitching, aching to be filled.
“You entered willingly,” the voice hummed through her bones. “Now you’ll be used.”