“Merry Christmas to me. Now, what shall we do first?”
CHAPTER 5
It’s time to survive. Whatever it takes.
Still, raw panic claws through me as I struggle to draw a breath with his hand constricting my airflow. When I make a horrible gagging sound, he releases his grip, but only long enough for me to draw a quick inhale, then it’s right back again as his lips peel back in a satisfied smile.
Up close, the mask is even more eerily realistic. Green, yes, but there’s a texture to the rubber that makes it look like wrinkled skin, the dark eyes behind the wide slits almost black in the dim light of my bedroom.
As he loosens his grip, I drag in a grateful breath and catch his scent. Exotic but masculine. Not like the guys at school that drown themselves in vintage Drakkar or Paco Rabanne so that you choke on the fumes when you pass them in the corridor. No, the Grinch smells sexy and spicy, and my belly flutters as it tortures my nose with its deviant appeal.
How could he have found me from the website? How could I have been so stupid? Using my own first name and last initial as my username and putting my actual city as my location?
For being the valedictorian of Bremmer High, I’m dumb. Dumb. Dumb.
My throat is still under his control as his other hand reaches down and grabs me between the legs in a punishing grip, his fingers moving against my clit until I feel like I’m unfurling all my shameful fantasies for his perusal.
“Stop. Please,” I rasp, breath hitching like a trapped animal.
“Stop. Please,” he mocks, shaking his head. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t want this, Cindy Lou. You're juicing like a ripe peach. Your pussy is giving me permission to do as I please.”
He digs his fingers into my sex, bending his knees to reach down and retrieve the knife from where I dropped it. Seeing it glint in the light from the window, a new wave of lust and humiliation surges through me.
My traitorous body clenches and aches as he stares down at me, the mask seeming less like a mask and more real with every second.
“I need to see what I’m doing. Turn on the light.” He cocks his head toward the nightstand. “I wouldn’t want to put this somewhere by accident. I want you on full display.”
He points the blade toward my crotch and releases my throat as my trembling fingers fumble for the little chain on the small lamp with the Tiffany-stained glass shade by my bed. I tug it down. Shame piles on as droplets of milk bead on my tight peaks.
When my breasts started to engorge weeks ago, I asked the campus ob-gyn I’d been seeing if that was normal.
She said it was rare, but not abnormal, for a woman in her third trimester to start lactating. She gave me a box of round pads to put inside my bra to soak up the evidence of my condition, and told me to start pumping to relieve the discomfort.
The only downside to that was my body started producingmoremilk.
The proof of that is shooting in ten tiny strings of cream through the air right now.
As the room illuminates in shades of burgundy and evergreen, the psychopath looks even more ominous and terrifying. He glances down with a grin as my milk shoots out in tiny jets from both breasts.
The liquid catches the light, making it look festive as it takes on the colors of the stained-glass lamp shade.
“What...are you going to do?”
“Why, I’ll have a little taste, little Cindy Lou Who.”
He lowers his face, the knife point meeting the base of my throat as my jaw unhinges, and I draw a silent breath.
His tongue extends from the grotesque mask, the warmth between my legs igniting as he catches the stream of milk midair, then smashes his face into my breast, growling up at me.
“Stuff that milker into Daddy’s mouth, Cindy Lou, like a good girl making sweet cream for Santy.”
I grab my swollen breast with both hands, tears threatening to spill again. But I promised to do whatever he asked in exchangefor my safety, and I intend to live through this no matter what he makes me do.
The rubber around his mouth feels strange and alien as I squeeze my round tit and feed it to him. He starts to suck, latching on deep and hard, and a wave of tension knots down low as my head falls back, and I fight the urge to moan.
God, it feels so good. Why does it have to feel so good?
He suckles for a few more beats, making loud slurping sounds as I desperately fight off the growing pleasure that’s taking over. I feel my pulse between my thighs, like my heart has dislodged itself from my chest to take up residence in the greedy parts I can no longer control.
