He tugs his jeans back on, fastening them quickly, then walks over to pluck the knife from the wall, securing it back in the sheath at his hip.
“This was just foreplay.”
CHAPTER 6
I’m still orgasm drunk as he continues to help himself to an inventory of the drawers in my dresser. He’s still naked from the waist up, and the view of him from behind is creating more chaos in my brain, because, damn, this man has a back that has more hills and valleys than Montana.
“I hate you,” I whisper as he spins with a pair of black pantyhose in his hands, his dark eyes twinkling beneath the mask as he tugs the hose wide, assessing them in some way that makes another flood of fear come over me.
“Really?” The question sounds sincere, adding to the bizarreness of this whole situation. He balls the pantyhose into one hand, starting back my way. “I don’t think that’s true, Cindy Lou, because your fucking pussy there disagrees. You soaked my cock, left a wet spot on the bed as big as Yellowstone, so I’d say hate is a misrepresentation. We’re a perfect match. I trust your pussy more than your mouth.”
As the war rages on inside my body, he steps in front of me. I nail my eyes straight at his chest, the thick muscles of his pectoralsshifting and flexing as he brings the toe of one leg of the hose to my throat.
“Gotta keep my little dog on a leash, so she doesn't run away.”
The muscles in my back ache. I’m carrying the baby weight in front of me, and the tension of trying to stay calm is having an adverse effect on my body. But I breathe, long and low, remembering I just need to get through this.
Or get to that knife and—
A shudder cuts the thought short as his hands loop one end of the hose around my throat, tying it tight enough that it pulls against my windpipe.
“If I had a couple sticks and some ribbon,” he starts with that low, growly baritone voice that makes things wiggle in my core, “I’d tie some antlers to your head. You’d be my little Cindy Lou reindeer dog. Short-sighted on my part, I’m so sorry, Cindy. But we’ll still have fun, I promise, now come along, little doggy. Follow your master.”
Then he turns, tugging on the makeshift leash so I’m jerked toward the bedroom door, stumbling to keep up with his long strides.
“Let’s go explore. It’s a nice fucking house, Cindy Lou. Just a little cold for Christmas. Not a tree or a bow anywhere. Guess Santa really did put you on the naughty list. Maybe a lump of hard coal somewhere… I’ve got two lumps of coal down here.” He reaches down to grab his crotch in a crude gesture. “You’ll be licking them soon. Sucking them into your mouth, warming them up with that hot little mouth of yours.”
He swivels his head, looking around as he leads us into the hallway, then down the grand curved staircase to the main level of the house. I hold my breath as we walk through the great room, the stone floor cold under my bare feet.
I look over to the table where I left my laptop when I headed upstairs earlier.
It’s open now.
How long was he in the house?
I know I closed it. A new chill covers me as he walks straight for it, sweeping it off the table with one hand without missing a step.
“We’re going to do some reading together. And you’re going to give Santy his glass of milk, and then he’s going to eat your cookie.”
I can see the Grinch mask more clearly in the brighter lights of the downstairs as he tugs me along toward the massive open kitchen.
“Please,” I force out, my voice cracking as my resolve to give him whatever he wants, like I promised, starts to fray.Please be human. “Let me go. You had your win. I just want my baby to be safe. I let you do what you wanted, followed your orders…”
His lopsided grin slices through the shadows as he turns and tugs hard on the leash. My balance shifts, and I stumble into him, the cotton ruffle on the hem of the nightgown brushing the front of my thighs as his fingers clamp around my throat. I lash out with my knee, connecting solidly with his thigh, but he squeezes harder so that for a split second I see stars. His black eyes behind the mask glint down at me like twin Christmas lights from hell.
“Looks like Santa’s little helper is having second thoughts about our deal,” he drawls as he releases me, stepping around the granite island counter, pulling me along behind. He sets the laptop down on the long wooden kitchen table as we pass, then grabs a coffee mug from the open shelves next to it.
The nylon noose around my neck tightens with each tug and movement, compressing my windpipe.
“I... just, please, it’s Christmas.” My voice cracks as he wraps the nylon around his hand, shortening the leash until I’m right next to him.
“Yes, andlook.” He nods to the mug. “No milk left out for Santa. But that’s okay, I like my milk fresh from the cow’s udder. No homogenized, pasteurized, processed dairy for me. Now, Cindy Lou Cow, pull those milkers out, and I’ll read you a Christmas story while you squeeze out a nice, warm mug of fresh cream for me, sound good?”
I gasp, stepping back, but it’s pointless. Not only do the stretchy hose tighten as I put tension on them, but as soon as I start to struggle, his knife is out in a flash. He uses the hand still holding the nylon around his palm to pinch the scoop neck of the yellow nightgown, while the other hand moves like lightning, cutting a five-inch line down the fabric at my cleavage.
“Don’t fucking fight me,” he snarls, the rubber mask moving like a second skin with each word. I’ve almost forgotten it’s a mask by this point. Heisthis green monster I’ve been dreaming and writing about, if I’m being brutally honest, I’m thinking the reality really is better than the fantasy.
He’s right. I am as sick as he is.
