When he finally starts to soften in my mouth, I try to pull back, but he grips my neck tighter.
“Keep going. Softer,” he rasps. I do as he asks, giving his cock gentle attention. His hands leave me, trusting I’ll do what he’s asked. He relaxes in the chair with his eyes closed.
He hums in pleasure. The horniness is still vibrating in my body, and seeing him lounge like a sated king as I keep his cock warm makes me feel desperate for his touch. I wonder if I keep suckling him long enough if he’ll give me what I need.
There’s something comforting about it. I forget where we are. It doesn’t matter, really. We could be in a snowstorm, and this would still make my body warm. It’s a strange, floaty feeling.
He pets my head. My cheeks are hot, and my eyes are unfocused as I look up at him. The curve of his masculineneck and the cast of Christmas lights on his lax face is almost gorgeous. His chaotic blonde waves look as relaxed as he does. I feel like his servant, on my knees doing this until he says to stop.
I slip into a strange headspace. If he asks for something more, I don’t care what it is; I’ll do it. I'm starting to hope for it. For Soren to pat his lap, “Come here, doctor.” Make me sit on this cock, bouncing up and down while he grips my neck and groans.
Soren’s eyes flick open when there’s movement upstairs. He looks at the ceiling, then down at me, staring at him. A slow smile spreads over his face.
“Better not give me that look.” The ceiling creaks above our heads again. I see desire move through him—bloodthirst in the awful combination of rage and need. His icy eyes flick up to the ceiling as the sounds continue. I can’t look away from him.
Finally, Soren reaches down and grabs my arms, gently pulling me off his cock and getting us both to our feet. My mouth feels empty and cold as he zips himself up and grabs his gloves, shoving them in his pockets.
“Time to go.”
“You aren’t killing him?” My voice sounds relaxed and dopey. His eyes drag to me. Whatever he sees on my face makes him shudder.
“You did a good job helping me, Doctor Moore. I won’t kill tonight.” He reaches up, rubbing his finger over my mouth. I nod.
“Good, that’s good,” I mumble.
“We better go now,” he whispers, staring at my swollen lips. He twists his fingers with mine. “Let’s go home.”
He drags me out of the house quickly. I stumble after him in the thick patches of snow collecting between trees as we slip back into the woods surrounding the house.
I feel weird as we trudge through the snow, off-kilter. There’s a delayed panic blooming slowly in my stomach as my head spins slightly. For some strange reason, I think of bolting away. The idea that my client, a serial killer, is gripping my hand and pulling me through the snow is causing me to almost dissociate. The soft crunches as my boots sink in the snow sound almost fake.
What am I doing? I need to leave. I can still taste him in my mouth. My knees still ache from how long I was on my knees, suckling his soft cock while he relaxed and pet my head.
I lunge to the left, and my fingers slip through his.
Two steps, three, four. I inhale sharply and feel the bite of frigid air aching in my throat.
Then his arms are around me. Tight and oh-so strong. He’s lunged for me with no pretense of a calm attitude. So he won’t let me run. Does that mean I’m not free? That my free will was all a farce?
We fall to the snowy ground, his body blanketing mine.
“What are you doing?” There’s an edge of tension in his voice. I shudder, feeling the weight of him on my back. I’m still horrifyingly turned on. God, wouldn’t it be so perfect to give in to that? I squirm against his body, and he gives a soft grunt in my ear.
“Sophie, you’re freaking out. Please calm down.”
I pant against the snow, shaking my head frantically back and forth. Something feels wrong.
“It’s okay,” he says. His arms stay wrapped around me like he’s never letting go. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.” I’m not even fighting his hold. I should be. Instead, I’m resigned. No, it's worse than that.I like it.
“Sophie.” He keeps saying my name, and each time, it brings me a little bit back down to earth. “I’m going to touch you.”
“What,” I whisper into the snow. I feel his hand move low, two fingers sliding between my legs. Is this really happening? The pressure of his fingers slides over my clit, and I gasp.
“This isn’t right,” I say.
“Shh,” he hushes. “Don’t run, Sophie.” His lips brush my ear as he whispers to me. It’s so quiet and desolate in the woods. His fingers keep teasing me, and I squirm, breathing heavily. Each stroke is making me forget how weird I feel.
