“We're going skiing,” he finally says. He thrusts my coat at me and pulls me out the door without a word. His entire attitude has changed. He seems mad. I’ve only ever seen him mad at the people he kills. It leaves me anxious, so I don’t ask why we’re going skiing or what suddenly happened.
It's a short drive to the ski resort office. He buys us tickets, and we collect our gear and ride the ski lift.
The place is desolate. The ski resort has seen lots of activity with the early snow, but things won’t really kick up until mid-January. The slopes look abandoned after nightfall. Most everyone has already packed up for the night. In the distance, I see the kaleidoscope of lights where people can tube.
“Is something wrong?” I ask when we get off the lift.
“Let's go,” he says. Maybe he thought we needed fresh air after our conversation? I try to accept that’s his reasoning. As soon as I’m racing down the slope on my snowboard, I find myself unconcerned with his mood. A smile stretches on my face. I should get to the slopes more—my heart is pounding. I love this.
Soren skis with ease but suddenly weaves in front of me and into the trees. I make a sharp turn towards the woods and stop, balancing on my board while looking through my goggles.
“Soren!” Nothing. The moment I sit down, he bursts from the treeline.
“Are you hurt?” I ask. My eyes widen as he suddenly lunges at me. He tackles me, flipping me on my belly.
“What are you doing!” He unclips my snowboard boots and rips them from my feet. He’s freaking me out. He's been on edge all evening.
Soren throws my board back on the slope. I see it slide down and try to scramble out from under him. He lets me, watching as I crawl.
“Run,” he says in an icy voice. Not an ounce of his regular warmth or charm is present. This is the face his victims get before he kills them. I turn, and I run, no questions asked. I keep thinking about the dead look in his eyes as my feet grow cold. The thick socks only protected me for a few steps.
I gulp in cold air and feel the frigid burn in my throat. The trees are packed tight, and I can’t see another slope yet. That's my aim, find a slope and get down as fast as possible on wet socks. Then, the lodge. Then… what? What is going on with him?
It hits me. This is what I offered. Catching his prey.
I can't bet my life on it, though, so I keep running. The lack of surety has my nerves fraying and panic tightening my throat. I need to get away. That's the only thing I’m sure of because I don’t really know what's happening with him.
I hear the crunch of the snow behind me growing louder. It’s fast, not offering any playfulness. He’s coming at me full speed, completely determined. Soren collides with me, dragging me to the ground. I scream as loud as I can. He flips me over, and I see a vicious smile on his face.
I kick, and he grips my ankles. His hands slide up to my knees and then spread them wide.
“What are you doing?” There are tears in my eyes from the cold, and my question comes out ragged after the scream. His body slides between my thighs, weighing me down. If he was taking me up on the offer of playing prey, shouldn’t he be pulling himself out and making me suck his cock?
Instead, I feel his fingers slide into my snow pants and claw their way even deeper. Is he going to fuck me? It’s a white-hot realization. He’s captured me; now he wants what he wants. Desire blinds my logic for a moment. But only for a moment.
We have rules; we have to stick to them. I fight him as he pulls off my layers. His excitement makes him get sloppy, and I take the opening and kick him blindly. It hits his hip, sending him backward into the snow. I scramble to my hands and knees in nothing but socks and panties from the waist down. My pants dangle from my ankle.
I grab at pine saplings and baby trees sprouting up above the snow. When I feel Soren’s large hand on my ankle, I scream again. He flips me over and settles between my legs, holding them down.
He grabs my panties and pulls them aside. I suck in a breath of shock. The cold air fills my lungs. His arms slide under my thighs and wrap around them, tugging me against his mouth.
He licks aggressively, a determined greed taking over him. I cry out. He grips my thighs tighter, holding me down as he gives long strokes with his tongue.
I said oral and hands. I didn’t say who. I meant him, not me. I didn’t think he’d consider this. When he begins to suck, I feel white-hot pleasure.
“Wait,” I gasp. His eyes are on me, cold as ice. He flicks his tongue relentlessly. I try to squirm, but he just holds me tighter. It doesn’t take long. I feel it coming.
I whine, clawing at the snow. It hits me fiercely. No matter how I try to escape the orgasm, I can’t. All at once, pleasure weighs my body down. My mittens slide across the snow.
“No,” I moan, my eyes losing focus.
“Yes,” he responds. I try to catch my breath as my body relaxes after the high. Soren wipes at his wet mouth and chin. Then he’s on me again, mouth latching on. I whine, my mittens uselessly pushing his shoulders to get him away. My legs try to close.
“Soren, stop,” I gasp. His mouth unlatches from my pussy.
“Who was on the phone?” He asks, and my eyes widen. I stare at him silently. He gives me a harsh look and then dips his face back down, giving long, slow licks that have my body tensing all over.
“Stop,” I gasp.
