“You know, I watched you in the lobby earlier. Eating your Christmas dinner alone in that little green dress that could barely hold in these obscene breasts.”
A gloved hand slid up my body and cupped one of them. His touch… it wasn’t nice. He squeezed, hard enough to make me whimper beneath him.
“Were you trying to bait me?” The distorted voice rasped with angry static. “Got me so hard, I had to stop myself from tearing that dress off and fucking you on the table. In front of everyone.”
“I didn’t—I didn’t even know you were there!”
“Did I say you could speak?”
The hand at my breast found my nipple and gave it a punishing pinch. Pain bit through me, hot and fast, striking down to my core. I let out a helpless moan.
“Did that hurt?Good. That’s exactly what you deserve for being such a fucking tease.” He ground his hard cock against my bare pussy, fully clothed but pulsing behind his trousers. “You had me hurting so bad, sweetiebird. But I waited. I let you finish your little solo Christmas Eve date at Vancouver’s mostexpensive hotel. And now, I get to play with youall night long. Do whatever I want to this luscious body.”
He pinched my nipple again, harder than before, and I cried out.
“What did I tell you about getting too loud?” the distorted voice growled.
Then came a softzwickof something released. The LED mask cast just enough light to let me see what he’d unsheathed under its hard red-skeleton glow.
A knife.
My breath stopped. Not metaphorically. Literally. My chest stopped moving.
This wasn’t how I thought the night would go when I’d showered and slipped naked between silk sheets, excited to experience every sensory detail of the Tourmaline’s five-star bedding.
Now I was fully exposed. And he had a blade.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I choked out.
“Don’t worry, sweetiebird. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. He rose up slightly, just enough to slide the hilt of the knife up my slit. “Not if you’re good for me.”
My entire body tensed when he pressed the smooth, rounded handle against my clit. He began moving it in tight, slow circles, with just the right amount of pressure. “You going to be good for me?”
This was escalating too fast. My body didn’t know what to do. A sick twist of pleasure bloomed low, where only disgust should have lived. And another sound clawed its way up my throat, threatening to come out as one of those forbidden loud cries. But I bit down on my lip hard to muffle it, and it came out as a mewl.
“Look at you,” the voice chided. “Are you actually getting off on this? You’re not wet, are you?”
He put the knife aside, then reached under the mask with his teeth and peeled off one glove. But what he did next didn’t provide any relief from the heart-pounding fear.
He reached down with his bare hand and slid two fingers through my folds.
“No. Not just wet.” The red-skeleton mask tilted slightly, in a way that felt like judgment. “Soaking.”
A shameful moan escaped me. Worse, I could feel myself getting even wetter as his hand kept moving between my folds, gathering slick to rub over my throbbing clit.
“This clittie of yours is rock-hard. Do you always get this turned on with your nice boring boyfriend?”
The shame, tangled so tightly with sick pleasure, threatened to shut my brain down. I clamped my lips and turned my face away, squeezing my eyes shut.
But the distorted voice insisted on my reply. “Answer me, or I’ll bring back the knife.”
“No... I don’t... I don’t have a boyfriend,” I choked out.
I could barely breathe now, but not because of his weight. His fingers were relentless, overwhelming. I shook my head, tried to push the sensation down where it belonged, but something dangerous was building inside.
“Please stop touching me like that or...”
“Or what?” His distorted voice sharpened, cruel with amusement. “You going to come like a dirty girl all over my hand?”
