Page 10 of Touchdowns and Tinsel

I want to! But I don’t know where or how to start. It's fucking terrifying, to say the least, but if I'm being honest, I haven't been this turned on in such a long time, and we're only talking about it.

Can you imagine the real thing? Fuck… Maybe you just need a push. Starting small, perhaps. Just a chat with your potential abductor? Maybe even someone who can guide you through what it feels like to surrender?

I guess that might be the first step.

She types, her willingness to engage swirling excitement within me. I know where this is heading. I have an idea brewing—one I can't resist—a dangerous line to cross, but the thrill of it seems irresistible. It's taking everything I have to keep my composure as my mind spins faster than usual, intertwining fantasies with a plan.

What if I told you I could help with that? Be the one to guide you—to help explore all those edges you've been hesitant to cross?

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, heart hammering against my ribcage. Would she take the bait? Would I becomethe figure she’s imagining, enticing her into the depths of her desire? The idea of seeing her react to that escalation sends a heady rush through me, and of course, my cock hardens again, screaming at me for some more relief.

With bated breath, I wait, every heartbeat stretching the tension. Her response feels like a lifetime coming, so when another message finally pops up, I exhale the breath I've been holding, focusing my eyes on the screen. .

Q, are you serious? Could you really help me explore this... safely?

I can't help the grin that breaks across my face as I read her message and begin typing one back, completely filled with lies and false hopes, but she doesn't need to know that.

Noelle, I’d take every fucking step with you. I can promise you that you won’t be alone. I'd make sure the experience is the best one you'll ever have. Mark my fucking words.

Her response is fast; her words, through the screen, are trembling with excitement and trepidation.

That sounds... incredible, honestly, kind of like it's too good to be true. But I'm willing to think about it, for sure.

And as I sit back, a mix of triumph and desire brewing inside me, I know this game is just beginning. I need to tread carefully, using her vulnerability to draw her deeper into a world I’ve been itching to unveil, and I plan to make every fucking moment count.

She has no idea what she just agreed to or who she agreed to do it with. Which begs the question: What is she going todo when she finds out she's talking to her stepson? That she confessed her deepest desire to me?

However, she doesn't have to find out. After all, there are ways around concealing one's identity, and I'm sure I can come up with something clever.

five

Noelle

Steam envelops the master bathroom, the sound of scalding water cascading from the oversized showerhead creating a soothing rhythm as it drenches my body, turning my skin a vivid red. The sharp sting of the burning water snaps me awake, my eyelids fluttering closed as memories from the night before replay in my mind like my favorite film.

Without glancing in the mirror, I can already feel the heat creeping into my cheeks, the mere thought of that deep, intimate conversation with the enigmatic Q stirring my thoughts. I can’t believe I actually confessed my kidnapping kink to him—what a reckless admission. At least, I remind myself, I won’t have to face him in person.

Relieving my thoughts felt good; I won’t deny it. Who else could I possibly share those kinds of secrets with? Not my stepson, and certainly not my colleagues. Who fantasizes about being kidnapped and taken advantage of? A fucking weirdo—me—that's who.

I wasn’t always this way. It wasn’t until the home invasion that changed everything, taking Nicholas away from me, thatI began to explore the darker corners of my mind. Trauma manifests differently for each person, as does the way we cope with it. In my case, after surviving gang rape and a brutal beating, one might expect terror to consume me. Instead, my mind has spiraled into darker fantasies of being kidnapped. It's a relentless fixation, one I cannot shake.

As I step out of the shower, I catch sight of the bathroom door ajar—a crack I know I didn’t leave open. Wrapping a towel around my damp body, I instinctively shield myself from any prying eyes.

I hurry to grab my clothes, driven by an urgent need to cover up. However, as I pull on my underwear, I barely notice the slimy substance clinging to the fabric until I slip into my jeans. I freeze, recalling the unsettling incident from a few days prior when I discovered something similar in my underwear. Panic washes over me as my mind races with the chilling realization.

Someone was in here while I was showering, and again, they came in my underwear.

A shiver runs through my bones, goosebumps erupting across my skin as every hair stands on end. I quickly undress, ripping off my underwear and throwing them in the trash. Once I'm dressed, without underwear, I slip out of the bathroom and descend the stairs, hoping that Cole isn't home.

There's a fire roaring in the family room fireplace, and the curtains are open, revealing another snowy day just outside of the windows. The smell of vanilla and cinnamon wafts through the house, making my mouth water from the delicious aroma.

Cole has to be here...

Going about my normal routine as if today is just another day and not Christmas Eve, I enter the kitchen to prepare a cup of coffee for the road. That's when I see him. He's sitting at the island with a cup of coffee and his laptop open in front of him, his eyes glancing up to meet mine as I step closer.

"Cole, I didn't know you were here," I admit, grabbing a to-go mug from the cabinet above the coffee pot.

"I didn't know I had to let you know whenever the fuck I came home," he snaps, and right away I can tell that he's in a mood.

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