Page 14 of Frozen Obsession

He pulls out of me with a hiss, tossing the condom in the trash. I watch as he steps back, my mind already somewhere else, waiting for the pills to finally take me under.

"You going to Wonderland?" he asks, slightly slurring the words as he walks to the toilet, pissing without a second thought.

I shake my head. "Nah, I thought it was invite-only."

He shakes his cock off, smirking as he zips up. "It is. I was gonna bring you as my plus-one if you weren’t invited."

I shape my mouth into an exaggerated "O," then grin lazily. "Yeah, I’m down."

Marcos doesn’t bother washing his hands. Instead, he slaps my bare ass, the sharp sting rippling through me, before grabbing the back of my head and crushing his lips against mine. "It’s on Christmas night," he murmurs low, voice thick and slurred. "Dress like an angel... for the nice list."

My lip's part, but the words die in my throat. My tonguefeels heavy, useless. We stay like that, our mouths moving against each other, slow and sloppy. His tongue tangles with mine, clumsy but insistent, as my arms wrap around his waist. We make out lazily, the drugs finally creeping into my system, dulling everything but the slow burn under my skin.

After what feels like an eternity, Marcos and I stumble out of the bathroom, our limbs loose and unsteady, the drugs taking full effect. We move toward the living room like puppets on broken strings, disjointed, our bodies still buzzing from the sloppy sex and the cocktail of chemicals coursing through our veins. The big open windows reveal the snow-covered forest outside, blanketed in white under the eerie glow of the moonlight. The TV flickers with a jazz channel still playing softly, the smooth notes of a saxophone weaving through the storm’s howling outside.

It’s perfect for tonight. A strange, surreal kind of perfect.

"Let’s go watch the snow fall," I suggest, my voice rough, scraping like gravel in my throat. We collapse onto the couch, sinking into the cushions like they’re swallowing us whole, the warmth of the fire contrasting with the cold world just beyond the windows.

I stretch my legs out, feeling the weight of Marcos’ arm fall lazily across my lap. His breath is already slowing, his body relaxing into the fog of the pills we popped earlier. I stare through the glass, watching the snow fall in heavy, hypnotic waves, a quiet that feels suffocating despite the storm outside.

For a second, I almost believe this peace is real. Almost. But I know this fake… an illusion of everything I dreamed of one day having and a grim reminder of what I could never have.

The Christmas lights, which were supposed to add some holiday cheer, now flicker like they’re auditioning for a horror movie, casting weird, jumpy shadows across the room. It’s like the lights know something we don’t, and honestly, it’s freaking me out a little.

Marcos pulls me onto his lap with an urgent grip.

"Need you, Xena," he mutters, his voice rough and desperate. There’s no warmth in his touch—just a raw, frantic need to escape. I straddle him, our lips crashing together in a kiss that’s more teeth and desperation than passion. We’re both just trying to feel something real, something solid, in the middle of all this chaos. I want to feel what I did during my drug-induced dream.

His hands grip my hips with bruising intensity, guiding me as he thrusts upward with a rough, insistent rhythm. There’s no condom this time, but I’m too high to care, lost in the haze of the pills and the raw need to forget. The sensation of him sliding inside me is dull, nothing spectacular, but it does the job, his urgency mirroring the storm raging outside.

The Christmas lights around us flicker like they’re on a frenzy, casting odd shadows that dance over our tangled bodies as I ride him. Each thrust is powerful, almost violent, pushing us both closer to the edge. The forceful pleasure is overwhelming, my moans mingling with the sound of the storm battering the windows.

"Fuck, Xena, you feel so good," Marcos growls, his breath coming in heavy, uneven bursts. His words are almost drowned out by the wind howling outside due to the snowstorm and our frantic movements. I can barely respond, my own voice a low, breathless whimper as we continue. His hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back before lowering his mouth to my nipple. His tongue flicks over my piercing, the one Roman forced on me ten years ago. Call me sentimental, but those piercings are all I have left of us.

I bounce on his cock as his hands spread my ass apart, his hips thrusting upwards with each bounce.

"You on the pill or anything? I don’t think I can pull out," he grunts. It’s unlike him to fuck me raw, but he lifts me, almost dropping me before picking up the pace. It’s nothing close to what Roman gave me, but still, he manages to make me cum, my pussy clenching around his length.

"Fuck, baby," he groans as he pulls out, his warm seed coating the mound of my pussy. Finally, we collapse in a tangled, exhausted heap on the couch, the storm’s fury outside a distant, muted roar compared to the intensity of our desperateencounter.

Then there’s a sound from the kitchen—a soft creak, like someone moving through the house.

Marcos stiffens beside me.

"Did you hear that?"

I nod, my heart racing.

"Yeah. It’s probably just the storm. Or Jimmy."

Before we can react, a shadow moves into the living room. A man with a familiar build step into the doorway, his face obscured by a mask—or is it? As he moves closer to the flickering Christmas lights, I realize it’s not a mask at all. It’s Jimmy’s face.

I scream.

The chill in my spine intensifies, dread pooling in my chest. Marcos sits up, confused and alarmed.

"What the hell?"

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