Page 9 of Frozen Obsession

"Candy," I lie smoothly, leaning in just enough for him to get a good look down my robe. His eyes glaze over, and I almost roll mine.

"Merry Christmas, Candy." His grin is lewd, eyes flicking between my chest and legs. "How about you give me a real present tonight?"

I push down the disgust, keeping the smile plastered on my face. "Sure, baby. Whatever you want." I untie my robe slowly, letting it slip off my shoulders. He groans, his hands already fumbling with his belt.

"Come here," he growls, pulling me closer. I step between his legs, letting him paw at me. His hands are sweaty and clumsy, and I can barely keep from grimacing as he pulls me onto his lap.

"What do you want for Christmas?" I ask, my voice low, seductive. His handsslide under my skirt, groping greedily.

"I want you, baby," he breathes against my neck. "All of you."

His hands are on me, rough and impatient, and I try to shut it out, focus on the Christmas music playing softly over the speakers instead. The bells, the soft jingles, it’s all twisted in this moment, warped by the sickening way he grabs at me. He bends me over, and I hear him tear open the condom foil. I sigh with relief that at least he won’t try to go without protection, as many do.

As he finishes, I feel the warmth of his small cock probing at my entrance after he pushes my thong to the side and do my best to detach, to avoid gagging from the booze on his hot, moist breath. I continue to murmur sweet nothings as he grunts and thrusts clumsily.

"Naughty or nice?" he asks, giving me a fake innocent voice. "So nice, baby. So nice." I reply. I fake the moans that follow next, each false sigh and whimper adding fuel to his pitiful fire. He thrusts with the rhythm of a man years younger and double his stamina. Thankfully, it’s over rather quickly. His body goes slack against mine, his labored panting hot and wet in my ear. He mutters something I don’t catch, likely some clumsy endearment or dirty comment. With a last squeeze of my thigh, he pulls away, tugging up his pants.

"God, you’re amazing," he mumbles, but I don’t care. I’m already on my feet, waiting to be let out by Vik. Knowing Tony, he already paid; no one touches his girls without payment. That’s one good thing about this job—they look out for us. They still fuck us, but they look after us.

Adjusting my robe as he zips his pants back up, still grinning like he just unwrapped the best gift of his life. I don’t say anything, just nod and head for the door. Vik opens it with a smile on his face. "Not even twenty minutes," he taunts.

I shrug, leaning into the big guy. "You know my pussy is heaven," I say jokingly. Why not brag about it? My looks and body are mine to give; they’ll take it anyway, so whynot profit from it?

"That it is, baby," Vik chuckles, patting my back gently. "Heavenly pussy," Vik adds as he slips me a few extra bills, likely courtesy of Tony. The smell of his cologne, musky and rich with undertones of tobacco, is a strange comfort. I fold the notes carefully and tuck them into the pocket of my robe.

"A drink to celebrate?" Vik offers, reaching for a bottle of expensive bourbon kept behind the counter. I shake my head, feeling the heaviness of the evening start to settle into my bones.

"Maybe later," I reply, managing a small smile. I need to freshen up, put on a new face for the next client. Vik shrugs and pours himself a drink before slapping his hand on the counter. "Go home. It’s late, and that married asshole paid good money. Go get high and forget the night."

"Sounds tempting," I smirk, sauntering down the narrow hallway to the back, pausing only to grab my purse. I can hear the thumping bass from the nightclub upstairs fading as I step into the dimly lit dressing room. My reflection stares back at me through the smudged mirror, a stark reminder of the life I’ve chosen—or rather, the life that chose me. The bright red lipstick is smudged, my eyeliner has formed a dark pool under my tired eyes. I sigh and turn on the tap, steam rising in an instant. The warm water feels comforting as I begin to wipe away the night’s makeup, revealing tired eyes and chapped lips beneath it all.

I pull on my everyday clothes—a pair of faded jeans and a loose, comfortable sweatshirt. I finger-comb my hair into a messy bun at the top of my head and sling my purse over my shoulder. I wipe off the last bits of makeup from my face with a damp cloth, one last look at the mirror confirming I’m back to being just me.

Then I leave.

I step back into the hallway, shaking off the encounter, but the unease lingers. The dark aura from earlier haunts me.

I leave the club not long after, stepping into the cold night air. The holiday decorations outside feel almost menacing, like the twinkling lights are hiding something darker. I wrap my coat tighter around me, the snow crunchingbeneath my boots as I make my way to the parking lot.

The sight of Senior’s old Ford pickup under the streetlamp usually brings me comfort, but tonight, something feels wrong. My heart sinks when I reach it. Draped over the windshield is a pair of panties.

My panties.

I reach out with trembling hands, feeling the warmth and stickiness. I pull my hand back, choking on the rising bile as the unmistakable scent of cum hits me.

I glance around frantically, but the parking lot is deserted. The soft glow of Christmas lights flickers against the shadows, making them dance and shift. I can’t see him, but the sensation of being watched is palpable.

Panic surges through me. I fumble with the door handle, practically throwing myself into the truck. I slam the door shut, my hands trembling as I jam the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life, and I peel out of the lot, my eyes darting to the rear view mirror, half-expecting to see the man from inside following me. But he’s not.

After a few minutes, my breathing steadies, and I force myself to calm down. I grip the steering wheel tighter, take a deep breath, and crank the ignition again, settling into the ride back home.

When I finally reach the cabin, the snow falls heavily, blanketing everything in a serene white. The garlands on the porch are dusted with snow, and for a fleeting moment, the sight of the old cabin gives me a sliver of solace. This place is supposed to be a sanctuary. It’s almost Christmas. I should feel safe here.

But I don’t.

Something feels off, wrong. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched—not just by anyone, but by him. It creeps up my spine, settling deep in my gut like an itch I can’t scratch. I try to push it aside. Jimmy’s coming back tonight. More fucking, more drugs. Just the distraction and numbness I need.

I place the truck in park and turn off the engine, stepping into the night. As Irush inside, the house feels darker, more ominous. It’s as if it has eyes, watching me, and that feeling follows me into the shower. After a quick rinse to wash off the remnants of the night, I step outside with my hair still wet, pulling on one of Roman's old band t-shirts—an oversized black AC-DC tie-dye—and some black yoga shorts.

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