Page 7 of Bad Santas

With adrenaline pumping hot through my veins, I keep on, jumping over branches and zigzagging through the trees. My pajama pants are soaked half way up, too, my feet growing more and more numb with every step forward.

“I can smell you, kitty,” another announces not far behind, and from what I heard in the house, he sounds like Klaus. “Peaches and cream drizzled with glistening fear. I can’t wait to taste you.” He sing-songs it breezily, but there’s no hiding the wicked intent behind it.

More laughter ensues.

More crunching snow and labored breaths.

Brief wisps of the wintry wind as it billows by.

I’m almost at the front, the trees thinning out enough to see the long driveway just a few miles away—until sturdy, chiseled arms lock around me in a vise, unleashing a guttural scream from deep within my throat.

“Got you,” Nick’s voice drips sensuously in my ear as he slaps a hand over my mouth.

And much like that scream, a flicker of genuine horror finally floods the forefront. I struggle against him, my heart rate on the verge of explosion, and wail into his palm. More still when he lets out a whistle for the boys.

“Calm down, sweetheart. This is what you wanted, remember?” he coos, trailing a hand to the undeniably heated space between my thighs. When he grazes my clit and a needy whimper breaks free, my body betrays me and falls completely lax against him. “That’s it. Just like that. Be a good girl and let go for Santa.”

Snow trudging and various twigs snapping grow louder somewhere beside us, but all I can focus on is that lone finger rubbing slow circles into my clit.

“She was trying to make a clean break for the front,” Nick tells them, spurring on a round of snickers.

“Oh, that won’t do,” Klaus purrs as he appears in my line of sight, sea foam green eyes glimmering. “That won’t do at all, kitty. Escaping isn’t an option.”

Jack slides up beside him then, piercing blues also flickering with a hint of malice. “What’s wrong, Little Red? The masked man fantasy too much for you now?”

SIX

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy - Christmas Classics Remix

“What’s next,boys? Nick murmurs as he sets me on my feet and the three of them crowd around me in the warm confines of my living room. “She ran, we caught her…”

“Masked men usually pose a threat,” Jack answers, his chest still heaving from the chase.

“Ah, yes, a weapon.” That’s Klaus from behind me, who promptly grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my head back, the sharp edge of a blade appearing against my throat sheer seconds later. “This is a threat, isn’t it, kitty?”

I laugh at my current predicament, but it’s not an ordinary laugh or one of the nervous variety. It’s melded into a groan because the knife just added that much more to the living fantasy, and the anticipation of what’s to come has melted any semblance of fear and left me antsy as hell.

There’s something seriously wrong with me.

I stare up at Nick, then Jack, hissing when Klaus tugs a little tighter. Should be impossible, but their eyes seem to glow, both of them so fucking blue, they suck the air from my lungs.

“And then, of course, there’s always the most important question,” Jack continues, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Do we kill her or let her live?”

“I say kill her,” Klaus growls, digging the knife in a smidge deeper. “But perhaps she can sway us…”

“Mmm, yes, I’d love to hear that,” Nick concedes. “Do tell us, sweet girl. Howeverare you going to convince us to let you live?”

Words fail me. My chest caves and expands in excitement, knees threatening to buckle, too. In what world does an ordinary woman like me get to live out something straight out of a bo?—

Klaus tightens his grip on my hair a third time and yank back further, mask-covered lips settling beside my ear. “This is the part where you say, ‘Please don’t hurt me. I’ll suck your cocks.’”

“I’ll suck your cocks,” I blurt out, desire swirling low and deep in my belly as the image materializes in the confines of my mind. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. Use me. Make me your little fuck toy.”

“What was that?” he hedges. “Say it louder for us, kitty.”

“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me,” I repeat, instinctively reaching out for the black band of Nick’s sweatpants.

I need something to hold on to, something to ground me. This is going to be one hell of a ride and no amount of fantasizing about it has prepared me for whatever these men have up their cloak sleeves.

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