Page 30 of Wicked Mistletoe

The sound of my footsteps is all that follows me down the hallway. Always empty. Always quiet. It’s like the walls are mocking me, reminding me how alone I am.

I sigh, keys fumbling in the lock. It clicks open, and I shoulder my way inside, box of takeout in hand. As I turn to lock the door, movement flickers at the edge of my vision. My heart leaps into overdrive, and the takeout slips out of my hand as I instinctively raise my elbows, bracing for a hit.

But it never comes.

Huh?

Slowly, I lower my guard. The big shadow that caught my eye seems to have… disappeared? If it was ever there. My brows furrow as I scan the living room. There’s no way I imagined that. Right?

The only light comes from those stupid Christmas lights that cast weird, dancing shadows everywhere. Maybe that’s all it was. Still, there’s this gnawing feeling in my gut, like I’m being watched. But I don’t see a damn thing.

Just as I’m about to chalk it up to paranoia, a massive shape suddenly explodes out of the darkness and lunges at me. In thefaint light, all I can make out is a terrifying, skeletal St. Nicholas mask, white beard swaying as he charges. My scream lodges in my throat, trapped by sheer terror. I try to back up, but my back is literally to the door.Shit. My gun.

I reach for it—nothing.Where’s my fucking gun?Of all the times to be unarmed.What a rookie mistake.No choice now. As the masked figure reaches for me, survival instincts kick in. I grab his wrists, twisting with everything I’ve got. When I do, the familiar cologne wafts up to my nose and silver eyes lock on mine.

Rafael.

He grunts as we grapple for dominance.

My heart keeps thumping, but the rhythm has changed from fear to something far more thrilling. The memory of our chat at the supermarket two days ago rushes back, igniting something wild inside me.

This is it. Game on.

I slam my foot into his shin and twist his hands up in an attempt to arch them over his head. But he’s a solid wall of muscle—too tall, too strong; doesn’t budge an inch. Sweat rolls down my back, adrenaline bursting through me as I feint to the right, then duck under his armpit and make a mad dash for the stairs.

His heavy footsteps echo behind me, spurring me on, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I push myself to run faster.Just need to reach the bedroom. Lock him out.Almost there,almost?—

His hand snags the back of my shirt and yanks me back into his solid chest, his arm immediately banding under my heaving breasts. A scream tears from my throat as he lifts me clean off my feet, my legs kicking uselessly in the air.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls in my ear. The deep timbre sends an involuntary shiver rolling down my spine. I writhe and squirm, fighting to slip free, but his grip is ironclad.

“Listen.” His hot breath grazes the nape of my neck, and I quiver, my nipples beading almost painfully. “If you want to end this at any time, say Azaleas. Got it?” He’s giving me a safeword? I’ve never needed one before, and the fact that he’s giving me one now… my core clenches at the thought. Oh, hell, this just got a lot more intense. I nod, feeling the anticipation thrumming in my veins.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“If I want you to stop, I’ll say Azaleas,” I respond.

“Good girl,” he purrs. Then his voice drops to a menacing baritone. “But let’s be clear—you can say ‘stop’ and ‘no’ all you want. I won’t stop. Because you want this, don’t you? Practically begged for it when I caught you staring at me from across the room. That’s what those big honey eyes said, even as you stood all sweet and innocent next to your little boyfriend.” The words rumble through his chest as he groans, running his nose through my hair like he's inhaling me.

Pleasure spikes through me.He’s following a script. Play along.

“No, please,” I say, putting a tremble in my voice just enough to sound convincing. “My boyfriend will be home soon.”

“Wrong.” His hands slip under my shirt and curl tight around my breasts, squeezing just shy of pain. My eyes slide shut as sparks rush through my body, but I press my lips together, forcing myself to swallow the moan trying to escape—stick to the script. “He won’t be back anytime soon.”

I let myself go limp in his arms, then inject more fear into my voice. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing… for now. If you are a good girl and cum pretty for me, I might even let him go.” He rolls my nipples through my bra. “Have you been a good girl, or have you been naughty?”

“Someone sent me a bouquet of Azaleas,” I begin, surprised at how easily the lies follow. “So, I bought a pair of protective gloves, carefully tore off the petals—you know, the poisonous ones—dried them out, ground them into fine dust, then… mixed the particles with my coffee grounds.” I pause for effect, flashing him a sweet smile.

“What are you getting at?” he grunts.

“Well… would you like some coffee before we proceed?”

He chuckles darkly, “Naughty then, huh? I hope for your sake you’re wrapped up like a delicious little present.”

His grip loosens just enough as he tries to brush my hair from my face, and I grab the chance, rearing my head back into his chin. He lets me go with a vicious curse, and I bolt.

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