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Trying to hide my rising alarm, I bite out, “Because it’s cold, you fucking idiot. It has nothing to do with you. You’re disgusting.”

He shrugs, not denying it. The glint in his eye makes my pulse quicken. Nick has been circling me for months, but until tonight, I’ve held my own. The verbal jabs and occasional scuffle have been the closest things I’ve had to stimulation since my father handed me over. Now, seeing his thick, stiff cock in my periphery, I feel a dormant wrongness waking inside of me. I won’t deny he’s good looking. Nick has the body of a god, the face of a devil, and all the raw power to back it up. But everything about him repulses me–especially his devotion to a King. Daniel Payne, to be specific.

His lips part on a slow exhale, head tilting. “I’d love to tell Santa you’ve been a good girl this year, but we both know that’s not true. You had to have done something naughty for your daddy to sell you off to a man like Daniel.” The muscle in his forearm tenses, rippling as he strokes up and down his shaft. “But I’m not a monster. I’ve got a little something for you. Call it a gift.”

I keep my mouth shut, sensing that he’d probably just get off on me sniping back. The inner mantra I’ve got going abouthim not being able to touch me doesn’t make this any less of a violation. Studying under Daniel has probably already taught Nick something invaluable.

Sometimes the worst way of touching someone has nothing to do with physical contact.

He shuffles closer and I strain back, turning my head as he puts his cock in my face. He spits a soft curse. “You’re so pretty when you’re pissed like this. Your body gets so tight. I bet your pussy does, too. I bet if I were inside you right now, your cunt would be strangling me.” He pleasures himself to his own words in long, deliberate motions. He’s not in a hurry, enjoying torturing me as long as he can. I try to focus on another time, another place–on what I’ll do when I finally get out of here.

I try to imagine getting away.

His loud, ragged breaths drag me from my fantasies, which is the only reason I look up to see his jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck strained. A sensation ripples through me, strange and obtrusive. My skin is no longer cold, but warming with every pass he makes on his cock. I don’t want him. I don’t. I don’t. He is a monster.

But fuck, I’ve been here a long time.

The motel walls are flimsy. I spend basically half of my time listening to other people fucking. Sometimes it’s hard and fast, and sometimes it goes on for hours, moaning and thumping and grunting. I usually lay in my bed and alternate between imagining what they look like and doing my damndest not to even think about it.

I blame that for the way my body responds to the sight of him, coiled tight as he towers over me, fist gripping his thick shaft. Suddenly, he’s fucking gorgeous like this, a perverse study in eroticism, his blue eyes holding my body captive. Heat builds between my legs, liquid fire descending my spine. But he’s too involved with himself to notice, eyes growing hooded and heavy.Cheeks going red, his lower belly caves, dipping in and out with his shallow breathing. It’s strangely mesmerizing to watch a man pleasure himself. To see him so disarmed. To witness the crack in his armor as. To hear his grunt and the small dolent sound that’s hidden within it. To see his fist tighten around his dick. I’m no expert, but I know the signs of a man about to orgasm.

I also know where he intends to put it.

His eyes slit open, and his tongue swipes out, wetting his bottom lip. “Open your mouth,” he commands, voice full of gravel.

I lurch backward, banging into the toilet. “You’re not putting that thing in my mouth!”

He just moves closer, the tip of his cock a hairsbreadth from my closed lips. “Never said I was,” he answers, stiffening. His hand tightens on his cock, but even though I squirm back, it’s no use. There’s nowhere to go. The room is hot now, sweat beading up on the back of my neck as I watch him seize, abdomen caving. It’s impossible to even hear myself think over the sound of Christmas music and his choppy breaths. None of it is as loud as the sound of the groan ripping through him. His hand thrusts out and slams over my head, palm flat against the bathroom wall. The other grabs my chin and works my jaw until it’s open, which is against the rules. We both know it.

But the second I part my lips to say so, it happens.

His face collapses in an agonized expression as the first hot ribbon of cum lands on my lips, my tongue. I gasp and try to clamp my mouth shut, but that’s almost worse, taking it inside me, tasting it, feeling it against the roof of my mouth. Instead, I turn my cheek, holding my jaw open like I’ve tasted something horrible. But Nick doggedly chases me, shooting another thick spurt onto the flat of my tongue.

“Ack!” is all I manage to say before he’s rubbing it in, sliding the tip of his cock against my lower lip.

“That’s my sweet Little Bird,” he rasps, voice harsh and low. His forehead creases and he exhales, pumping out the last of his cum. It lands on my chest. “Fuck, I knew you’d look so good covered in my cum.”

A million ‘fuck you’s’ burn on my tongue, but I’m too busy lurching to the side and spitting his release onto the grimy tile floor to voice them.

Luckily, he lets me.

I can practically hear him rolling his eyes as I retch into the little waste bin beside the toilet.

“Bit dramatic,” he mutters, pushing off the wall and wiping off his cock. I barely notice him leaving the bathroom, vision distorted by the tears that spring to my eyes from the gagging, but I don’t miss that he returns with a knife. Gasping, I straighten my shoulders, heart pounding, but when he grabs me, it’s just to wedge the knife between the zip tie and my wrist. With one clean jerk of his wrist, he frees me.

“Clean up,” he says, grabbing his phone and walking out of the room again. I don’t move, still shocked. I hear the zipper on his backpack and the sound of him rummaging inside. A moment later, he peeks his head in. “I’m getting some snacks. Want anything?”

Do I want anything?

A vision of me taking the knife and slicing off his balls comes to mind.

I shake my head infinitesimally, unsure of my ability to speak.

He shrugs and steps back out. The click and lock of the motel room door echoes back to me a moment later.

I exhale, deep and shuddering, and drag the back of my hand across my mouth, sliding against the cooled cum. Like a sick, cosmic joke, the heat between my legs still radiates, clit throbbing with the hope of a release it hasn’t gotten. It doesn’tcare that Nick is vile. It doesn’t give a shit that rubbing Nick’s sticky release between my fingers is disgusting. It couldn’t give less of a damn that doing anything about it would be beyond shameful.

My eyes dart to the bathroom door, but it’s silent, other than the TV.