Ho Ho Homicidal Maniac (Murder and Mistletoe #2)

Chapter 6

Blake

I’m terrified and about fifty percent sure this whole thing will end with my death, but when Nico opens the seam of my mouth with his tongue, my knees go so soft I grab him to steady myself. I’m giving my first-ever kiss to a homicidal maniac, and it should not feel this good.

Warm, thick arms wrap around me as I utter a brief yet embarrassing noise, and then he’s pushing me at the wall, and I’m sandwiched between his chest and the hard, cold tiles. I exaggerated my problem with the thin green top to appear even more defenseless than I am, but now something about it turns me on too, and I get to my toes as he rips the fabric off.

My heart is pounding like mad. I’m playing with fire, but I’ll only get to make my move if he doesn’t see me as a threat. Too bad it’s hard to focus on attacking him when his tongue teases my palate. I’ve not been hugged in years, let alone touched this way by anyone. And he isn’t just a random guy at the nightclub either. Nico’s painfully handsome, I have to give him that. When his large hands slide up and down my sides, I don’t have to fake a reaction. I shiver.

I’ve fantasized countless times about what it would be like to be stroked and petted by another man, but this is so much more than I could have imagined. He’s confident, he smells so good I want to press my face against him, and even the touch of his shirt is pleasant against my skin. If only he was anyone else. Or at least not the literal serial killer I’ve been following for years. That’s not really so much to ask for, is it?

I’ve been psyching myself up to seduce him all day. I came up with lines I could say and whole scenarios I was ready to follow in order to get his guard down, but none of that could have prepared me for the sensation of being cradled, for his insistent yet gentle lips, and the way my body would fill with heat in his presence.

How ironic that in the process of distracting him, I have done it to myself.

“I… I mean…”

Nico steps back, and I hate myself a little for already missing his touch. I thought I was smarter than that, but my body didn’t get the memo from my brain, and it’s horny.

When he looks at me with piercing blue eyes and licks his lips like he’s about to eat me, my dick twitches in excitement. I should be worried whether he’s a cannibal, not getting turned on.

“Sorry, I might have gotten ahead of myself.” His voice is like a purr, all softness and promise. How fucked up is it that this is my first experience? What if it imprints on me, and I’ll only get hard in high-adrenaline situations ?

That’s what therapy’s for, I suppose. All I care about is getting out of here, because even if he doesn’t plan to murder me like that other guy, what if I end up being his prisoner for years, locked up in this terrible basement of always-Christmas, away from the sunshine, my wings clipped on the cusp of leaving the family nest?

With new determination, I grab the front of his shirt and pull him right back to me. While having his weight press me to the wall again is sending electricity to my balls, this time I’m ready for it.

This is a distraction. This is a distraction, Blake. For survival , I tell myself as my entire body shivers with delight when he cups my ass.

“I guess we can have dinner later,” Nico whispers in my ear, then licks it. “You’re so beautiful. I’ve been dreaming about this ass all day.” He squeezes my butt, making me get to my tiptoes so Nico can grab more of me.

I’m a mess with a rattling heart, because what if I miscalculated? What if I’m unable to escape yet put too many promises in his head? I can’t become some psycho’s basement fuck toy. That can’t be my life.

I shouldn’t want his touch as much as I do.

When his fingers tease my crack through fabric as he lazily kisses my ear, then my neck, I get lost in my own game. How can something so wrong feel this good? And while we’re at it, how can someone so violent be this hot? It’s not fair.

Excitement rushes along my limbs, and I cup his face as we kiss. I knew I was drawn to muscular, dominant guys, but as he kneads my buttocks and cages me against the wall, it’s all but confirmed, because my pleasure centers are on fire.

“Yes. Later,” I agree, but there’s enough brains left in my overcooking skull to stay alert. I open one eye and, once Nico’s lips descend my throat, I look around for potential weapons.

But as I consider if the ceramic cup on the sink will be hard enough, he slides one hand between our bodies and pets my dick through fabric. I mewl and arch into him instinctively as if he’s pressed a sex button in my brain.

I’m realizing I might have shot myself in the foot with this whole seduction idea. If he was an ogre with warts on his face, I’d have no trouble separating myself from what we’re doing. But he’s not. He’s young, handsome, smells so fresh, and after what I’ve been through, his warm body is soothing rather than repulsive. I want the hug. I need the comfort of his arms.

I, Blake, wouldn’t have given in to his deluded idea of romance in his basement, but because it was ‘just acting’, I let myself touch him. Let him touch me. And now I’m in over my head.

Nico murmurs against my neck and gives my cock a squeeze. “I can’t wait to see it.”

In a moment of absolute abandon, I pull on his shoulders, signaling for him to kneel, and while I’m mortified as soon as that happens, he offers me a wide grin and… scoots down.

I’m embarrassed when it occurs to me that I haven’t yet showered, but then my gaze returns to the ceramic cup, and I’m reminded of my real goal. Nico isn’t yet fully down when I grab the mug and slam it down on his head as hard as I can.

It feels like trying to hammer a thick nail into a stone wall.

The handle stays in my hand while the rest of the mug falls off and collapses alongside Nico, who rolls to the floor at my feet, clutching at his head. A part of me is already regretful and wants to help, but that would be suicide, so I leap over him as if I were training for the Olympic long jump.

His groans resonate in my ears as I flee the bathroom and dart for the narrow stairs.

I’m not a cryer, but my eyes sting from the nerves of it all. The world is a blur as I dash up the steps, and an unholy mix of images rattles in my head.

Nico sawing into a man’s neck. Nico on his knees about to press his handsome face against my cock. Nico in the creepy balaclava with cute round ears. Nico presenting me with the ugliest Christmas sweater I’ve ever seen.

A part of me expects a locked door, and for my plan to be easily thwarted. I knew I needed to try something to free myself, but deep down, I didn’t believe I’d manage. But I find the door easy to open, and I’m faced with… coats. I’m at the back of a wardrobe, as if the cellar is his personal fucking Narnia.

The muscles of my throat are so tight I can barely breathe, but I won’t have another chance to flee, so I dash between a collection of old bicycles, boxes, and furniture. I hit the light switch I vaguely see in the dark.

Colors gleam ahead as strings of Christmas lights come to life on the ceiling and walls of the next room. They flash in different rhythms, giving life to a crowd of figures gathered all too close for my liking. There’s the popular image of the Christmas Killer, based on a witness testimony that was clearly inaccurate, as the figure has a pot belly and a white beard. Next to it stands Krampus, an ancient witch, a monster with a horse skull head, and even some zombie elves. I stumble when the red and green flickering tricks me into thinking one of the life-sized statues moved, reaching its bony hand for me .

Where am I even? The room is stacked floor to ceiling with rows of shelving units filled with boxes and Christmas decor. Everywhere I look it’s red, green, and gold.

A sob rises in my throat, but I manage to hold it in as I make my way through the winding maze of festive crap. He’s mad. He’s absolutely mad, and I don’t even want to know why he might need so many different types of nutcrackers in the form of painted soldiers. Their eyes follow me as the colorful glow reflects on their faces, constantly altering their expressions.

The warehouse is massive and seems to contain everything from fake Victorian street lamps to large rolls of gift wrap. There’s a door on its other end, so I dash down the lane left empty in the middle, only pausing when I remember that it’s December. There could be a snow storm outside, and I’m wearing stockings and shorts. One of the massive steel shelving units arranged in neat rows to my left is filled with clothes, so I grab the first coat I can find and unfold it, revealing itself as a red bath robe with a fur trim.

Good enough.

Somewhere behind me, feet stomp over a hard floor, and I freeze, only to dash across the warehouse, already putting on the robe. I’m not dying here, not at eighteen, before I even got to start living!

The exit is so close I can almost taste the fresh air awaiting me outside, but as I reach for the handle, something yanks me back, and I fall over, banging my knees against the floor as plush gingerbread men rain over me, followed by a cardboard box.

I try to get up, but my robe catches on the shelf, and when I pull, the unit tips forward. I scream when it falls, and I cover my head to protect it from more plushies, which are now like quicksand around me .

My only saving grace is that the top of the shelf had gotten stuck against the opposite wall, so it can’t crush me. I wade through the toys, shrugging the robe off to leave it behind. This might be what getting a heart attack feels like. I’m dizzy from stress, my heart is pounding like mad, and I know Nico—no, the Christmas Killer is somewhere behind me. Just because he was nice to me to get into my pants doesn’t make him any less of a monster.

He saws off people’s heads and takes their teeth, for fuck’s sake!

I’m about to get up when a hand wraps around my ankle and yanks me back with so much strength I shiver in terror.

“No, please!” I shriek and kick back with my free foot. The pulsating glow of the Christmas lights seeps through the shelves above me, transforming the trap I’ve found myself in into a hallway straight from a horror movie, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go down without a fight.

“You will wait down there as long as I say!” Nico grunts and drags me from under the shelf despite my kicking. He’s no longer the nice guy he tried to present himself as.

I grab the edge of the shelf to keep him from pulling me back, since it seems my weight is nothing for him. When one of my hands slips, I grab the plushies and start throwing them at him with helpless fury. “Let go! I just want to go home!”

But it’s all for nothing. With a forceful tug, he drags me over the floor until I’m under him, terrified and defenseless. I try to kick, to push my thumbs into his eyes, but he rolls me to my stomach as if I weigh nothing, which, I suppose, I do when compared to his muscular form.

It’s only then that I give up on the fight and sob, wondering whether he’ll grab my hair and slam my head against the floor until my skull cracks, or if he’ll rape me beforehand.

I hear a click, and metal cuffs pull my wrists together.

He picks me up, not even bothering to gag me, which tells me screaming would be useless.

He wants to keep me, and I don’t know if an eternity in his Christmas lair isn’t worse than death.