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“I’m fucking freezing,” she says.

The gas mask makes her voice sound far away, but her words still slam straight through me. Of course. I don’t feel the cold as acutely as she does.

I step inside, swing the door shut. The thin walls rattle a little, and Penelope smiles that wicked smile. My cock throbs.

“That’s better,” she says. I don’t know if she means the shut door or the fact that I’m wearing the mask.

Then she sits up and slides onto all fours, one smooth and balletic motion. The sight of her like that, her heavy breasts hanging down, her ass lifted just enough for me to see it behind her tousled hair, makes me suck in my breath.

“Fuck, that mask does it for me,” she breathes out, like she’s talking to herself. I stalk toward her, my erection uncomfortable, and it feels like we’re playing a game, like I’m not myself but some horror movie killer, and she’s not Penelope or a Mary but some actress with a breathtakingly beautiful scream.

My thighs knock up against the side of the bed, and Penelope licks her lips as she lifts her gaze up the length of my torso, and I can’t stand another fucking second of it. I wrench my zipper down and drag out my cock, thick and heavy and aching. Her eyes drop down to it. Her lips part.

Then she pulls me into her mouth.

I groan at the moist heat of her tongue, especially after having been out in the cold. She teases my cockhead, licking away my precum, flicking against the underside of the head. It’s excruciating.

“More,” I rasp.

Penelope hums around me, sounding amused. But she does obey, dragging my length over her silken tongue. I groan and drop my head back, forcing myself to stay still and not slam the full length of my cock down her throat the way I want to. You have to be careful with human women, after all. They’re delicate, and they can die so easily.

But Penelope also clearly isn’t some blushing virgin, like the women I knew throughout most of my youth. She swallows me bit by bit, pulling me deeper into the canal of her throat, and I let the pleasure wash over me. It’s been ages since I’ve had my cock sucked, and even longer since I had it sucked like this, the whole length of it disappearing into a warm, wet mouth.

When she reaches my base, her nose buried in my pubic hair, she stops, breathing around me. I press my fingers into her scalp, vaguely holding her in place, and imagine her choking and sputtering, her lungs losing air. My cock throbs a few beats closer to orgasm.

Then she drags her head back, revealing the hard, slick flesh of my erection. Slides forward again. Back and forth, fucking me with her mouth.

I’m not going to last. I squeeze her hair up in my fist, guiding her head along the length of my cock, watching her through the distorted glass of my mask’s eye holes. It’s a beautiful sight: her wind-touseled hair, the long sinuous curve of her spine, the swell of her ass. And when combined with the worshipful rhythm of her mouth, I know I’m done for.

My hips rock against her, moving of their own accord. She doesn’t falter once, and the scent of her pleasure mingles with mine, perfuming the stale air of the motel room. I thrust harder. She matches the rhythm, sucking hard and swallowing me down. It’s too much. It feels too fucking good.

I slam my full length inside her when pleasure overtakes me, my cock pulsing and jerking as my cum spills down her throat. She swallows it neatly and then pulls away, her lips red and swollen and shiny, her cheeks flushed.

“I thought you’d last longer,” she says dolefully.

I smile even though she can’t see it. She’s goading me, like she did yesterday. Just with words instead of a knife.

I wrap her hair around my knuckles and force her head back. Penelope gasps a little, her desire pulsing.

“Lie back,” I tell her.

She doesn’t move, so I push her. Hard. She slams back on the bed, laughing a little, fear trying to be mockery. But she also spreads her legs, revealing the dark thatch of hair and the glistening seam hidden inside it.

“I see why you’re disappointed,” I say, and my voice feels like it belongs to someone else. “That got you wet, didn’t it? Sucking my cock?”

Penelope’s response is to snake her hand down and toy with her clit. I grab her wrist.

“No.” The word erupts out of me like I’m taunting a victim trying to escape. “No, that’s my job.”

Then, with my other hand, I slide my cock back in my jeans and zip them up. I like it this way: me fully clothed, her fully naked. I want her to remember how vulnerable she is.

And then I crawl on top of her.

14

PENELOPE

Victor cages me with his body, his arms on either side of my head, his legs spread around me. In that gas mask and dark clothes, he’s the kind of boogeyman serial killer kids have nightmares about. The shadowy figure that creeps into your roadside motel and stabs you to death in a shower.