Before I can ask for more details, he swings his ax across the air, sending shards of glass flying into the trees that border the road. Then he lowers me onto the hood of my car. He looms over me, his monstrous pumpkin the only source of light. “Jack?” I croak. “Lift your skirts,” he says, his voice a rough command. My clit throbs as I gather the lower half of my dress and petticoat over my hips. A cool breeze blows over my exposed thighs, making the skin there tighten into goosebumps. “Push your drawers to one side.” It takes a second to register that he’s referring to my knickers. As I
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