It’s the only plausible explanation. But dream-me would not be this aware of the fact that he is shirtless under that ragged coat. I bet his arms are lean, strong, smeared with faint streaks of grime, like he’s been digging through the city itself.
I feel a bead of sweat run down my neck. God. Even now, my curse is trying to sabotage me.
He notices me staring. Then he flashes a big, toothy grin. “You’re looking at me like I’m thefilthiestthing you’ve ever seen.” And I can tell he’s saying filthy as if it’s synonymous with sexy.
I don’t play into it. “That’s because youliterallycrawled out of a bin.” I point to the bin under him, which he responds by uncrossing his legs. As they uncross, his quads and calves tense and flex–I do my best to ignore it. Maybe it is just a trick of the light?Nope.The sheen of bin juice shimmered over themand caught every ripple of muscle. I breathe slowly, trying to maintain composure.
He hums again, smiling to himself like it isn’t an insult. “And yet, you can’t seem to look away.”
I scowl. Heat creeps up my neck, and I adjust my collar. “That’s…gotnothingto do with you. It’s a–” I clamp my mouth shut. Nope. I am not explaining my humiliating personal hell to a bin ghost.
But his grin stretches; it’s wicked and all-knowing. I gulp, wanting to wipe the sweat from my brow.
“Oh!” he says, eyes glinting with realisation and something else–delight, maybe? “You’rethatguy!”
I take a step back, mop still in my hand but now by my side. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? What guy?”
He stands now, half of his body phasing through the top of the bin. I hadn’t realised how much of his torso had been hidden while he sat hunched over with a flannel shirt–now that he’s vertical, I can see more of him.Somuch more of him. I avert my eyes–the last thing I need is my dick to get hard right now, and given there’s a gorgeous man covered in trash in front of me? I’m struggling.
“You’rethatguy who gets hard overgarbage.” He says garbage long and seductively and then leans forward to inspect me. “I thought you were a rumour, amyth. The janitor who gets turned on by trash.”
My stomach drops, and my blood runs ice cold. This is so humiliating. Who is talking about me? Why? Surely the entire non-human community has other, stranger, better things to gossip about. The idea that my name being thrown around in this manner now makes me feel sick.
He laughs. It’s a friendly laugh. Which somehow makes this worse. “Relax. I don’t judge. I mean, we all have our weird little habits.”
Habit. The word pricks up my ears, and something intense runs in my blood. Anger, and maybe a little indignation.
“This isn’t a habit. You think Iwillinglywant to jerk it to food scraps and empty coffee cups?” I’m conflicted.
As far as he knows, how I feel about trash is my choice. A kink. It’s not. I am fighting the urge not to blurt it out, but I am losing the battle between my arousal and the truth.
“I’m cursed–” The words fall out of my mouth faster than I can stop myself. I snap my mouth shut.
But it’s too late. His expression sharpens, intrigued. “Oh?” he goes to continue, but whatever words he had formed die on his tongue as his eyes land down at my waist.
I follow his line of sight and can see, and feel, that I am rock hard. The tension pulses against the material of my janitor overalls. As if one flex would rip a hole through it.
Shit!
I try to hide it with the broom, but, well… the handle isdefinitelynot adequate. Like a strand of hay blocking a power pole.
His grin stretches wider, staring at my bulging crotch as I stand there blushing. “Nowthatis interesting.”
I stand frozen, my face in flames. Despite my embarrassment, my dick seems to have a mind of its own; in fact, it seems to only get harder with each passing second.
His grin stretches wider, sharp canine teeth peeking out like he’s just been handed the most interesting piece of gossip. He phases through the bin entirely, sits back down on the lid and looks me up and down, and the way his eyes trail over me, it’s like he sees me as this fascinating puzzle he needs to put together.
The non-cursed me would be freaked out and already running away. But my cursed form is pulling me to him like a magnet. I am in a tug of war between what is right, whatis decent, and wanting to fuck the shit out of this trash ghost. Which wouldn’t be decent. But it would be a good time and exactly what my dick was begging for as it flexed again.
“You weren’t kidding,” he murmurs. I hate how pleased he sounds. “That’s quite the… err,reaction.”
My pulse is fast; it thumps in my ears like a drumbeat. And my dick flexes with desire, begging me to relieve it. I push away the thought, but that seems to make it ache more.The fucking thing has a mind of its own!
He moves closer. I say, “Don’t,” but it’s quieter than I intend.
“Don’twhat?” his voice drips with amusement. “I’m just standing here, minding my business. You’re the one getting worked up over a trashcan.” He points between his legs.
I catch myself licking my lips. I stop and let out a heavy breath. He looks back up at me.
