Page 10 of Who The Hell Are You?

I can't see from here what Cass is watching on television, but his entire focus is on the box. He's stretched out on their sofa with a thin blanket haphazardly laid over him, showing mouth watering thick thighs in just the tiniest pair of shorts. His t-shirt has ridden up to show a toned, tattooed stomach, but I can't stop looking at each expression that flickers across his face. He reacts to everything in the show he's watching or film, making me wish I could be inside to ask him all the questions eating away at my brain.

He shifts his position and places a palm against the pillow he’s resting on, his eyelids slow down their blinking. Once, twice, his mouth opens in the cutest ‘o’ and his eyes don't open again.

He's fallen asleep.

Slowly twisting the cap back onto my flask, I lower it down into my backpack that's by my feet, never taking my eyes off his sleeping form. Not wanting to waste any time if this is my only opportunity, I quietly shift my bag onto my back, creep out from the bushes and head around back. The double doors were silent when I tested them earlier, so I know they won't make a sound if I open them. I don't even hesitate, which maybe is something I should see a therapist about, if I cared enough about my actions. This is all for the greater good. I hold back a snort, trying to stop myself from word vomiting quotes from Hot Fuzz. Banging film.

Pushing down the handle, I slowly ease the door open and place one foot inside. A blast of heat tickles my skin and I'm thankful, because what I plan to do next will not look good with ghastly white, pebbled cold goosebumps.

Closing the door behind me, I ease my way into the house, not wanting to risk any noise so I slip off my vans to minimise any shoe scuffing against vinyl. The television is turned low, but the hum of chatter from what I see is a new detective show, is loud enough that I won't wake him.

God, Cass is right there. Sprawled out just for me. I breathe, hoping for a hit of that woodsy smell that was all over me in the coffee shop, but he's too far away and I daren't creep closer. He cannot know I'm here, especially not before I start our game.

Taking note of the show he's watching, I retreat from the living room and wait for an especially loud scene on the television to head up the staircase. Who knew the key to stalking around unfound is perfectly silent floorboards? I don't make one sound. Taking my phone out of my jeans pocket, I use the torch to get around the landing. There’s one door at the top of the stairs I assume is the bathroom because it is separate from the other three. What is even more perfect is that two doors next to one another are locked, the last one opens just a slither. If Cass’s aftershave doesn’t give away this as his room, then my hoody he still hasn't returned, thrown across his desk chair does.

The urge to take something as a souvenir is overwhelming, sending tingles over my skin. I'm getting away with breaking into his room. This is like every dark romance act one, I've ever read. I should take notes, remember my steps in case I need to write this down one day.

Closing the door behind me, I let my phone torch guide me to beside his bed, where I turn on his bedside lamp. He's very neat for a guy, so it'll be easy not to move anything out of place. Dumping my backpack onto his desk chair, I run my finger over my hoodie and decide he can officially keep it. The idea of him wearing it whilst sitting in this bed makes my dick start to thicken, which can't hurt for what I plan to do next.

Unzipping my coat, I lay it over the desk and grab my t-shirt by the neck to peel it over my head. It lands on top of the desk too and next comes my jeans, leaving me in tight black boxers. Digging into my bag, I pull out the ghostface mask and waste no time. I already have the perfect song in mind for the video, so hoping the television downstairs drowns out any noise I make, I find Bed Chem on Spotify and let it play.

“It's showtime.” I clap my hands together, rolling my hips as I get into character. Sliding across his carpet in my socks, I feel giddy as I shake my shoulders uncoordinated. I might not send him it straight away, but I definitely will be testing Cass with footage of me getting up to no good in his bed. Maybe I'll post it when I need to give him a little push in the right direction–the direction is me, not fucking ignorant Grace.

Lifting the camera up, I make sure his bed is in the background and I use the bedside lamp to cast a warm glow against my flat stomach, creating shadows on my pecks. I tilt my head to the side as I record, wiggling my hips, which is probably the only dance moves I have. Flopping back onto his bed, I lift my arm to flex it against his pillows, gripping part of the headboard. The mask looks threatening, but the way I arch my back is so fucking suggestive, I'd be surprised if he doesn't think about me like this right on top of his sheets, each time he gets into bed. He has to. Moving my arm down the bed, I focus the camera on the action and try to show more of the checked sheets. Cass needs to see I was here. Moving the camera lower, you can see the faint trail of hair that runs center down under the waistband of my underwear. I arch my back again and just as Sabrina sings “Come right on me,” I sit up and stare menacing into the camera. Well, the ghostface mask does, because it looks terrifying as I loom over my phone. I'm gonna stop the music there and add text telling him to come ride on me. If I follow the pattern of his reaction when I reached out and his messages earlier in the supermarket, he's going to be furious. It'll be fucking fantastic.

Hitting stop on the video and music, I throw the phone down and don't waste any more time. I've pushed my luck enough. I'll edit the thing and actually add the same audio when I plan to shake up his life.

Throwing my clothes back on, I trail my fingers again over the hoodie I left him and decide to do something even better. Finding the bottle of spicy body spray I keep in my bag after the gym, I straighten up the pillows on his bed and spray all over them. His covers too, for good measure. He's going to sleep with me in his lungs and hopefully it'll cling to his skin tomorrow.

Pulling the mask off, I smirk down at my work and nearly kick my feet with glee. I'm so fucking happy. Heading over to his drawers, I do nosy in the top set and pocket a silky pair of his underwear. Those will be very useful later.

Making sure to close them quietly, I check I have everything back in my bag, before I throw it over my shoulder and turn the lamp off. The room descends into darkness once more and it's like I was never here.

Walking down the stairs on the balls of my feet, when I get to the bottom I slowly look around the door of the living room, and Cass is still there. I can hear his long sets of breathing just over the show playing, meaning he’s really in a deep sleep. I can't resist the pull of his body, my feet on autopilot as something tugs me towards his sleeping figure. It honest to god feels like an entity has its claws gripped inside me, drawing me in. His thick, dark eyelashes rest on his cheeks and they look so soft.

Swallowing thickly, I’m standing so close to him that I resist the flutter in my hands, everything screaming at me to gently run my fingertips over his curls. Fuck I have to stop. I tell myself it's the fear of him waking up, over the unknown of what the hell I'm doing here, that has me backing away and eventually exiting the house. I go the way I came in, through the back garden doors and hope to maybe satan that his house-mate leaves them unlocked again.

Gripping my cock with the silky black fabric of Cass’s underwear, the sensation is depraved enough that I conjure his presence against my skin. I'm panting hard, moving my hand up and down as I think of doing this in his room. Fuck, I would have exploded within seconds if I was in his bed right now.

This is wrong, so so wrong, but the more I think of how tonight went, the more my spine tingles with want and need for release. He's not mine, I shouldn't be doing this.

He's not mine, yet.

Gasping for air that can't reach my lungs quick enough, I come into the underwear. My entire body seizes up and I really do applaud my imagination, because I can almost feel his hand strangling my dick, instead of my own over the material. Not stopping until I'm completely spent, once I start to soften I use the boxers to clean up the cum. A shoddy job, but I throw them onto my bedroom floor and fall back against my pillow. Even though I'm physically exhausted, my mind races with plans of finding out more about Cass. He'll probably have rugby tomorrow, which duh–I’ll be there. Eagerly watching from the shadows. Then I have errands to finally run. I want to grab something for Cass, something I know he’ll come to love after he potentially tries to track Yourghostboy down and kill me.

5

Early rugby practise is grueling and it's not due to the cold air that catches in my throat with each breath. I'm distracted, tripping over my own feet the entire time we're out on the field. Our next game against Nottingham isn't until next week, but I still feel like I shouldn't be this out of touch with doing my best. I'm all over the place and ended our time flopping over the bench. Harris seems just as tired as myself, head low whenever we paused from a drill.

I lie to myself the entire time I play badly and mess up plays, repeating I'm just tired like a dying man's mantra. I'm tired because I somehow developed insomnia thinking about why the hell I’d given in so easily and almost sent a photo to my masked stranger. Also, my entire room seemed to smell like the seasonal section in a candle store. I can't for the life of me figure out why, so even though I had a blissful sleep, snuggled in the perfect spiced coffee smell; I'm on edge.

I have no clue who the guy is, I should have blocked him when the first message came through. Thankfully I had come to my senses and not sent the picture. He’s an annoyance trying to provoke me into god knows what and I need to keep my head clear. Whoever it is, is fucking with me. What if it's one of the guys on the rugby team? I'm pretty solid with all the guys, even if there are one or two I don't trust wholeheartedly. Being into men wouldn't be cool with the entire team. I can safely say the larger majority wouldn't give a shit, but those few…yeah I don't trust them. I've seen how they sometimes look at Em.

Dragging my sore body up the driveway, I’m ready to throw myself into bed after a quick shower and not move till at least the evening. Grace deciding to cancel our weekend together should have hurt more than it did. I was pissed, yeah, but I was more annoyed she hadn't bothered to ask how my now empty weekend was going. I kind of relished the rare quiet. I never had time to myself really, the boys had always made sure we filled our time together as much as possible. It was nice to catch up on my laundry, cook and plant myself in front of the television. I actually started a series that had been on my to watch list for months, so given the time to do so, I stopped feeling sour because she wasn't spending time with me.

Reaching the small porch, I feel that renewed calmness crack as I eye a brown parcel box sitting Infront of the door. It doesn't have a label, but in bold black marker is my name, with a drawn ghost next to it.

I fucking swear on all that is holy.