Page 59 of Who The Hell Are You?

Like a sated kitten, he nestles his face into my neck, kissing and licking at my sweat. He runs a hand through my hair and I've never felt so fucking happy in my entire life. This…This is beyond what I could imagine two humans could experience together. I love him, I really fucking love him so much.

Biting my lip to hold back tears, I clear my throat, focusing on his health instead of my emotions.

“How is your head?”

He groans, “No complaints.”

I laugh, shaking the silly bugger. “Seriously, do you feel ok?”

He yawns, nodding, but keeping pressed tightly into my arms. I let us both come back down before making him shift off of me, my softening dick falling out of him. He winces, slowly sitting up, but I bring him back into me as I sit up too.

“Butt hole ok?”

He winces, “Shut up, don’t ever say butt hole again.”

Smirking like the devil, I raise one eyebrow. “Want another word? How about starfish, rectum, backdoor, anus, sluttyhole–” He smacks his palm into my face, as I manically laugh.

“Shut up.”

“Wow, when did you get so mouthy? I want a refund.”

Rolling his eyes, Cassie gently presses against me and gives my waiting lips a kiss.

“Shower?” He nods, looking down at our bodies covered in cum.

Taking my hands, we help each other get off the bed and he grabs two towels from the back of his door. Walking behind him, I give his butt a little playful slap and kiss the middle of his neck as we waddle to the bathroom.

“This is so unglamorous.” He whines, our laughter following us until it turns into steamy moans as I make us cum again in the shower.

My housemates are asleep when I make it back, but I don’t plan on joining them in slumber.

Sitting on the end of my bed, I slump forward, chin resting in my palm as I stare down at my phone. I study his profile; Inkedreaper. He’s almost at one hundred thousand followers, but I scroll past his bio and look over the thumbnails for each thirst trap he’s posted. There's a pattern, similar to mine and if you compared both our socials, it could tell a story. Our videos push and pull one another, responses, ways to hit back. If he posts a new angle I copy it. If I goad him in a caption, he hit back tenfolds. Some followers notice and beg for us to collaborate on content, even paid. We never let it get that far though, and now it needs to come to an end.

Scrolling back up to the paper plane icon, I open our chat and decide to do the only thing I can think of right now.

Opening my gallery, I scroll through my photos and select one of myself in just my boxers, my blonde waves and face visible, peaking out over the ghostface mask as I hold it up. I add another that I took the night I blindfolded him and sucked his dick; the blue in my eyes twinkling like a thrilling storm. You can clearly see I’m in between his legs, his tied hands over my neck. Just to doom myself further, I attach the outtake version of the video. This one isn’t focused on his muscles contracting, it shows his face as he lets me devour his body, the side of my face visible as I take his dick in one clip.

I hit send.

Sniffling as I feel a build up behind my eyes, I type out two messages.

@Yourghostboy: I love you, baby.

I’m sorry.

25

Iwanted to walk Miles home, but he was having none of it. Fluttering over me whilst I took my pain medication, he cleaned me in the shower, helped me dress and then tucked me into bed like a satisfied burrito. Honestly, I’ve never come so hard in my life and I already want his dick in me again. I feel cold, unsettled and empty. It’s not completely due to me wanting him to use my hole as his own personal sleeve, but the gnawing guilt that he surely must think I’m not completely his. He wanted this open, slow and now we’re boyfriends, without having the exclusive conversation. He told me to experiment and well, I don’t need to. I don’t want to. All I want is him, forever. I thought I’d been in love before, maybe when I was a teen, but this consumes my soul like I’ve found the other half of my heart. We fused them together the moment he pushed inside me and there's no way I’m ever letting him go. I’m in love with Miles, it’s as simple as that.

Grappling with the duvet to untangle myself, I reach out for my phone on the bedside table and know what I need to do. Heading directly to my social media app, I find the only person I’ve ever messaged. There’s no hesitation behind what I type out, hitting send without a second thought. As my message pops up in our chat, at exactly the same time, two photos appear, turning the blood in my veins to ice.

If I thought the pain in my head I’d been experiencing was bad, the shattering of my insides and having the rug whipped out from underneath my feet hurts worse.

This…what the fuck is this?

I stare at a clear photo of Miles holding the same ghostface mask I’d stared into each time he played with me. Each time I submitted, let a total stranger touch my body…it was him the entire time.

He asked me if I wanted him to take the mask off and even though I said no, I think knowing who I am in real life rules out what I want. Did he pursue me? Has this all been some fucked up game to laugh at me later? Oh look at the weird shit Casper is into.