Page 30 of Your Masked Haunting

Oh no, a hot masked man is chasing me. What is a girl to do? Maybe I should take my clothes off and throw them at him—to try to trip him up, obviously.

I’ve never been so goddamn excited and turned on. She wants me to find her in a twisted game of hide-and-seek, which is exactly what I intend to do. I knew tonight was going to be magical, but this is even better than I imagined.

She’s awoken a lot of new desires and cravings inside of me. Although maybe they were always there, but she’s the key to setting them free. Regardless, she’s begging for me to give her everything I’ve got, and I can’t wait to feel her come undone while wrapped around me. The anticipation has been eating me alive, but the wait is finally almost over.

She’s my Scaredy-Cat, but she’s got claws of her own, and I want them tearing down my back, carving her possession into my skin while I do the same to hers.

A hand pats my shoulder as I right myself and turn back to our group.

Bates nods sharply, and his voice cuts through the music as he says, “I’ve got the crew. Go have fun with your girl.”

I didn’t need his permission; I was leaving them regardless. But I two-finger salute them all and spin on my heel, my heart racing harder than ever as I stride in the direction she went.

She wants this, and knowing that she’s as dark and twisted as I am does something to the chemistry in my brain. It’s making me feral, and I want nothing more than to leave my marks all over her … handprints on her ass, bite marks on her shoulders, hickeys on her neck and tits.

I want my fucking name branded on her skin, with my cum that she elicited, with permanent ink. I want it all. I want her. In every imaginable way.

“In My Head” by Alfie Castley pulses, the deep bass thumping through the sound system installed in the house. He sings about his head being a nightmare that he can’t escape and ghosts that live in his mind.

He may be referencing anxiety or negative thoughts. But I interpret the song in a much different way. I have the dark part of my mind, the one I’ve always kept at bay, outside of unleashing the demon on the ice from time to time, when he needs a little exertion.

I thought I had to keep these desires hidden. Shame always accompanied them. I felt like I was insane for the things I craved in a relationship and in the bedroom. But with her, I have no shame or cage. I’m free, just like she is. And if I’m insane, then I’m glad she’s just as unwell.

My head is on a swivel as I scan the room and pause on every Ghostface mask until I quickly rule out that it’s not her before continuing deeper into the crowded room. This entire place is packed tonight, and chasing directly after her is going to take too long.

I need to play this smarter. I’m not wasting time running in circles when my tongue could be doing that against her fucking clit. My mouth waters when I think of tasting her, committing every moan and breathy gasp elicited to my memory.

Where would my Scaredy-Cat run?

My boots, matching her Doc Martens, stomp on the ground as I clear the first floor, double-checking at least five Ghostface masks to be absolutely sure she isn’t hiding underneath.

I can’t help but chuckle every time I spot one, thinking of her calling it the cliché masked man. In its defense, Ghostface is a cult classic. There’s a reason so many people dress up as one of the infamous fictional killers every year, and that’s because it’s loved by so many. It can be cliché and badass at the same time.

I knew before my hand pulled each mask back that she wasn’t beneath it. I’d have felt her if she was, the tension between us palpable and thick in the air.

When I find her, I’ll know it’s her without a shred of doubt.

My mind runs rampant, trying to figure out her next steps.

Would she go to her room? I doubt it. She wants to draw this out—at least for a little bit.

She wants to toy with me because she’s a brat with an attitude issue. Of course she doesn’t want to make this easy.

I’m guessing she’s going to hide in a place I can’t reach and get my attention, luring me toward her before darting away again. It’s too loud in here with the music, but I’d bet the most maniacal giggle will be emanating out of her.

Reaching an intersection of hallways, I decide to circle around the corner, back into the main entryway and the floor-to-ceiling fireplace. Which is where I spot her and her lacy tank top and pleatherskirt. She’s a fucking sight, and for a split second, I forget what the hell I’m doing; I just want to stare at her.

She wiggles her fingers, taunting me, baiting me, and, God, I want to bite so badly. She is not winning this game, but I’ll humor her for a brief moment.

Cocking my head side to side, I study her, waiting for her to make the next move.

The party moves around us, the music loud and haunting. The air’s electric and scented like warm spice and apple. She’s like the star in a music video, stagnant with the camera on her face while the background and extras become a blur of motion. But it doesn’t matter because the only person I want to see is her.

The scene is set to perfection, and now I just want to get to the final act of our movie already. Not the one in every scary movie where the bloodbath happens and it’s action-packed. I mean, I want the action, just not the murder. Maybe an engagement, another tattoo or three, and the promise of a life together.

Standing here, facing her with a mile and a million people between us, I wonder if my entire life was shaped to lead me to this very moment with her.

She doesn’t take too long to move our game along when she suddenly darts off, disappearing deeper into the other side of the house. This is going to be impossible.