Page 39 of Your Masked Haunting

But his words echo in my mind. “I don’t bluff when it comes to you, Mona. But I might beg.”

“You’re serious.”

“You know who I am at my core, how I care for my person. But this is only the beginning. I intend, with every fiber of my being, to make damn sure you never worry again. Not about where you're sleeping, when your next check is coming, or what your next meal will be. I have the capabilities of giving you the world, Mona, puppeting reality to however you desire.”

“Who—” I pause, studying my masked man in a whole new light. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m yours. That’s all that matters. Not my name. Not my family—who’ll you’ll meet soon enough. And not what I do. When the mask comes off, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Which is when?” I murmur, my gaze skating down from the shiny purple horns of the mask to the stitched leather seams and the creepy mouth. “I want to see you.”

Peering through the mesh over his eyes, I can almost see them clearly in this light. They’re golden brown, and even through the thin fabric, I can see the intensity in his gaze. Overwhelming. Possessive. Feral. Loving. All wrapped up into one ardent stare and aimed right at me.

“Very soon. I promise.” Gentle fingers stroke my sides calmly. “Trust me, the mask’s in place for a reason.” He pauses, like there’s a silent sentence I can’t hear. “Do you trust me?”

Without a beat of hesitation, I nod. “Yeah, I do trust you. Because I’m a gullible, vulnerable girl who’s falling for her masked stalker.”

Squeezing my hips, he jerks me upward, and I giggle as he tickles my sides.

“Falling for me, huh? I knew it. You act all tough and bratty, but you’re secretly the biggest softy.”

I wish I had my fake knife right now because I’d hold it to his throat, but it’s too far away. So, instead of resorting to violence, I tell him the truth. “Only for you.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “Now do me a favor and close your eyes.”

I seal them shut, wondering what he has up his sleeve. But he doesn’t leave me long to guess.

Warm lips press onto mine, soft and tender. Time freezes around us. My hands cup his face, feeling how high he lifted the mask, just enough to give me the connection I was secretly craving.

I don’t know how he knew, how he read me so easily. But then again, he’s aware of things about my youth that I hadn’t shared with him yet. I think the information he knows about me is endless, nothing left but inner thoughts for him to uncover.

The tip of his tongue parts my lips, and I grant him access immediately. But he doesn’t plunge it into my mouth. He strokes it against mine softly, tenderly. Taking his time and savoring every second, like he’s committing it all to memory.

We melt into one another, care and love in each movement, and I’m never going to get enough. I want this, him, forever. I don’t care what his face looks like or who he is. He’s mine, and I’m his.

Slowly, he pulls away, securing the mask over his face as I open my eyes, only catching the tiniest glimpse of his chin.

He pats my side, signaling me to move. “Come on. Let’s go to your room.”

My heart sinks. “Are you going to leave?”

“Are you going to peek?” he retorts, a smile audible in his voice.

If it means he stays, no. Which is what I tell him as he helps me up, along with himself. I gather my clothes, quickly redressing. And I can’t help but giggle at the fake red blood decorating my skin and my clothes, transferred from him.

Once we’re dressed, we blow the candles out and head to my room. My anxiety spikes, but he threads his fingers in mine as he leads me down the dark hallway. It’s empty.

“After you,” he murmurs, releasing the door with the hidden button.

I step inside, and he follows me in, shutting the door behind us.

“Can I steal a makeup wipe or twelve?” He laughs, looking down at the red smeared across his skin.

I nod, grabbing the pack from one of the drawers of my nightstand. “Come here.”

I wipe the fake blood up, and it feels mundane and natural. Everything with him feels like home, like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

He tells me that he’ll be out of town and traveling for a week for work, but he’ll be watching and texting me constantly, other than when he’s in important meetings. He also offers to put me in a hotel while he’s gone if I don’t want to be here with the spirit that is angry at me. But I assure him that I’ll be fine, that half of this is likely my imagination, and even if it’s not, I can handle a little ghost.