“There was so much blood,” I stutter, attempting to run my hand through my hair. Although it’s a sticky, tangled mess from the beer that was splashed in my face.
“You good?” Ghost asks me.
That voice. So powerful, so throaty, it makes me weak.
“Yeah,” I say, brushing out a knot with my fingers. “I’m fine.”
“I have this urge to kill—” he hesitates, his voice low. “—anyone who touches you.”
My eyes widen without my permission, and my lips part.
Holy shit. Did he really just say that?
“Do I know you?” I ask.
He steps forward, closing the small space between us. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“I don’t recognize your voice,” I let out.
With that, he turns toward his friend.
The Jason Voorhees mask he’s wearing is frightening. I’ve never been a huge fan of Friday the 13th, or any horror films in general, for that matter. Yet, there’s something about his broody, mysterious presence that has me completely aroused.
He’s tall, too, although maybe a bit shorter than Ghost, and his build is huge. Even though he’s wearing a bulky jacket, it’s not hard to tell.
“Did that guy hurt you?” Jason asks.
His voice also sends a chill down my spine. God help me.
Although, there’s a voice in my head that says, “God isn’t here right now.”
Now I know how Elena Gilbert felt, torn between two men.
“No. He didn’t have the chance to hurt me,” I anxiously reply, gazing up at Ghost with gratitude. “Thanks to you.”
“He knows what he wants,” Jason speaks up.
“Oh?” I sheepishly question, taken back. “And what does he want, exactly?”
Ghost steps toward me, inching closer. Closer.
Staring up at his mask, I swallow hard.
“Don’t ask him, little Quinn,” Ghost says. “Ask me directly.”
A warm, fuzzy feeling washes over me from his seductive tone. “What do you want?” I finally ask, barely any sound to my voice.
“Silly girl,” he smugly retorts. “I want what every other guy in this party wants.”
He reaches to my hair, brushing it over my shoulder, his black, leather gloves lightly brushing against my neck. I feel so exposed as he stands over me.
Vulnerable.
“Say it,” I urge, gathering the robe over his chest in my hands. “Tell me what you want.”
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you?”
Without warning, the door opens, slamming against the wall with a loud thud. The music pours into the room, completely ruining the moment.
Someone dressed as Michael Myers stands in the doorway. How is every one of them taller than six feet? I’ve been reading too many smut books lately, and I clearly haven’t gotten out enough.
“Got your text,” Michael says, revealing that he is their friend.
“Couldn’t have been any better with your timing,” Ghost dryly mutters, dismissing them with a single wave of his hand.
The second the door shuts behind them, he gazes down at me in silence. I can almost make out the outline of his eyes from the dim light on the other side of the room. Suddenly, my heart begins to pound at the thought of us finally being alone with one another.
What am I doing? What am I thinking?
This is so unlike me.
Although, that’s the thing. Tonight, I can be whoever the hell I want to be.
And for once in my life, I choose to be reckless.
Chapter 2
“You asked what I want,” he says, inching closer as I lose my ability to breathe. “I’ve been watching you all goddamn night. I want to fuck the sadness out of you until you’re screaming in ecstasy while coming around my cock.”
A hushed moan escapes my trembling lips as he lights a burning desire within me. I’ve never felt this way before. So hot and undeniably bothered. An ache settles between my legs, and warmth blushes over my skin. I can literally feel my clit pulsing, begging for his tongue, and I can’t seem to fight the urge of tearing off his costume.
“I want to explore every inch of that sexy little body you got there,” he boldly says. “Such a sexy piece of ass, you are, little Quinn.”
Another quiet moan leaves my lips without my permission.
“You like it when I call you that, don’t you, baby?”
“Little Quinn,” I echo his words, infatuated.
“There it is,” he coos, taking my jaw in his hand, ensuring I look directly into the eyes of his mask. “Now tell me. If I were to slip my hand between your thighs, right now, how wet would you be for me?”