Chapter Nineteen
VIOLET
The toy goes dead as do the texts on my phone.
It’s like the trail I’m following goes dead.
The path The Ghost has me walk home on takes me along the quieter sections of the streets of Brooklyn, but I don’t mind. Even though I desperately want to spin and see if I can catch him behind me.
I’m thinking I could, because while it isn’t late, there aren’t that many people out on the residential route he set me on.
I don’t, though.
He told me not to.
I suck in a breath.
Did I look like a colt or baby giraffe, walking for the first time as I got up in the restaurant?
Lia handed me the water when I faked the coughing fit, breaking her funny story about work…at least, I think it was funny, only parts of it drift through my head now. I was too wrapped up in what was going on in me to listen properly.
Oh, hell, did he make me come, and hard.
I tried to look around, but there were too many shadows. And I don’t even know who he is, what he looks like.
The most disconcerting part was when I caught a man looking just for a moment, and I thought…it could be The Ghost. But he wasn’t watching me, and me superimposing the impression of Cade on him only muddied the waters.
I don’t want to think about my ex-boyfriend’s brother. Not when the aftermath of the orgasm is still reverberating. Not when The Ghost made the toy buzz for some of the walk.
Lia must think I’m a maniac, gripping the table, coughing, clenching my teeth, acting like…well, someone who’s trying to fob off an orgasm and failing.
But she seemed more concerned when we got outside, offering me a ride home, raising a brow when I shouted no at her. I just then followed that with I wanted to walk and clear my head before tomorrow’s workday.
I waver in my step.
That orgasm.
It was…like nothing in my life. The intensity…the fact I had no control at all.
Sure, I only have some control during sex, but I do my part to get myself off. This was different.
This was why he lectured me about the realness of things, about hard limits and safe words.
I start to walk again.
He must be planning something.
So, I try to relax. But it’s hard.
Someone approaches from behind, and I tense up, but a guy just says, “Excuse me,” and passes me by with a friend.
I turn the final corner, alone.
The toy’s not working, either, and I approach my apartment building.
I take my time unlocking the downstairs door.
No one comes up behind me, crowding me into the foyer.
And, as I lock the door and climb the stairs, I open my studio apartment’s door, heart thumping.
He was in here this morning, so maybe…
But even as I rush to check the bathroom, I know the place is empty.
It’s essentially one big room with a bathroom. It’s affordable and room enough for me, so if someone were here, I’d know.
Disappointment floods me as I sit on my bed and kick off my shoes.
Me
Should I take out the toy?
He takes a long time to respond, and I put my shoes away and pull out my Kermit PJs and turn on the shower.
I do look about for cameras, but I still can’t see a thing. Even tiny ones would be easy enough to spot, right?
Ghost
It’s of no use to you right now.
I frown, glaring at the phone. All of that, of making sure I understand to make him stop I need to use my safe word, of making me walk home a long and meandering way and him not doing a thing.
Not jumping me.
Not chasing me.
Not waiting for me.
Probably not even following me.
Me
Did you follow me home?
He doesn’t respond.
Five minutes later, and he’s still not responding.
I growl low.
I get up and strip and stomp into the bathroom and shower. I want to go slow and put on a show, but he wouldn’t put a camera in here, would he?
I swallow hard as I pull out the toy, washing it and then half stepping out to put it on the sink so I can wash it properly with the rose.
Which was exactly where I’d left it this morning.
Not that I expected The Ghost to touch it.
As I go to get back under the water, I look up at the ceiling and then over at the toilet.
He wouldn’t…would he? That’s a step too far.
I frown as I lather up and wash myself, like I’m trying to wash off the touch of a ghost.
But he hasn’t actually touched me. Has he?
I don’t know.
Maybe he did when I slept, but after his lecture on the way home about everything I don’t know, my mind is swirling, and I try to get a footing, find a concrete place to cling to and rest.
“Cement.”
Maybe I need a stop to it all. Just for a while. Just to get myself in order.
“Cement,” I say again. Then I take a deep breath and shout it. “Cement. Cement, cement, cement!”
I laugh a little as I rinse off and step out of the shower, drying myself, then I pull on my PJs, not bothering with underwear. The shorts are enough. And I’m about as unsexy as I can be.
I flop on my bed and open my computer. I do have a TV, but more often than not I watch something on my computer.
Finding my favorite streaming service, I put on something fun and dumb.
Then, when I’m calm, I pick up my phone.
He still hasn’t responded to my text.
Now I’m frustrated and disappointed and tied up in knots.
Me
I’m disappointed you didn’t do anything after…you know. All the lecturing about safe words I thought…
I leave it, like I’m dangling something for him.
The phone stays silent.
I flip it over and watch the next episode.
As it ends, I flip my phone back up, and there’s still nothing.
My temper’s starting to simmer.
Me
I thought you were going to fulfill my fantasy.
Still nothing.
I growl again. And the anger flares bright, spitting hot acid everywhere.
Me
Is this part of your game? Make a girl come in public, then dangle promises in front of her only to rip it all away?
Still nothing.
Me
Or maybe you’re just a tease who can’t get it up.
My finger hovers, but fuck it, I press send. If he can’t take it, then I’m better off.
I didn’t allow him to break in and do all of that to me in a restaurant only for him now not to go through with the fantasy.
Or if this is the fantasy, him never seeing me, never touching me, then I don’t want it.
I could read stories and get myself off if I wanted that kind of stimulation. It’s what I’ve been doing to supplement things with Jack for a while.
A twinge of guilt hits me. But I quash it down.
I never cheated on Jack.
He watches porn, these dark desires are mine, or were mine, while we were together. This…this is meant to be something different. Something real.
A step into the world I want to explore now that I’m single.
I brush my teeth and then watch one more episode before checking my phone one last time.
The Ghost hasn’t contacted me and this time, it’s not anger, but heaviness that invades, and I put my computer away, turn off the lights and get into bed.
I’m just a little sick inside from the fact he built everything up, that orgasm seemed to be part of the build, not the main event, and then…nothing.
I don’t know him. And I let him do all that.
I’m a fool. Na?ve. Hell.
But I don’t touch myself, even though I’m bizarrely frustrated in that way. I mean, I had an incredible orgasm, but like I said, it seemed to be a taster, not the feast.
I don’t think he’s watching, and the cameras might not even be on.
In a way, I sort of want to turn into one of the Furies and rip my apartment apart, destroying any and all cameras I might find.
But if there are some, I’d much rather him sit there waiting for another show. Which he isn’t getting.
I vow not to answer his next text for ages. And with that thought in my head, pathetic as it is, I fall asleep.
My eyes snap open in the darkness.
My heart beats hard, like something’s dragged me from sleep.
Something that shouldn’t be there.
I sit up, looking around in the darkness, but nothing seems to move, no shapes in the black blanket of the studio shifts.
Maybe I should get some water.
I move to turn on the light when a floorboard creaks.
I freeze.
My heart’s wild now, hammering like mad, and I start to rise when someone grabs me and pushes me down, face first, into my pillow.
Everything in me turns bright and electric.
My stomach bottoms out as heat rises because I smell a cologne that’s spiced, with a familiar edge, yet it’s nothing I’ve smelled on another man.
I whimper, fighting to get free as warm breath feathers against back of my throat and lips touch me.
Terror mingles with dark erotic need.
Those lips are soft, the breath like a lick against my skin.
Even that firm and rough grip holds silk.
His teeth sink lightly in.
Now my insides quiver, and my stomach swoops.
And he sucks.
I moan.
“No…please…” The words push free.
He—it has to be The Ghost—trails his tongue up to my ear and a rough, low voice like gravel whispers to me, “Remember your safe word.”
I gulp out a sob.
I knew it. Knew it. From the moment he touched me. Like a part of me understood.
The dark delight tumbles.
It is him, and his touch is fire on me, the kind that stokes desire.
One of his hands lets me go, but the other pushes me into bed a moment, like he’s telling me not to move. And I don’t.
Yet.
I don’t know what he’s going to do.
I’m trapped, caught.
He’s strong.
And I don’t know what he looks like. “Please…”
He doesn’t answer me. Just slips something over my head and settles it over my eyes.
Oh. God. A blindfold.
I listen for the telltale click of my lamp as he lets me go, but all he does is roll me to my back.
He takes my hands and ties them, securing them to my bed board, and I start to struggle.
I want to see him, I need to see him.
Cement pushes at me, but I swallow the word down.
I don’t want to say it. I can’t.
I need this more than seeing him.
He steps back, and I hear it. That click.
I imagine the soft light spilling over the room, but the blindfold’s designed for purpose. Not one drop of light leaks in.