Chapter 17
GALINA
“So…”
Nervousness gallops through my chest. I turn to flash a lopsided smile at The Ghost Prince as we stand in the shadows outside The Atheneum, like this is that awkward moment in a first date in a romcom.
I had a good time tonight.
Thank you for dinner.
Would you like to come in for coffee?
But this is no romantic comedy. I’m not sure you could label anything that just happened back at Roche Hall as “romance” of any kind.
More like primal release. The explosive charge of a bullet leaving a gun. Mad eroticism and praise wrapped up and tied with a dark bow as I came, digging my nails into his body and feeling his cum cover my skin like he was branding me.
Now, inexplicably, he’s walked me home.
…With his cum still dripping down my thighs and drying on my skin.
And they say chivalry is dead.
Jokes aside, there really is a strange chivalry to this man who wears a military combat mask while he dry humps knives and breaks into my room to plant spy cameras and steal my underwear.
After we were done at Roche Hall, he went to a bag stashed off to the side and pulled out a t-shirt for him, a hoodie for me, and wet wipes which he then used to clean some of the the cum from between my legs.
Yeah, “strangely chivalrous” is exactly the way to put it.
And on top of all that, he’s now walked me home.
“So, this is me,” I say like a complete dork as I turn to gesture at The Atheneum.
The Ghost Prince’s head tips slightly to the side.
“I…know.”
My smile tightens as I cringe inwardly.
Yeah, he knows.
Spy camera? Thieved panties? Stolen sex toy?
Ringing any bells, self?
I swallow as I chew on my bottom lip, unsure what I’m supposed to say next.
The fantasy is over. But he’s still here. And I like that he is, instead of just fading back into the shadows.
My brows knit as I raise my gaze to his masked face. “Is it…” I frown deeper. “Is it weird to thank you for tonight?”
“You’re welcome,” he murmurs. I swear there's a hint of amusement in his modulated tone.
“I mean, it’s always good to be polite, right?”
He doesn’t make a sound, but his shoulders move up and down like he’s stifling a laugh.
“Was that an actual giggle?” I tease, grinning at him.
“I don’t giggle.”
“No, of course not,” I say seriously, frowning. “Masked guys don’t.”
“Yeah, kills the aesthetic,” he growls.
I grin wider. “Do you also not turn around for explosions, cool-guy style?”
“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I generally run away from explosions. Aesthetics be fucked. I enjoy being alive.”
A bright, genuine laugh escapes my throat before I can stop myself. Heat floods my face, and my eyes gleam a little as I look up at him again.
“Seriously, thank you,” I say quietly. “I had a really nice night.”
“Is this the part where you invite me up for coffee?”
I laugh. “Okay, Mr. Romcom expert.”
“Meh. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”
My jaw drops open in mock horror. “How very dare you!”
“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” The Ghost Prince rumbles.
“But they are predictable. The underwhelming status quo followed by the meet-cute. The spark. The midpoint complication. The breakup, and the eventual and obvious reunion. Mix with comedic relief roommate and quirky gal-pal friend. Sprinkle with cute pet or sassy child. Bake at three-fifty for an hour and forty minutes.”
Okay, the possessiveness, the darkness, the kinky sex, the dirty talk…those all feel like par the course for this guy.
Being able to outline the plot of a romcom to a tee was not on my masked psychopath bingo card.
“Okay, so you are a romcom expert,” I grin.
“Like I said, you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”
My lips curl impishly. “Yeah, but…I bet you've seen more than one, haven't you?” I tease.
“Get upstairs, Galina,” he growls with just the right amount of menace in his tone.
I grin. “Or?”
Tightness cinches my throat as the Ghost Prince oozes into my personal space.
“Or I might not be able to stop myself from putting you on your hands and knees right here in the dark and stuffing every inch of my cock into that tight virgin pussy, little villain.”
My breath catches as my eyes go wide.
Oh.
For one insane second, I almost keep needling him. Hell, I almost drop to my hands and knees and tell him to do his worst.
But, I mean, there are limits.
“So…” I chew on my lip. “How does this work now?”
A shiver ripples through me as he lightly clasps my chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting my gaze directly into the inky blackness of his mask.
“How does what work?”
Heat stains my cheeks. “I mean…” My throat works. “This game of ours.”
“You mean me stalking you?”
My skin sizzles with an electric charge that zips right to my core.
“Yes,” I say. “I…I mean, I…”
“You don’t want me to stop.”
I shake my head side to side decisively, my breath coming quicker.
“Then I won’t,” he murmurs quietly.
We stay standing there in the shadows of the old building, the gleam of the moon glinting off the branches of the trees above us and creating manic white patterns on our faces.
His, masked. Mine, not.
I don’t just mean because I’m literally not wearing one. I mean because there’s something about this man that strips the everyday mask from my face.
He peels back my Persona and lets my Shadow out to play.
My heartbeat quickens as I look up into the blank spaces of his mask where his eyes would be, looking down into mine. For a second, I imagine what it would be like if this were a “normal” date. If he was a normal guy. If I was a normal girl.
I think I’d want him to kiss me. Or maybe I’d kiss him?
The wind blows lightly, shifting the branches and making the moonlight dance across his mask.
I’ve never even seen his face.
I’ve gone further with this man sexually than I ever have with anyone. And I don’t even know his name, or what he looks like.
What color his eyes are. Or his hair.
If he has dimples. Hell, if he ever smiles.
“What’s your name?”
Jesus fucking Christ, self…
My face immediately scrunches up.
“Yikes, okay, yeah…” I wince. “Rewind. I never said that.”
“Pretty sure you did. I was there.”
I give him a bratty look, sticking out my bottom lip. “Please?”
He sighs. “Fine. Rewound. Recorded over. Erased.”
I grin. “Thanks.”
“I don’t think you really want to know, anyway,” he says. He’s still holding my chin, and I shiver as his thumb drags lightly back and forth over my skin.
“I don’t think so either,” I say with zero conviction.
Or do I?
“It’s just…” I frown. “I mean, I know every woman on MaskTok would tell me to just shut the fuck up and enjoy it, because it’s you…”
A chuckling sound rumbles from behind his mask. “Careful. My ego doesn’t need any more stoking, believe me.”
I giggle. “Well, what are you looking for when you take your shirt off and go online to…you know, do your thing?”
“Food.”
I frown. “As in…”
“For my ego.”
I laugh loudly and my eyes flick to where his mouth would be if he wasn’t wearing his mask.
God, I really do want to kiss him.
“What are you looking for when you do the same thing?” he says quietly.
I smirk. “Hey now, mister, I keep my shirt on.”
“Kinda,” he grunts.
My brow quirks up. “Is that a complaint?”
“Not in the least.”
I flash him a smile before I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess maybe I was looking for a way to express myself, but, like, anonymously? Maybe I wanted to let a certain part of myself out without fear of judgment and all the awkward questions?” I sigh. “I dunno. I guess that must sound insane.”
“She says to a man who dry humps knives for likes.”
I giggle. “And the stalking. Don’t forget the stalking.”
“I can assure you, Galina, I won’t.”
Heat floods my face as he steps close. “You should go upstairs before your suitemate looks outside and worries you’re the next victim of the Shoreline Killer.”
My pulse jangles. “Is that your way of reassuring me you’re not the Shoreline Killer?”
He chuckles. It’s still robotic, but it eases my galloping pulse.
“You can relax. Knives aren’t really my thing.”
I snort. “You just dry hump them on social media.”
He laughs darkly. “It’s a long story.”
“Maybe you'll tell me next time?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Um…speaking of…” I clear my throat. “When, uh…” I frown and trail off, feeling weird even asking.
“Planning your social calendar, are you?”
I laugh lightly. “I just…I was wondering when I should expect the next time.”
“You want me to tell you when I plan on surprising you again?”
I flash my teeth awkwardly. “Yyyy-es?”
“Oh, little villain,” he murmurs quietly, lowering his mask to my ear. “Where’s the fun in that?”
He has a point.
His thumb drags over my chin once more, the touch feathery and sensual in a way that clashes wonderfully with the unhinged madness he also shows me.
Then he turns to disappear into the shadows.
“Wait.”
The Ghost Prince pauses. He slowly turns to look at me over his shoulder.
“You’re right, I don’t think I want to know your name. But…” I take a shaky breath. “What color are your eyes?”
The Ghost Prince goes still, just staring at me as the silence drags on.
“Why?”
My shoulder lifts. “Maybe I’m psycho enough to want an anonymous masked man to continue to stalk me and…you know…”
“Go down on you? Make you come? Make you take it like a good girl?”
Jesus.
“Uh...yeah, that,” I blurt as heat erupts over my face. “But maybe I’m not so psycho that I don’t want at least some idea of what you look like?”
He holds my gaze as the seconds tick by in silence.
“Blue,” he finally growls. “My eyes are blue.”
I’m not great with secrets. Which, I understand, sounds weird given that I spend much of my free time in front of a camera and not telling anyone I know about it. But aside from the whole Velvet Villainess thing, I really do suck at keeping hot bits of info inside.
I mean, if my friends divulge something…that’s different. That I’ll take to the grave.
But when it comes to my own secrets? I’m a colander.