Don’t Run: A Halloween Short

1. Micah

WHAT’S YOUR FANTASY?

Have you ever fantasized about being chased through the woods by a masked man before being bent over and fucked until your legs give out?

I have.

Every hour of every day for the last two months, to be exact.

Thanks to the random invitation that showed up in my mailbox on a random August afternoon.

Well, I thought it was random .

But a random invite wouldn’t have my first and last name printed on it…

Two months of research revealed that Midnight Social is a twenty-five and up sex club in the heart of Wildwood. Singles, couples and everyone in between can enter a lottery for membership each quarter.

For the modest price of thirty-five hundred dollars a month.

Finding that out had made the invitation that much more tempting.

I don’t have that kind of money to throw around, but someone who does put my name on an invitation.

I could very well be walking into someone’s well laid trap, but my risk seeking behavior has always been a sore spot between me and my therapist.

And I’ve been doing good. I haven’t unblocked my ex Desmond since last Christmas. And honestly, that has to count for something. Ten months without the best—and most toxic—dick of my life.

Once I realized how gone I was off a man whose “roommate” was his mama, I had to put myself in timeout.

Listen, players fuck up.

I’d drank enough wine about it. Now it’s time to fuck somebody to make sure I still know how .

The last ten months had been productive. But boring as hell. I can’t count how many crossword puzzles I’ve completed or how many crafts I’ve helped my nephew do after work.

Everything feels too safe. Too stagnant. I need something more. And if more is waiting for me in a mask at a haunted house, so be it.

I need a break from the monotony. A night to lose myself in something and someone else before I come back in this office on Monday and stare at my computer screen for nine hours.

So, yeah, I’m going.

“Any plans for the weekend?”

I jump at the familiar voice, tucking the sleek invitation I’d been studying back into my purse.

“No-nope, no plans,” I stammer as I look up to see the senior accounts manager peering over my cubicle wall.

Journey McIntire.

It doesn’t make sense, but her honey brown skin manages to glow under the fluorescent office lights. There isn’t a hair out of place on her blunt bob, and her makeup looks just as flawless as it did when she sauntered in here at 7am.

Some people really are God’s favorite.

She clutches the leather strap of a bag that costs more than I make in six months then sends me a curious look.

“Me either.” She looks around with practiced nonchalance. “I invited Tahj out to a cocktail mixer, but he’s so cagey. All he said was that he already committed to something before he went back to his spreadsheets.”

Huffing out a gust of air, Journey’s full lips form a pout.

I duck my head to hide any hint of judgment in my expression.

Her fascination with Tahj Carter is the only flaw of hers I’ve ever been privy to. She’s proof that you can have everything and still crave something just out of reach.

Still fishing for info, her willowy frame angles deeper into my space as her brows rise on her forehead. “Did he tell you what he was getting up to?”

“No, I don’t have access to his personal calendar.”

That isn’t the truth. I have access to everything Mr. Carter does. He’s all-consuming in his demands, and I’d adapted to it before the end of my first month five years ago. It was either that or find a new job.

Everything from his morning coffee to his bedtime supplement routine is mirrored on my screen at all times, ready for last-minute adjustments.

But even I don’t know what he has going on tonight. Friday nights are usually for hitting the cigar lounge with his frat brothers, but tonight the space is blank. Once he leaves here at 5, I have no idea what he’ll be up to until Sunday night.

Which is fine by me. Still, it leaves me curious.

“Ladies.”

The gruff voice snaps Journey’s posture back in place.

Chin lifted, she bats her long lashes at Tahj. At five-eleven, she doesn’t have to crane her neck to meet his gaze but drops her head in a demure tilt anyway.

“Hey, Tahj,” she greets, her voice dripping in seduction.

Tahj tightens the knot of his tie and cocks his brow.

The subtle shift in his expression makes my lips quirk.

For the first six months after Journey came on board at Carter Enterprises, I thought he was oblivious to her advances.

Until I overheard him on a call one day and realized he was playing clueless.

Needless to say, he plays into the nerdy executive so well that sometimes I believe him.

I can’t say I don’t see what she sees in him, but he’s not my type.

He’s too perfect, and I’ve always preferred my men not so…buttoned up.

Standing just over six feet, he’s hard to miss.

With his dark sable skin and the neatly groomed black ringlets that stop shy of his forehead and curl above his ears, he looks like the poster child for Black corporate excellence.

Especially when you factor in his affinity for the rectangular lenses perpetually resting on the bridge of his nose.

In my head, he’s the Black Clark Kent.

Monday through Friday, he drapes his muscular frame in the same uniform: crisp tailored shirts, black tailored pants and genuine leather oxfords.

Add in his timid disposition and he’s perfectly unremarkable.

We have that in common. At least on the surface.

“We were just talking about you,” Journey continues, breaking into my thoughts and needlessly tucking her hair behind her ear. “Are you sure you can’t come out tonight?“

“Positive.” He doesn’t spare her another glance before he shifts his eyes to me. “Do I have any messages?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, I blink as a funny feeling invades my stomach under the weight of his espresso eyes.

It’s then I notice his ever present glasses are missing.

“Sir, where are your glasses? Do you need me to call in a pair of replacement frames so you can pick them up on the way h?—”

“I’m good , Ms. Shaw.” He sounds…annoyed? I force a swallow as his stare singes me, and all I can think about is how much his eyes match the Americano I fetch for him every morning.

How had I missed that?

I suppose I never really paid attention.

“Ms. Shaw?”

His terse tone wraps around my name like a warning, pulling me back to the present.

“Yes, sir?”

“If I don’t have any messages, you’re free to go home for the weekend.” He spins on his heel, the expanse of his broad back effectively dismissing me as he saunters toward his office at the end of the hall.

“He’s in a mood,” Journey sniffs.

While she watches his retreat with a wistful sigh, I push back from my desk and retrieve my bag from the bottom drawer.

It’s a black Coach bag I spent too many lunch breaks ogling on my work computer.

So when I got it at last year’s company Christmas party with my holiday bonus check tucked inside, I couldn’t do anything but laugh.

As brusque as Tahj can be, he’s observant and that’s alright by me.

I stand up, smoothing my hands over my dress. Journey snaps out of her trance when I join her on the other side of my cubicle.

“I’d still climb that man like a tree,” the other woman quips under her breath.

Amused but not taking the bait, I leave her at my work station, my sights set on the stainless steel doors of the elevator. She can drool over our stuffy boss all she wants. I have other things to worry about this weekend.

Like ending this dry spell with a stranger I don’t have to worry about texting back when it’s over.

I want to be fucked so good my legs don’t work after. I want to come so hard I forget how long it’s been since something other than silicone has been between my legs.

And if I’m lucky I’ll get both.