Chapter 11 #2
Chrishell grabs her face. “Don’t whine over free drinks!
” She kisses her cheek before chugging her second lemon drop.
“Wooo!” she yells, slamming her glass against the wooden bar.
She eyes the crowd, grabbing my hand and pulling me close once she notices something.
“Oh, look! Hotties at twelve o’clock.” She points at a group of guys, huddled by a pillar in the middle of the dance floor.
One of them wears a vampire cape, his glow-in-the-dark artificial teeth showing as he yaps to his friend.
Another wears a baseball jersey and cap—how boring—and the third is in doctor scrubs, all of them sizing us up as they sip their beers.
I grimace. “They look like they’re planning to traffic us.”
She shrugs. “Maybe, but we’ll never know unless we talk to them.”
“I’m not going over there.”
“You won’t have to.” She winks and turns around.
“Can we get a round of vodka sodas?” She yells to the bartender.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that’s a disgusting drink.
I’m not much of a drinker, but if I am drinking, I need a carefully crafted cocktail to enjoy myself.
I doubt this place has any signature martinis, though, so a vodka soda will have to do.
Someone taps on my shoulder, and I turn around to Doctor Bedroom Eyes. He smiles, but his gaze flicks to something behind me. “Here you go!” The bartender yells, and I turn to find my drink on the counter in front of me.
“I was coming over to ask if I could buy you a drink.”
I don’t move. It’s been forever since I flirted with a guy, besides Derek, but no, what we do is definitely not flirting.
By the grace of any god watching, Chrishell swoops in.
“Don’t worry. She’ll be done with this one soon.
” She tips my glass to my lips, and when I gulp the first sip, she encourages me to chug more.
I’m no bitch, so I down half of it before pushing back and demanding my autonomy.
I fight my disgust and put on a smile, shaking my half-empty glass. “Almost done.”
“Then it seems like you should have another ready to go.” He smiles, and it does something drastic to his face. Perhaps it’s the booze or the uniform, but he’s actually handsome—tan skin, white smile, sandy hair—someone uncomplicated, at least for tonight.
“Sounds like a good idea.” I smile. He leans over me to summon the bartender, and I catch a quick peek of some musky man cologne.
His two friends are now beside him at the bar.
The vampire chats up Chrishell, and Mr. Baseball is trying—and failing—to make conversation with Rachel.
Chrishell hangs her arms over the vampire's shoulders, and he leans in.
Damn, that was easy. Rachel crosses her arms and gives Chrishell a disgusted look as Mr. Baseball carries on a one-sided conversation.
I chug the rest of my drink, just in time for Doctor McDreamy to pass me another. I open my mouth to ask his name, but shake my head, deciding otherwise. Tonight’s about being someone different. I’m not Isabella. I’m Goldilocks. And he’s Mr. Doctor…or something like that.
He leans closer, his lips at the shell of my ear. “Want to dance?”
I nod, and he pulls me to the center of the dance floor.
Bodies bump against me as the music creeps through my bones.
In theory, I hate clubs, but I always forget that in these first moments, a few drinks in and without an ounce of fatigue, these places make me feel as if I belong somewhere.
I’m not alone. There are people all around me, so happy to be in my presence.
We’re all here for the same reason—to have fun, and for a blip of time, it seems like a worthwhile cause.
I raise my arms above my head as Doctor Suave puts one hand on my waist and pulls me close. His other hand holds his beer above him, and his head rocks to the music.
I close my eyes, losing myself in everything.
His touch slips away from my waist for a moment, but then two large hands grab me on either side and pull me against a wall of muscle.
I yell, opening my eyes to a large chest, covered by a black shirt.
I scan upward until I meet a Scream mask, the white face looking down at me, haunting black eyeholes pinning me in place.
Once I’m done being confused—trying to remember if I actually was dancing with a doctor or a masked man—I push him back.
At least, I try to. He holds me in place even tighter.
Panic clears my drink-induced fog, and I search for someone to help me.
I catch the doctor giving me a stank eye as he backs away in the crowd.
Chrishell makes out with the vampire at the bar, and Rachel is nowhere to be seen.
I’m royally fucked. My next plan of action is to grab a dancer next to me and cause a big enough commotion that the masked stranger lets me go.
As I attempt to reach out, the man lowers his head to my ear and whispers.
“You look so fuckable with fear in your eyes.”
I’d know that voice anywhere.
“Derek!” I yell.
“Who’s Derek?” He growls, his face still close to my ear. “I’m here to make you scream. He spins me around, clamping my backside against his chest, his voice still at the side of my face. “And I know you love to scream.”
“Did you follow me here?”
“Follow you? You practically begged for me to come.” I hear the smile behind his mask.
“I did not!”
“Your words don’t fool me.”
I attempt to lunge forward, but he holds me in place, only making me buck back into his erection.
“Let go of me,” I seethe, thankful he’s keeping me close to him so I don’t have to yell. But even as I state my disapproval, my body betrays me, and I wiggle against him, not out of discomfort, but wanting to feel more. I blame ovulation, of course, coupled with alcohol.
He tsks, releasing his iron grip and trailing his hands up my side, his fingers dancing across my exposed skin. “Stop fighting it, Goldie. Tonight I’m not your stepbrother. You can admit the ache for me between your thighs.”
I don’t reply, caught off guard by his words.
Thankfully, he doesn’t make me reply, only flips me around so I’m facing him, trailing down my arms, grabbing my hands, and placing them on his shoulders.
I finish the movement, clasping my hands together around his neck.
I stare into the dark holes of his mask, and he palms down my back, molding me to him, taking the lead as we sway to the pulsing music.
“Good girl,” he says, his voice low but strong enough to penetrate the noise.
I feel the definition of his muscles, his thickening length under his black slacks. I press into him wanting more and soaking in the feeling of holding him in a room full of people. “It’s a good thing you’re behaving,” he says into my ear.
“Why?”
“Every eye is glued to you in this place, and then watching you dance with that loser…” He tsks. “I was close to my edge.”
“Oh shut up.” I roll my eyes. Clearly, he’s playing into his character, but he’s laying it on a little thick. His hands dive underneath my skirt, and he squeezes my cheeks. My exhale is breathy, but I protest nonetheless. “Derek!”
“Your body betrays your mouth.”
“We’re in public.”
“I can fix that.”
Someone grabs my shoulder, and I turn to a glassy-eyed Chrishell. Derek releases me. She leans into my curls and yells into my ear. “I’m leaving.”
“What?”
“I’m going home with him.” She points to Count Dracula behind her, his expression bored.
“Wait, what? You’re my ride!” It’s not until now that I realize I watched my ride take three shots tonight. How did I expect her to get me home? But still, we could have Ubered together.
She clucks. “I don’t know, babe. Call a cab. Or go home with the guy currently groping your ass.”
I’m mortified until I remember she doesn’t know my masked dance partner's identity. “What about Rachel?”
“She left already.” She moves back. “Alright, bye.” And with that, her vampire pulls her through the crowd.
“What the fuck?” I whisper as I watch her go.
“Did she leave you?” Derek asks, pulling me close again.
“Yeah.” I hate to admit it. I hate for Derek to be right about her.
He grabs my hand and yanks me through the mass of bodies, toward the back of the club. “Where are we going?” I yell.
“I’m going to do something stupid if I don’t fuck the disappointment off your face.”
I don’t have time to respond. He pushes past people until we’re clear of the crowd and rushing into the quiet outskirts. He keeps dragging me to a black-painted door, flinging it open to reveal an even darker utility closet.
I stumble to catch up, to demand an explanation, but it’s too late.
The masked stranger slams the door shut, enveloping me in darkness.
Music shakes our small corridors, but all my senses are heightened after escaping the noise and flashing lights from the main room.
My bear-shifter stepbrother must be attuned to the sudden darkness because before I can even utter a question, he’s pressed against me, hands roaming over my body as if I’m the source of his salvation.
He picks me up by the ass, and I wrap my legs around him as he backs me up to a shelf. “What are you doing?” I ask, not pushing him away as he sits me down on a box and lifts my dress.
He runs a clawed hand down my face. “To give you what you came here seeking.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t come here for this.”
“Don’t lie to yourself. You wanted a distraction, maybe to fuck a stranger to forget yourself. I can be that stranger.” With his other hand, he pulls my lace panties to the side, grazing my seam with a gentle touch. I shudder, attempting to keep my spine straight but failing by the second.
“Don’t fight me, baby. Let me fuck you like the scary stranger you want me to be.”
I moan as he dives his fingers deeper, parting me and playing the obscene sounds of my wetness. “Derek.” The words spill out like a prayer, my reserve softening as he increases his strokes.
“I can be Derek. I can be whatever you want me to be.” He thrusts his finger inside of me, and I cry out.
“That’s it. That’s a good girl.” He adds another, fucking me senseless with his fingers.
Everything is too much, too fast, and when he flips his hand and thumbs my clit, I’m already sputtering over my edge, convulsing and clawing at his back.
The moment my body relaxes, he pulls back. “On your knees, Goldie.”
I’m in no position to refuse him. I jump off the box, following orders, staring up at the white face looming above me.
He traces my lips with a clawed thumb, his fur mixing in with the art covering his arms. In costume, his bear-self is even more alarming. “So perfect,” he whispers.
I’m a sucker for his praise, my nipples pricking at his words. As if he senses the sensation, he pulls my breasts free from my top. It’s quick work since they’re so close to spilling out.
“I’m going to paint these, make them even prettier for me.” He yanks at his belt, unbuttons his slacks, and pulls himself out.
Every time I see him, it feels like my first. I can’t believe he fits inside of me, especially with his knot at his base.
I could spend more time examining him, only visible in the lowlight seeping around the cracks of the door, but he grabs my jaw and snaps it open.
“Don’t make me wait any longer. Take me deep, or I’ll make you. ”
I know he’s full of shit. He might be deranged, but he’d never force me.
I don’t know why I’m so sure of this, but I am.
Regardless, I appreciate his continued role.
I follow orders without haste, rolling my lips over his shaft and taking him as deeply as I can before I gag.
“God, yes. I love hearing you choke around my cock.” He grabs the back of my head and urges me to continue.
I don’t need encouragement, though—the taste of him, his words, his grip, the clear trembling he tries to hide—all of it makes me eager to take him in my mouth.
He’s too big, though, and I must use my hand, coated in my saliva, to lather all of him.
“Fuck!” he yells, bucking into my mouth.
It doesn’t take long until he’s frantic, his body clenching.
He pulls out of my mouth and holds his cock, aiming to cover my tits.
I’m soaked, both underneath my dress and my breasts, his release covering all of my front and seeping down the top of my dress.
I watch with a heavy breath as his knot inflates, wishing he were inside of me.
It’s not enough. Sure, I had my orgasm mere minutes ago, but I want more.
I’ve only experienced its piercing pleasure once, but it was enough to make me addicted.
Derek grabs my jaw and drags me to my feet, lifting up his mask so his lips can meet mine.
“So fucking good,” he whispers against my mouth, before diving his tongue inside.
The kiss lasts much too short before he moves away, pulling down his mask and examining the small room.
He yanks out a pristine white cloth, folded neatly inside a box, and wipes up his mess.
I’m breathing heavy and watching him work all the while, adjusting my dress once I’m cleaned up.
“Come on.” He yanks me upward and pulls me toward the door. “We’re going home.”
Reality settles over me. This masked stranger isn’t a stranger at all, but of course, the monster I share a wall with.