9. Chapter 9
Grace is talking to me. Her hand feels wrong on my chest which is bizarre, but all I can think about is the way I feel cold not having Miles pressed up against me.
God, to say I’ve never danced with a firm body, it’s all I want for the rest of my life.
I really do question whether I should be worried about how quickly I’m accepting this part of myself; falling into my wants.
It’s familiar though, this pressing need for stronger arms, bigger hands, reminding me of how I used to study Brody’s hands when he was writing next to me in class.
My curiosity ended there though, our bond fizzling out when he dropped the football club and we spent less time together.
It’s only now that I consider if my feelings would have grown into anything if we had gotten closer.
There’s no doubt in my mind that having openly accepting people in my life is why I haven’t felt worried in the slightest about dancing with Miles.
We’ve had our hands all over each other, grinding on one another right in front of guys on my team.
Hell, we’re in a gay bar and I can see Rowley drooling as he watches Teddy practically giving an older guy a lap dance.
Everything is cool, I am fine here and my only problem is that Grace sends an uncomfortable chill down my neck when she breathes near my ear.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and even though she’s still speaking, I can’t hear her over the upbeat pop song. She’s asking to catch up, wanting to pick a date to meet and I haven’t opened my mouth once to indulge her. I pull out my phone in case it’s Miles and he needs me.
The cold I felt when he left is replaced with a hot flush that starts from my neck down to my legs, as I stare at a social media notification and I know who the message will be from.
Opening it up, I head to my messages and see the icon with two unread, staring into my soul.
Compelled, I step away from Grace and open the chat..
@yourghostboy: *Video attached*
You looked so good on stage baby. Well done. Do you want a reward?
This fucking guy. Furiously typing back, I sweep back my damp curls.
@Inkedreaper: Where the fuck are you?
@yourghostboy: Aww you miss me.
He then sends me a video clip of me singing on stage and I freeze.
This means he was in the crowd tonight. He was right there, but I never noticed anyone out of the ordinary or staring too long.
In fact, I was so super focused on Miles, the guy could have been sitting there in his ghostface mask and I wouldn't have noticed. The angle is slightly to the left of where my own friends had been sitting, but that gives me nothing. Hesitating, I scroll up and click on the first video he sent me tonight. It's a video on his main page that he just posted and once my eyes take in the ghostface mask, in a room only lit by a soft lamp glow, a realisation knocks the air out of my chest. My lungs might as well stop working, or maybe it’s hot rage scorching my airwaves. The bedding…That’s my fucking bed.
This deranged man is in my room, or has been.
Remembering the smell of cinnamon and pumpkin, fear finally slams home, at least settling me over being sane enough to know this is fucked up.
How many times has he broken into my house? Fuck.
Your voice is amazing. I'll ask again, do you want a reward?
What I want to do is tell him to fuck off and find Miles, but when I look to the bar, he's not there.
Grace is shuffling from foot to foot, which I can't help feeling bad about; I am blatantly ignoring her.
I've turned slightly away to look at my phone, and she steps forward, pressing her front into my arm. Instantly I receive another text.
Let her touch you again and it'll be a punishment instead.
Meet me at your house in fifteen minutes.
My first insane thought is how convenient that is, my house is probably about ten minutes away on foot.
My second, is I must really have lost my mind because I need to get there to make sure this psychopath hasn't broken into my house again. Now I’m definitely back to questioning my sanity; this back and forth my brain is putting me through is giving me whiplash.
He was in my fucking room and I don’t know how, but he needs to know he can’t do that. It’s insane.
Slipping out of Grace's proximity, I mumble something to her and even as I rush out of the club without saying goodbye to my friends, I chastise myself for thinking of him as psychotic. Why am I even defending this guy in my head?
I need testing.
The house is dark when I arrive, heavily panting as I stride down the driveway.
My entire body tingles and I’m chalking it up to adrenaline, maybe apprehension.
Some sixth sense tells me he's not lingering out here, and even though my hands are jittery as I unlock the front door, I'm livid that somehow he's gotten inside. How had no one noticed? Reflectively it reminds me of how I’d planned to get into Grace's, but that's far from my mind as I look around downstairs.
I'm probably buying time, because I know where he is. He's obviously upstairs.
This is like every failure in a thriller movie rolled into one bad decision.
I kick off my shoes and lightly press my socked feet onto the stairs, taking each step silently as I ascend up.
I can't string a complete thought together due to the roar of blood in my ears, and all too quickly I've gotten to the landing.
My bedroom door is the only one ajar, and like a magnetic pull I don't hesitate to step inside.
The street light casts a yellow glow into the room, but the corners are inky black. Everything is calm and nothing is out of place, but the thumping of my pulse makes the room seem alive. I'm buzzing, body electric and maybe that's why he's already on me by the time I fully register I've found him.
Something warm and spicy fills my senses, before a hand wraps around my throat and I'm pulled back against a firm body. I'd stormed here like a bull, but now I physically melt. I really thought it would be different this time, but being reacquainted with this stranger has me powerless all over again. My mind is screaming, my skin hissing where his flesh touches mine, but I fucking love how his fingers press under my jaw. His free hand lightly snakes underneath my t-shirt, and his touch feels like a brand. He's not really restraining me. I could get out of this, but my body is fully submitting before my brain can catch up. There's no static, no white noise, no overwhelming words; just rushing desire. My face heats at the shameless admission and I’m embarrassed. He must think I’m so easy, whoever he is. I have zero clue as to who the fuck it is chasing me, but my body instantly lets down its guard for him. I. Don’t. Know. Why. I’m so confused, going from wanting to punch him on sight, to melting under his touch.
I grit my teeth, then bite down onto my bottom lip as each confusing feeling overwhelmed all my senses.
He slowly leads me backwards until he's pressed against my bedroom door and I'm pressing my weight into him. I'm panting–trying to form words, but his hand runs up my stomach and he grips one of my nipples.
“Oh–f-uck.”
A distorted, crackly voice chuckles and it prickles into my skin everywhere he's touching. The hairs on my arms raise. “You like that, Baby?”
“N-no.” I choke out and he laughs more. I think he has a voice distorter and it sounds like ghostface from the actual films.
“Lie to yourself, but don’t lie to me.” He tweaks my nipple again and I fucking moan. “You like it, don't you Baby?”
“Yes.”
“Good boy. Now, tell me what you want.”
“H-how did you get into my house? You can’t do that.”
He chuckles again and shushes me, stroking my jaw, running his hand down my stomach to the waistband of my jeans. “Don't worry about that. Let me give you your reward.”
I really must have lost my mind, because I preen. If I was an animal I'd be pawing at him, trying to burrow closer and the feeling takes my breath away. I'm hard as a fucking rock, it's painful.
Before I can say anything–or come to my senses–he turns me around, and all I can see is the plastic white of his mask reflecting off the street lights glow. It's terrifying and my blood sings. My nerves light up, my entire body turns to jelly and it's me who presses our bodies together.
He's wearing a black t-shirt that looks like mine, and I press my face into it, smelling my familiar lavender detergent.
“You're like a needy cat.” His words make me flush and I tuck my head lower, pressing my cheek against his chest. I want to bite him.
His finger presses under my chin and turns my face up, until I'm looking into the black pits of the mask's eye sockets.
“Don't feel embarrassed, it's a fucking turn on.”
“Fuck you.” I grit, but he chuckles again and strokes the side of my jaw with his thumb.
Suddenly he turns us, pressing me against the door and almost extends himself until he's towering over me.
Like when he had me outside Grace's bedroom, I don't fight.
Hell, my hands this time are gripping his waist trying to get him closer.
His chest presses mine, but he's purposely keeping his hips away from me.
I whine, instantly feeling ashamed. My brain protests with me to let go, but in the same thought to get away from this masked man.
I was just pressed all over Miles in the club, I left him without saying goodbye and now I’m pinned against my door.
It’s a mind fuck I don’t understand, especially when my entire form relaxes into the press of his body.
His mask tilts down and I think he's observing our bodies together. “Do you want me to touch you?” He asks.
I don't say anything and slowly he drifts his hips to mine, my fingers making the black t-shirt ride up from my grip. That little pale line of skin has my full attention, until he pulls back.