The quiet rip of my fishnets being torn at my crotch leaves me on edge. I can’t even fathom how hot he must look on his knees for me. My legs begin to quiver, and I mentally applaud myself for deciding to not wear any panties tonight.
The cold air sends a chill through me as it brushes against my damp inner thighs, as Ghost spreads my legs wider, exposing me.
“Please,” I whimper, taking my bottom lip between my teeth.
“That’s right,” he bites out. “Fucking beg.”
My heart pounds through my ribcage. “Please,” I beg, desperate to release all this built-up sexual tension.
His warm breath brushes my clit, every nerve ending on edge. “Yes,” he groans, pushing his fingers between my sensitive flesh. “Such a needy little slut, aren’t you?”
My body jolts, and I helplessly writhe against the wall, reaching down for him. Burying my fingers through his thick, lush hair, I kick open my legs wider.
“Pleasepleaseplease,” I whine.
He whines back, mocking me.
“Please, I’m begging you.”
“Fuck,” he sharply groans, rubbing my clit in slow, torturous circles, as I moan with satisfaction. “You’re so fucking wet.”
He dips the tip of his finger inside me, barely, and the anticipating is beyond agonizing. Thrusting deeper, my inner walls tighten around him, and my stomach tenses. Without warning, he quickens his pace, pushing his finger into me over and over, before adding in another.
Curling his fingers in all the right places, he slows, stroking my walls. “Such a tight, little cunt,” he says.
“Ghost,” I impatiently moan, and that does it.
Without wasting another second, he lifts me into his arms and lowers me onto the bed. Firmly grabbing my ankles, he pulls me to the edge, spreading my legs once more. He presses his lips on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, teasingly.
And finally, he takes me into his mouth. He traces his tongue over my clit, flicking lightly in the perfect rhythm, then up and down the wet slit of my sex.
Oh hell, he knows what he’s doing.
Nobody has ever made me feel this good.
He skims his hands over my breasts, and I grab his wrists, holding them in place. Yanking down my top ever so slightly, he pinches my nipples, twirling them between his fingers. This only seems to bring me more pleasure, as he thrusts his tongue inside of my core.
“Oh my God,” I moan, writhing against his face. “Yes.”
He trails his hands down my chest, ribcage, and hips, caressing each part of my body as he slips them lower and lower to my most sensitive place. Moving my legs further apart with one hand, he pushes two fingers inside of me with the other.
Thrust after thrust, he continues this beautiful attack of sucking, nibbling, tasting. Savoring me, as if he’s literally starving.
My stomach flutters, my breathing quickens, and I buck my hips, matching the thrusts of his fingers. Wrapping his muscular arms beneath my legs, he reaches for my arms, suddenly pinning me to the bed, giving me no option to escape.
Fisting the sheets with my trembling, sweaty hands, a feeling builds up inside me, and bursts into pieces. I come undone, forgetting to breathe, toes curling. Riding out my orgasm, I grind myself against his face, until I physically can’t take it anymore.
“Fuck,” he groans, his face still buried against my wetness. “You taste too good, baby. I need more.”
He tightens his hold on my arms, pinning me in place, and burying his face against my pussy. Just when I believe that it isn’t possible to come again, he proves me wrong, fucking me into oblivion with his fingers and tongue until I’m exploding with pleasure, even more than before, to the point of where I’m seeing stars through my eyelids.
“I can’t,” I whimper, trying to break free from his grasp.
Within seconds, loud music from the party bursts through the room, and my heart nearly leaps into my throat. The door must have opened. Except Ghost doesn’t stop.
There’s a loud thud of the door closing, and the beautiful torment continues.
“I can’t take anymore,” I gasp, hushed, little whimpers escaping my lips. “Oh, yes. Yes.”
My climax consumes me, taking over entirely. Nothing else matters but the earth-shattering sensations, as I ride out wave after wave of this everlasting euphoria. My inner walls spasm, my legs begin to shake, and I’m sure I’ve forgotten to breathe.
Ghost finally releases me, and I remain motionless on the bed, attempting to gather back any strength in my body that I can find. About a minute must pass before I feel his leather gloves caressing my face.
“Mine,” he claims me. “You are mine.”
And with that, he unties the belt of his costume that has acted as a blindfold from around my head. Slowly opening my eyes, they adjust to the light, and my heart drops the moment I notice Jason and Michael in the corner of the room.
“Wait,” I rush out, quickly sitting up and closing my legs, trying to cover myself. “They were watching?”
Ghost turns to face me, pulling on his menacing Scream mask before I have the chance to see his face.
He nods.
I blink up at him in silence, shocked.
After turning to his friends, Jason and Michael, he gazes down at me once more. “You’re upset,” he observes. “What part of dark fantasies doesn’t involve having other guys watch as you get that sweet little cunt of yours eaten?”
My lips part, and my stomach flutters. I can’t find the right words.
Ghost steps closer to the bed, and reaches down, lightly stroking my hair. “Just because you’re mine, little Quinn, doesn’t mean I won’t share,” he says. “But only if that’s what you want.”
Many thoughts cross my mind, and I get that warm, fuzzy feeling that I can’t seem to get enough of. Is this what I want?
Yes, I scream at myself.
When suddenly, the door slams open. Several people stumble into the room, all guys dressed as football players, and they fortunately fail to notice as I quickly button up the bottom of my bodysuit.
The moment they acknowledge our presence, and that this room is occupied, a sly look appears on their faces. It’s immediately clear they have gotten the wrong idea about what has just taken place.
Jason makes his way beside the bed where Ghost stands tall, and on edge.
“Hell yeah,” one of them exclaims.
“What’s going on in here, boys?” another one asks, his tone threatening.
“A damn good time,” another one drunkenly slurs, closing the door behind him. “We taking turns on her?”
Jason immediately grasps my arm, pulling me to my feet, and practically tosses me behind them to shield me.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Ghost asks.
But something is wrong. Very wrong. From the calm and collected tone of his voice, it almost comes out as a challenge. His entire demeanor changes in an instant, as his hands ball into fists at his sides.
And he’s ready.
Ready to hurt them.
Or worse.
“No,” I loudly gasp, pushing past Jason and standing in front of Ghost, blocking his way. “I want to dance.”
He looks down, fixating his attention on me. Yet, he remains silent. Unsure.
“Let’s go,” I say, taking his large, gloved hand and linking my fingers through his.
The football players stare at us as we walk by, completely dumbfounded, and I pray that they keep their mouths shut for their sake as I open the door.
We make our way through the doorway, until one of them laughs. “Whatever. We’ll find her later and have our own fun.”
Ghost and Michael turn around, barging back into the room, as Jason stands with me in the almost empty hallway, on guard. Fists are flying, shouts echo over the loud music, and my heart drops the second I see Ghost holding one of them against the wall.
The sharp, silver knife is pressed against the guy’s throat, and everyone becomes paralyzed with fear. He leans closer, Scream mask beside Football Players ear, and although I can’t make out what he says, I know it’s bad.
The guy’s face turns blue, and it’s evident he’s on the verge of being sick.
He holds up his hands, trembling. “I’m sorry,” he exclaims. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, louder, cowering before him.
Ghost lowers his hand, putting away the knife, and finally, I can breathe again. Despite the thrill of having three guys protecting me from vile, drunk frat guys, there isn’t any part of me that believes if I wasn’t standing here, this wouldn’t have gone differently.
The hit comes much quicker than I could have expected. With tremendous force, and just one blow, Ghost’s fist collides with his nose, an eerie crunch sounding on impact.
Football Player stumbles backward, drops to the floor, and cradles his now bloodied face with his hands.
The moment his friends make a move to have his back, he shouts at them. “Leave it alone,” he instructs, not moving an inch. “Just leave it alone.”
Ghost and Michael stare down at him, as still as stone, and time feels as if it has stopped. A sinister feeling washes over me to realize that these frat guys would have sexually assaulted me if they had been given the chance.
If it wasn’t for Ghost, Jason, and Michael.
My breathing hitches, and pure hatred boils in my veins, until Jason’s hand on my shoulder brings me back to reality. I gaze up at him, staring passionately into the eyes of his mask, and he knows. It’s as if he’s read my mind.
Bringing me against his chest, I nuzzle my face into his bulky jacket, and my eyes flutter shut. He holds the back of my head, gently stroking my hair, calming me.
“You’re safe,” he promises, and even with his deep, menacing-like tone, he eases my fears. “And ours.”
