“Looking for trouble,” I throw at him, my excitement spilling over.
He leans in, and I catch the scent of his cologne—the same from a year ago. He really has all the details down.
“You found it.” His voice is barely a deep rasp behind the mask.
I almost moan right there, but I manage to speak.
“And what kind of trouble are you offering?”
He laughs again, low and dark. The kind of laugh that tells me exactly the trouble he’s offering.
His hand moves to the small of my back. He’s still pretending. Still roleplaying and acting like I’m some stranger he’s just discovered. And I’m loving it.
“You know what happens to brave girls who flirt with trouble?”
“What?” I stare up at the mask, my pulse humming.
“They get exactly what they’re asking for.” His voice roughens and his grip tightens. “They get ruined like they asked for. With no one around to hear them scream.”
My thighs rub together as I fight back a whimper.
“Still want to play?” he asks.
“More than ever,” I smile, biting my lip.
“Then you have three minutes to hide, Bunny.”
“And if you find me?” I ask, setting my drink down on the bar.
He leans in close.
“Then your pussy is mine.”
I whimper, closing my eyes, already feeling the promise of him between my legs.
“And I will find you.”
He lets go of me like he’s letting me off a leash and takes one step back.
“Run.”
And I do.
I turn on my heel and disappear into the house, slipping between the cracks of the crowd. I turn my head briefly and see him walking behind me, weaving through the crowd, unhurried.
Shit!
Adrenaline is already slamming through me, my chest is heaving, and my pulse thundering in my ears… and other places.
The second I lose sight of him is when I finally allow myself to slow down and think. I know his house well, but he does too.
I weave through the living room, past laughing teammates and their glitter-soaked costumes. Everyone’s drunk, loud, and distracted.
No one notices me moving like a blur through neon lights and sticky bass.
My heels click against the floor, so I stop to unzip them and kick them off. Bare feet now, skin prickling as I cross through the kitchen and toward the back hall. I bolt up the stairs two at a time and turn to look behind me. No one’s there yet.
The second floor is quieter and muffled. The music still thuds below, but it sounds far away now, just a warning pulse in the distance. The hallway is dim, and it’s a bit colder up here without all the body heat from downstairs.
