CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BLAIR
Have fun?
How the hell am I supposed tohave funwhen I’m wound more tightly than a grandfather clock?
I stumble on my legs, feeling like a baby deer. Craning my neck, I plan to give Phantom a seething glare over my shoulder, but he’s already gone.
Dammit.
My arousal simmers beneath the surface like a bubbling wave, my fingers twitching to do something about it.
Resisting the urge, I lean forward and brush away the dirt and hay sticking to my knees. My eyes catch on the thin red X carved into my boob in the process, stomach flipping and pussy clenching at the memory. I shouldn’t have been so turned on by a guy slicing into my skin, but there is no denying the soaked thong I’m currently sporting.
I’ve always been protected, always been treated like a porcelain doll. It was exhilarating being pushed to the edge, forced to my knees and used until I was a complete mess. I want more. I want him to fulfil his promise to make all my dirty desires reality—even if it is just for the night.
I scan the crowd, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of him, but he has truly disappeared. I swear, I never see him unless he wants me to.
Resigning myself to just having to wait until he calls on me again, I decide to head outside for a little fresh air and to use the porta-potty. I probably need to fix my makeup a little, too. There is only so much I can do before Michelle starts to ask questions I won’t be able to answer.
Every step I take, I feel the dampness rubs between my thighs. I have to grit my teeth to ignore the sparks of needs that pulse through my pussy. I’m so keyed up, part of me believes that if I just clench my thighs the right way, I’ll come apart. It’s an absolute nightmare, and I silently curse Phantom for leaving me in this state.
I manage to escape out of the old barn without any of my friends noticing and start to creep over to the far side of the barnyard where the porta-potties are lined up.
Someone’s shoulder bumps against me.
“Whoops, sorry.”
“It’s fi—” The words catch in my throat as my brain fails to comprehend the person before me.
They’re dressed the exact same as Phantom, except they’re definitelynotPhantom. For starters, his eyes are brown, and his brows are blond. His height and build are similar, but the tattoos are all wrong. And most importantly, his voice is off. This guy’s tone is way more playful and light.
I guess I hadn’t really considered the idea that someone else might cosplay as him, and I wonder if this guy would be able to notice that the real one is here.
Fake Phantom’s eyes widen with some sort of recognition. “Oh, it’s you.” He circles around me like he is taking inventory of my appearance. He stops when he notices my chest, leaning down to get a better look. “Oooh, very nice.”
He reaches out to touch the X, but I take a healthy step back before he can make contact.
Fake Phantom holds his hands up, palms facing me in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. He’d probably get pissed if I touched you anyway. Dude can be territorial as fuck.”
I open my mouth to ask who he is talking about, but a second guy appears out of nowhere, scooping up Fake Phantom and hauling him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. New guy isalsodressed up as Phantom, except it’s a lot easier to tell he isn’t the real one because he is a solid couple inches taller and looks like he spends every day in the gym pushing weights. I’d even go so far as to predict he bathes in creatine and brushes his teeth with protein powder.
“Sorry, Blair, gotta go!” Fake Phantom waves at me from over Gym Phantom’s shoulder.
Well, that was…odd.
I watch them leave for another few seconds, something about the encounter bothering me. I try to dig through the files in my brain but come up empty. I dip into the porta-potty, using the time to snag some toilet paper to blot away my smudged mascara and blend the tear stains with my foundation.
I use the selfie camera on my phone to check myself over as I step out and wander back toward the barn entrance.
You can still clearly tell I’ve been up to something questionable, but it doesn’t seem as obvious as before. And with the marks on my neck and boob, I doubt anyone’s attention is going to be on my less-than-perfect mascara. Not that the marks are any easier to explain…
A strong hand grips my wrist, dragging me past the apple-bobbing station and over to the side of the barn that faces the corn maze.
My stomach drops when I realize it’s Riley.
I grit my teeth as he takes me farther away from the main crowds. I don’t even try to pull my wrist free. I know from experience that he’s a hell of a lot stronger than me. I’d be moreat risk of popping my shoulder out of its socket than slipping away.
