Wrapping his arm around my waist, he picked me up, and I circled my arms around his neck as he carried me over it.
“Thanks,” I told him.
But he didn’t put me down.
My legs dangled as he slowly walked, the sound of his breathing through his mask even, like a machine.
Awareness made the hairs rise on my skin, and I felt so dizzy all of a sudden. My voice barely registered above a whisper. “I can walk now.”
He still didn’t put me down, though. Instead, he hefted me up so my legs circled his waist, and the realization that the man in my arms wasn’t Will washed over me in a panic so savory it sank down low in my belly, warming every inch of my body.
He carried me, his steps perfectly paced and heavy, echoing in the hallway like they were coming for me and knew exactly where I was hiding.
This wasn’t Will.
I knew it even before I slipped my fingers into the back of his hair and felt the same little scars I’d come across years ago.
But in this moment, in the dark where I was someone else and he was someone else, I didn’t pull away.
Why wasn’t I pulling away?
God, he felt good.
In my arms. I’d almost forgotten.
For just a few minutes, he was my ghost back in the house.
Taunting me.
Playing with me.
Making me feel things I wanted to feel.
I’d missed this so much.
I locked my ankles behind his back and held my head in front of his, quiet and calm on the outside but every emotion I’d ever had raging on the inside. I wasn’t sure if he could see where he was walking, but it seemed like we both were on auto-pilot.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked him quietly.
But he just kept silent.
His heart beat against my chest, and I matched my breathing to his, fear and fantasy taking me over as the foggy air soaked into my skin and the sounds of the haunted carnival outside waged on without us. Heat pooled between my legs, and I barely noticed when an actor jumped out at us, trying to scare me.
They dug their fingers into my back, screeching, but I just kept holding on to him, wanting to stay like this, because this scared me more and I liked the fear.
What was he going to do to me?
We trailed down a long hall, another actor grabbing at us, but I just clutched him tighter, my forehead against the forehead of his mask as my fangs dug into my bottom lip and my pussy throbbed.
“Will you say anything?” I whispered.
Where was he taking me? Where were my friends?
But really, I didn’t care. I just felt like I should.
He wasn’t my enemy in here. He was my secret shame.
Marilyn Manson’s “Cry Little Sister” played through the speakers outside, and he hefted me up again, his stomach pressed between my legs. I whimpered as his hands gripped my ass.