Deciding I needed to get over myself and blow off some steam, I didn’t cancel on Greyson like I wanted to. Like I want to. I regret that decision.
Currently, he has me pinned against the wall in my creepy hallway. Old fashioned sconces line the blood red walls, with dozens of pictures of family from generations in between. I feel like they’re watching me, scorn and disappointment in their eyes as they witness their descendant about to get railed against the wall.
Only a few of the lights work, and they just serve to illuminate the spiderwebs they’re crawling with. The rest of the hallway is shadowed entirely, and I’m just waiting for the demon from The Grudge to come crawling out so I have an excuse to run.
I would definitely trip Greyson on the way out at this point and not one inch of me is ashamed.
He murmurs some more dirty things into my ear while I inspect the sconce hanging above our heads. Greyson said in passing once that he’s scared of spiders. I wonder if I can discreetly reach up, pluck a spider from its web and put it down the back of Greyson’s shirt.
That would light a fire under his ass to get out of here and he’d probably be too embarrassed to talk to me again. Win, win.
Just when I actually go to do it, he rears back, panting from all the solo French kissing he’s been doing with my throat. It’s like he was waiting for my neck to lick him back or something.
His copper hair is mussed from my hands, and his pale skin is stained with a blush. The curse of being a redhead, I suppose.
Greyson has everything else going for him in the looks department. He’s hot as sin, has a beautiful body and a killer smile. Too bad he can’t fuck and is a complete, and utter douchebag.
“Let’s take this to the bedroom. I need to be inside of you now.”
Internally, I cringe. Externally… I cringe. I try to play it off by jerking my shirt over my head. He has the attention span of a beagle. And just like I suspected, he’s already forgotten about my little blunder and is staring intensely at my tits.
Daya was right about that, too. I do have great tits.
He reaches up to tear the bra from my body—I probably would’ve smacked him if he actually ripped it—but he freezes when loud banging interrupts us from the main floor.
The sound is so sudden, so violently loud that I gasp, my heart pounding in my chest. Our eyes meet in stunned silence. Someone is pounding on my front door, and they don’t sound too nice.
“Are you expecting someone?” he asks, his hand dropping to his side, seemingly frustrated about the interruption.
“No,” I breathe. I quickly tug my shirt back on—backwards—and rush down the creaky steps. Taking a moment to check outside the window next to the door, I see the front porch is vacant. My brow lowers. Letting the curtain fall, I sta
nd in front of the door, the stillness of the night closing in on the manor.
Greyson walks up beside me, and looks over at me with a confused expression.
“Uh, you gonna answer that?” he asks dumbly, pointing at the door as if I didn’t know it was right in front of me. I almost thank him for the directions just to be an ass, but refrain. Something about that knock has my instincts blaring Code Red. The knock sounded aggressive. Angry. Like someone had pounded on the door with all their strength.
A real man would offer to open the door for me after hearing such a violent sound. Especially when we’re surrounded by a mile of thick woods and a hundred-foot drop into the water.
But instead, Greyson stares at me expectantly. And a little like I’m stupid. Huffing, I unlock the door and whip it open.
Again, no one is there. I step out onto the porch, the rotting floorboards groaning beneath my weight. Cold wind stirs my cinnamon hair, the strands tickling my face and sending shivers racing across my skin. Goosebumps rise as I tuck my hair behind my ears and walk over to one end of the porch. Leaning over the rail, I look down the side of the house. No one.
No one on the other side of the house, either.
There could easily be someone watching me in the woods, but with it being so dark, I have no way of knowing. Not unless I go out there and search myself.
And as much as I love horror films, I have no interest in starring in one.
Greyson joins me on the porch, his own eyes scanning the trees.
There’s someone watching me. I can feel it. I’m as sure of it as I am about the existence of gravity. Eerily, it feels a lot like the day of my book signing, when the man with mismatched eyes pinned me to the chair.
Chills run down my spine, accompanied by a burst of adrenaline. It’s the same feeling I get when I watch a scary movie. It begins with the beat of my heart, then a heavy weight settles deep in my stomach, eventually sinking to my core. I shift, not entirely comfortable with the feeling right now.
Huffing, I rush back into the house, and up the steps. Greyson trails behind me. I don’t notice he’s in the middle of undressing as he walks down the hallway until he steps into my room after me. When I turn, he’s stark naked.
“Seriously?” I bite out. What a fucking idiot. Someone just banged on my door like the wood personally put a splinter in their ass, and he’s immediately ready to pick up where he left off. Slurping on my neck like one would slurp jello out of a container.