Chapter 1, part-3

CONTINUE

goes into how horny I am and touch myself every night to the

thought of him.

I

growl and give her the filthiest look I can manage. My face

would make a dumpster look like Mr. Clean’s house.

“I wouldn’t even say that!” I complain. “That doesn’t even sound

like me, you bitch.”

Daya cackles, the teeny little gap between her front teeth on

full display.

I really do hate her.

My phone pings. Daya is nearly bouncing in her seat while I’m

contemplating googling 1000 Ways to Die’s contact information so

I can send them a new story.

“Read it,” she demands, her grabby hands already reaching for

my phone so she can see what he said. I jerk it out of her reach

and pull up the message.

GREYSON: About time u came to your senses, baby. Be

over at 8.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I really fucking hate

you,” I grumble, giving her another scowl.

She smiles and slurps on her drink. “I love you too, baby girl.”

“Fuck, Addie, I’ve missed you,” Greyson breathes into my neck,

humping me against the wall. My tailbone is going to be bruised in

the morning. I roll my eyes when he slurps at my neck again,

groaning when he rolls his dick into the apex of my thighs.

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 family pictures 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 right in front of

them.

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 by 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 furrows. Letting the curtain fall, I stand 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

I have no way of knowing with it being so dark. 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.

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.

“What?” he asks incredulously, splaying his arms out to his

sides.

“Did you not just hear what I heard? Someone was banging on

my door, and it was kind of scary. I’m not in the mood to have sex

right now.”

What happened to chivalry? I would think a normal man would

ask if I’m okay. Feel out how I’m feeling. Maybe try to make sure

I’m nice and relaxed before sticking their dick inside me.

You know, read the fucking room.

“You serious?” he questions, anger sparking in his brown eyes.

They’re a shitty color, just like his shitty personality and even

shittier stroke game. The dude gives fish a run for their money, the

way he flops when he fucks. Might as well lay out naked in the fish

market—he’d have a better chance of finding someone to take

him home. That person is not going to be me.

“Yes, I’m serious,” I say with exasperation.

“Goddammit, Addie,” he snaps, angrily swiping up a sock and

putting it on. He looks like an idiot—completely naked save for a

single sock because the rest of his clothes are still thrown

haphazardly in my hallway.

He storms out of my room, snatching up articles of clothing as

he goes. When he gets about halfway down the long hallway, he

stops and turns to me.

“You’re such a bitch, Addie. All you do is give me blue balls and

I’m sick of it. I’m done with you and this creepy fucking house,” he

seethes, pointing a finger at me.

“And you’re an asshole. Get the fuck out of my house,

Greyson.” His eyes widen with shock first, and then narrow into

thin slits, brimming with fury. He turns, cocks his arm back and

sends his fist flying into the drywall.

A gasp is ripped from my throat when half of his arm

disappears, my mouth parting in both shock and disbelief.

“Since I’m not getting yours, thought I’d create my own hole to

get into tonight. Fix that, bitch,” he spits. Still sporting only one

sock and an arm full of clothes, he storms off.

“You dick!” I rage, stomping towards the large hole in my wall

he just created.

The front door slams a minute later from below.

I hope the mysterious person is still out there. Let the asshole

get murdered wearing a single sock.

TO BE CONTINUED

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