. . .

“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.

.

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