“Want to get out of here?” he asked around midnight, breath hot against my ear, and I was already nodding before he finished the question.
It had been too long. Way too fucking long since I'd successfully brought anyone home.
Tonight would be different.
The walk to my apartment was all foreplay. Brett kept pulling me into doorways to kiss me, his tongue fucking into my mouth while his hands grabbed my ass, fingers sliding between my cheeks through my jeans.
“Gonna wreck you,” he promised, and I nearly came in my jeans right there.
By the time we stumbled through my front door, I was ready to drop to my knees and swallow his cock right in the entryway.
Then the lights started flickering.
Not subtle—full strobe light, rave-style pulsing that made Brett's face look like a horror movie.
“Whoa,” Brett laughed, looking up at my ceiling fixture. “Sexy mood lighting?”
“Yeah, totally intentional,” I lied, pulling him toward the bedroom. The flickering followed us. Then the temperature dropped twenty degrees in two seconds.
“Is your heat broken?” He rubbed his arms.
“It's been weird lately,” I started, but then my bedroom door slammed shut. By itself. While we were both five feet away from it.
Brett took a step back. “What the fuck was that?”
“Wind?” I tried, reaching for the door handle. It was ice cold and wouldn't budge. “The building has weird pressure differences—”
Every picture frame on my wall started rattling. My laptop opened and closed like an angry mouth. The empty water glass on my nightstand cracked clean in half.
“Your place is haunted as hell.” Brett was already backing toward the exit. “I'm out.”
“Wait, it's not—”
But he was gone, vampire cape trailing behind him. The moment the front door closed, everything went still. The lights steadied. The temperature normalized. My bedroom door swung open with a cheerful creak.
I stood in my suddenly peaceful hallway, my cock still hard and aching in my jeans, fury replacing arousal.
“Seriously?” I said to the empty air. “You're going to ruin Halloween too? What is your fucking problem?”
No response. There never was. Just that feeling of being watched that I'd grown so used to I barely noticed anymore. Like someone was always just behind my shoulder, close enough to breathe on my neck if they had breath.
Fine. If I couldn't have company, I'd take care of things myself. Again.
I stripped off my costume slowly, knowing I was being watched, making a show of it out of spite. My cardigan hit the floor. Then my shirt, revealing my chest with its trail of dark hair leading down to my jeans. I popped the button slowly, dragging the zipper down tooth by tooth, letting my cock spring free.
I'd gone commando, hoping to get lucky.
“Like what you see?” I asked the empty room, wrapping my hand around my shaft, already slick with precum “This is what you're keeping me from sharing. Happy?”
The air grew warmer, thicker. Charged with something that felt like arousal.
I headed for the shower, leaving my clothes scattered on the floor. The bathroom was the only room that had been updated this decade, with a rainfall showerhead that had sold me on the place despite Austin's ridiculous rent prices.
Hot water streamed over my body, steam already fogging the mirror. I didn't waste time. My cock was already half-hard from anticipation; years of this routine had trained my body to respond. Alone. Watched. Wanted in a way I couldn't see but could always feel.
I grabbed the conditioner, squeezing a generous amount into my palm. The thick, slick formula was better than lube for this, lasted longer under the spray. I wrapped my hand around my shaft, the cool conditioner making me gasp before it warmed from friction and water.
“I know you're there,” I said to the foggy air, starting with long, slow strokes from base to tip. My cock was already leaking. “You always are.”
