Identical to the one that made Jamie freeze like prey caught in a trap.
The moment I lift it, something in my chest tightens and expands at the same time. It feels like nostalgia and adrenaline and something much, much darker.
I place the mask on the bed and start to change. Hoodie first. Boots. Then as I’m shoving my legs into the jeans—
A flash.
Jamie.
Back then.
On the ground, mud streaking his cheek, chest heaving, those stupidly tight jeans clinging to him in a way that—
When I look down…
Of fucking course.
I’m hard as a rock.
Why in the hell thinking about my stepbrother looking afraid, practically so much as begging for his life in those woods, covered in mud, which made his already tight jeans even tighter, as they cling to his big ass.
“Fuck,” I mutter, disgusted with myself.
“What the hell is wrong with me?”
Probably a lot. Considering that almost every time I think about that night, and Jamie specifically, my body betrays me and reacts likethis.
For someone I supposedly hate, I think about him way too often. And way too intensely. And always at the worst possible times.
No. Stop.
This isn’t about that.
I shove the thought down, lock it in the darkest corner of my head, and pull the jeans the rest of the way on.
Then I grab the mask.
The second it slips over my face, something clicks.
A switch.
A persona.
A version of me I shouldn’t like as much as I do.
I snap the straps into place, turn to the full-length mirror, and—
Damn.
I look like a nightmare someone would beg not to wake up from.
Hot. Dangerous. Addictive.
The kind of man who’d trend on BookTok under“toxic masked men that are allowed to ruin our lives and can do whatever they want.”
Because like I’m the perfect representation of a #BookTokBoyfriend.
Let’s see:
