Page 63 of Your Masked Haunting

“Tell me you’re mine, Mona,” he growls, tugging my head closer to him, his forehead rolling against mine. “Fucking tell me.”

I would agree to say anything this man asked of me right now. But I mean it when I whimper helplessly, holding his intense stare, “I’m yours. I’m yours, Casper, only yours.”

“Fuck.” With both hands back on my hips, he slides me up his length and back down, filling me completely with every drop he has as his face contorts. Eyebrows and mouth upturned. “Always mine.”

I’m destroyed, ruined … and I never want to recover. I want to stay right here, in his arms, as he confesses his need for me with each stroke.

But gradually, he slows, coming to a stop altogether with me still wrapped around him, my legs around his waist and hands around his neck. Slowly, his forehead rolls against mine, and a sense of belonging washes over me.

Our breathing fills the room, hot and heavy. If you listen close enough, you can hear the whispers of our silent confessions as our hearts sync together.

“Mona …” My name is soft, like a caress across my cheek or hair tucked behind my ear.

“Am I haunting you like you’re haunting me?” His voice is thick with emotion, a vulnerability that cuts me to my core.

Everything’s overwhelming, all of my systems fried. It’s too much, and yet it’s all I’ve ever wanted. To be chosen, to be loved like this.

Pushing my chin down, I reach up and cup his jaw, tilting his head back enough to meet his golden gaze. His eyebrows are pinched together, eyes widened with a breath caught in his throat. Holding it so tightly, like he’s scared I’ll run in the opposite direction and never look back if he lets it out.

I can’t hide the tears creeping into my eyes, forming on my lashes and dropping over the edge. Nor can I hide the smile stretching my mouth. Or the sob that tears through me as I tug him forward, crashing my lips to his in a desperate plea to show him exactly how I feel.

He exhales into my mouth, the weight of the world falling from his shoulders. His fingers fist my hair, the tip of his tongue deepening the kiss as I nod ever-so-slightly.

With endless passion and unbridled devotion, we melt into one another, becoming something else entirely, something more. And no matter what happens next, we will always have this, us.

“More than you could possibly imagine,” I whisper, the words so vulnerable that they’re almost painful.

It’s been ten minutes since I told Peyton and Brett my secret—that I have a date tonight with Casper Ridley. Their jaws are still on the ground, and no one’s said a word. I can’t help but laugh, watching Brett’s mouth open and close as whatever he wants to say disappears over and over again.

It’s been three days since I discovered Casper was my masked man. That night was everything. Not just the sex, but also what came after. He helped me get cleaned up, carried me to bed, and held me while tracing the outline of my fingers with his. Somehow, that felt more intimate than anything we had done thus far.

He told me he was a professional hockey player, which explained his traveling and “meetings,” which were actually games. As if he didn’t already know everything about me, we talked for hours, and he listened intently, as if it were all fresh and new information.

Then he told me about his family, how close he was with his parents and his sister, Cambrie. That led to an invite I had absolutely not expected to get anytime soon—dinner at his parents’ house tonight.

I clap my hands in front of their faces, watching the focus return to their eyes. “Get it together. I. Need. Your. Help.”

Brett crosses his arms with a frown. “I can’t believe I manifested this so wrong. He was supposed to be obsessed with me, not you.”

Peyton shoves him and rolls her eyes before offering me a kind, reassuring smile. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous. Now, what do you need?”

I explain that I’m meeting with one of the wealthiest families in the goddamn country for dinner and I can’t wear my usual attire. If I want to make a good impression, which I do, I need to look more like … well, Peyton.

Peyton’s always put together, stunning in the coolest clothes, shoes, and accessories. Her style is chic, clean, a little darker in color, with a slight edge. It’s exactly what I need.

Casper is picking me up here at six o’clock, so I have no time for a mall run after my shift. Even though I am technically sleeping with my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss––or however many people are between us––I’m showing up for work and recruiting help.

“I’m off a couple of hours before you. I’ll run home and get all the options and meet you here when you get off work. Then we can just use the salon to help you get ready.” She winks, unable to conceal her happiness for me, and I can’t help but think of the very dirty things Casper and I did in there. “Does that work?”

I’m not sure when these two became people I’d consider friends, let alone best friends. They came out of nowhere, but now, I can’t imagine not having them by my side.

“That sounds great.” I nod, my chest all warm and fuzzy. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m happy to help.” She drops an elbow into Brett, who chuckles. “We both are.”

I look like a bubbly Barbie doll by the time Peyton and Brett are through with me, and I’m ninety-five percent sure that my body is having an allergic reaction to the lack of eye shadow and glitter on my face. Don’t get me wrong; some girls rock the clean aesthetic. And so do I, but I look like an alien in the mirror, completely unrecognizable.

Peyton curled my hair, brushing it out after the coils cooled, creating looser swirls and ink-black waves that flow down my back. Both of them decided that this was the outfit I should go with—a navy tweed two-piece, consisting of a skirt and a button-up cropped top that hits the waistband of the bottoms perfectly.