Page 11 of Ghosts of Halloween

At least I’m still dressed, but that’s not much of a consolation. The ropes tied around my breasts give me a pretty good idea of what this is, and I whimper from fear, shaking my head as tears pool in my eyes.

No. Not again.

“Sleep well?”

I cry out, hearing the amused male voice right behind me. I try to see who it is, but the harness keeps my torso facing forward, and I can’t turn my head enough to see. I only glimpse a curtained window and a shadow cast on the wall, undulating with the shaky dance of the candle flames.

It looks huge and menacing, and I sob, unable to stop myself from crying.

It’s happening again. And I can’t stop it.

“Hey, shh,” he says, warm fingers stroking up my left arm. “No need to cry, princess. Not yet.”

“Let me go!” I sob, my voice thick with tears and fear.

“Shh, baby. It will be all right. Everything will be good. Don’t cry yet.”

His hand goes up to my face. Gently, he wipes tears off my cheek, and I freeze.

Spark.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb running across my cheek as he brings his other hand up to cradle my face. “See? No need to cry. I’ve got you.”

Spark. Spark.

I whimper, terrified and confused as he holds my face in his hands, framing it with his long, warm fingers. I feel the heat of his presence right behind me, flowing down my chilled back, pressing into the backs of my thighs. He’s not touching my body, though. Only my face.

My breathing grows ragged, a sound lodged in my throat. I’m too scared to release it, so I swallow again and again, keeping it down.

Because it’s not a scream. It’s a moan, and not a fake one.

And I can’t…

I take a deep breath, clenching my fists and steeling myself. This is fucked up. Whatever they’ll do to me, I can’t let myself enjoy any of it. I can’t reveal my pathologic response to his touch. Can’t let myself be any more fucked up than I already am.

“Hey, deep breaths,” he says, his voice low over my ear.

The warm air he breathes out tickles across my earlobe, and I press my lips together, holding them closed with my teeth when it happens again.

Spark.

I can’t be feeling this. Not now, not here. I don’t even know who he is, what he looks like! He’s tied me up, and he holds me here against my will.

All those thoughts rush through my head, frantic and urgent, but my body still floods with the tingly light I always crave and seek. It’s been so long since I felt it, the temptation is too great. I want to get lost in it. I want my body to explode with sparks.

And I can’t. God, I can’t.

“Breathe with me, princess,” he says, one hand gently ghosting down my throat.

I almost whimper with relief. He’ll grab my boob now. That’s what they always do. He’ll grab my boob, pinch my nipple, and I’ll lose this spark and be back to normal. I’ll feel terrified, disgusted, violated.

As I should.

I tremble, my breathing fast and shallow as he taunts me, his fingertips featherlight on my throat. He strokes over my pulse, under my jaw, agonizingly slow, and I can’t help it.

Spark. Spark. Spark. Spark. Spark.

I sob in frustration, and his low, pleased laughter tickles my ear again, releasing more sparks.

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