Page 21 of Ghosted in Arkadia
“Wasting time, apparently.”
James smiles like that is the answer he is looking for. “Let’s get out of here before the techies show up. Make sure your writing hand is warmed up, Killian.”
“Fuck,” Killian sighs as he comes up to me. His eyes go straight for my neck, but he doesn’t comment. “You good?”
I don’t know if I’m good. I don’t know what I am anymore.
“Yeah,” I croak, my voice cracking. I clear it. “Let’s go.”
Scream for Me, Kitten
Rex heads straight for his bowl after I open the front door wide enough for him to squeeze inside. I need to take him on walks more often.
“You could give me a minute to get in the door,” I huff. I’m cranky and admittedly horny since the encounter at the raid, and I still didn’t know what the fuck to do about that.
I give Rex a scoop of dinner before heading to the fridge to mix a drink. Rex eats slowly, crunching and chewing each piece and making noises the entire time. I add an extra splash of vodka to the top of my drink, knowing I need to take more than just the edge off before I go off on something.
“Night, Rex,” I say, taking my drink into my room while feeling thankful for the dog door I installed.
Many of the mateless have dogs, and the fenced-in yard comes standard with the home. My neighbor June thought it was justwonderfulthat I finally got something to keep me company. It didn’t help to remind her that Rex is a working dog, whichdiffers from a pet. She finally stopped talking when I told her that Rex had belonged to my dead partner.
Now, she gives him treats over the fence, and I don’t feel as bad for not playing with him in the evenings.
I lock my bedroom door and set my drink down before undressing. My eyes travel across the room. I only count three blankets. That’s not even close to a dozen. Killian doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.
I throw my shirt into the closet, leaving my tank top, while I work on unbuttoning my pants. Black marks on my thighs catch my attention, and I shove my pants down and step out of them to get a better look.
Are you sad you didn’t get to see it?
My heart pounds against my chest while nervous excitement fills my veins. On the outside, I appear unaffected as I head into the bathroom to grab a washcloth and flick on the light. My reflection startles me. I lean in and take a longer look at the outline of a hand, clearly visible, around my neck.
“Dammit, Ghost.” I raise my chin to the ceiling and evaluate the size of his hand. Not small by any measure. My eyes flutter shut, remembering the feeling of his body wrapped around me, holding me in place.
Not small at all.
I take the washcloth back to the bed and grab my kit before settling into the middle. The needle plunges into my skin while I clean my thigh of his question.
Of course, he’s talking about his dick. Am I sad I didn’t get to see it? After a closer inspection of his handprint, absolutely. Am I going to tell him that? Absolutely not.
I reply on my thigh, wondering how long it will take him to notice. A rush of energy washes through me as I draw a line down my inner thigh with crossed lines close to an inch apart.The crude ruler sinks into my skin, and I laugh to myself before getting up to grab my drink.
A message comes in, making me spit some of the vodka out. It looks like he laid his dick on his thigh and loosely traced it like a kindergartener making their first hand-turkey. It goes two-thirds of the way to my knee. Using my arm as a gauge, it matches the length from my wrist to elbow.
“No, fucking way,” I breathe, laughing and shaking my head. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
My phone vibrates from the top of my dresser, and I look around my room, checking there isn’t someone watching before grabbing it. There is a text message from a blocked number, and I click to open it. It’s a picture of a giant, hard cock in silhouette. It’s hard to make out details, but it could be as large as Ghost claims.
I save the image before typing back a reply.
I thought everyone knew not to send unsolicited dick pics.
A message pops up immediately.
Unable to send.
I look at the picture again, wishing I could see it in person. If only for scientific study. I look down at my arm again. The length from my elbow… to my wrist.
“There’s no fucking way,” I scoff, shaking my head in disbelief again.
