Page 1 of Nothing to Fear
Chapter 1
Silas
Neon lights glow against the pitch black of the large hall, black lights illuminating shapes and figures as bodies dance and gyrate. Music thumps through the old floorboards, vibrations traveling up my boots until they reach my heart, forcing a new rhythm that beats in time with the bass. The first Fright Night of the season at Corvus College is raging by the time I walk in, and I’m not disappointed by the scene in front of me.
Every year, the residence halls take turns throwing themed parties each week leading up to Halloween. Up first? Ravensmere. Named after our school mascot and notorious for throwing the wildest parties. To kick off the next five weeks of Fright Nights, the theme is Lights Out, Frights Out. It provides the exact kind of anonymity I was hoping for. Nerves and excitement roar inside me, my blood heating as I drop the façade I keep firmly in place and let go to the heavy base thumping through the common area.
My natural blond hair is pulled back under a dark wig cap with the hood of my black sweatshirt pulled up. My face andidentity are hidden under a glowing red LED mask, thick Xs above where my eyes are, and a sinister Cheshire smile pulled tight with crisscross lights across my mouth. I dressed in all black to blend in better with the dark atmosphere; under my mask and the LED gloves, my identity is completely concealed.
Exactly what I need.
I head to the kitchen, taking in everyone’s costume choices as I go—glow in the dark skeletons, bikinis, stick figures, someone with huge butterfly wings that splay out when they lift their arms. No matter how hard I try, I can’t figure out who anyone is, which means I’m safe. They won’t know who I am either. I refused to let anyone know of my costume plans, wanting just one night to be completely myself, not Silas Blackwood: college president’s son, captain of the rugby team, assumed-straight jock.
All of those things were chosen for me, and for the first time in over three years of attending Corvus College, I’m going to live here out in the open. I want to experience college life as someone who is authentically themselves.
I find a spot against a wall facing the makeshift dance floor. The common area has been transformed into a club scene. People move together unabashedly under the darkness of the room, the lights of costumes illuminating select parts of bodies, creating an erotic light show. Strobe lights pulse, the music controlling their rhythm—I can’t take my eyes off of it all.
My cock hardens behind the denim of my jeans, pressing painfully against the zipper as I watch dozens of people in front of me dance and grind without a care in the world. Fear roots me to my spot, warring with my need to let go and experience. I remind myself over and over that no one knows who I am under my costume. No one has any idea. No one.
After a few songs, my restraint snaps, and I move to jointhem, easily sliding in amongst the throngs of bodies. I find the beat quickly, dancing and letting myself go for the first time since being forced to attend Corvus. Pure, unadulterated aphrodisia flows through my veins. Inhibitions seem to evaporate completely as I lose myself in the middle of the room.
Song after song passes as I dance, letting the music lead me, losing complete control. My body sways and gyrates, my heart racing to the rhythm of the beat, sweat trickling behind my mask. It’s not long before firm, masculine hands find my waist, pulling me against a hard body.
Electricity sparks from the spot, arousal pumping through me. I press my ass out farther, testing the waters and fitting snugly against a pelvis. We start to grind, our hips swaying in sync, side to side as we dip low, my ass right in his lap, before rising again. His hands are everywhere, running over my waist, reaching up toward my chest and pecs. He gropes without restraint, feeling me out and riling me up in a sensual way that has my dick throbbing and my breath hitching.
I bite my bottom lip to stifle the moans that want to escape, his fingertips digging into my hips. It feels so good to be touched. It’s been months since I was able to hook up with someone, and even then, it was basic and quick. The way this guy is touching me is already more intimate than any hookup I’ve had in the past. But maybe it’s just my heightened state and the environment adding to the arousal.
“Fuck, you smell good,” he groans, his voice distorted as if he’s using a voice changer. Damn, the one thing I didn’t think of. His voice sets off a chain reaction, goosebumps scattering across my skin, arousal a steady drug pumping through my veins, my cock bucking behind my jeans. A whimper gets caught in my throat, quickly replaced by a moan, long and drawn out.
“Mmm.” I let my head drop back against his shoulder,loving that he seems to be my height, but wanting to feel more of him.Needingto feel more of him.I push back again with my ass, coming in contact with a solid, hard cock, right where I want it. Shit, it feels so good. Long and thick, the bulge pressed against me can’t be mistaken.
Turning in his arms, I come face-to-face with a full-body skeleton, the bones glowing neon green. I freeze for a moment as I take in his costume, relaxing as I realize I have no idea who he is. My cock bucks against my zipper, the jeans suffocating and uncomfortably tight.
The masked mystery man cocks his head to the side, and the action is so creepy and unhinged that if I were smart, I’d walk away. But I’m desperate. And desperate people do desperate things.
The song flows into another one, and we don’t break away, his thigh slipping between my legs, our cocks bumping together through fabric as we grip and pull. Rough, dominant hands move lower, digging into my ass and hauling me closer to him. My body falls into his chest, my hard cock rubbing against his abdomen, and I nearly melt into a fucking puddle right here in his arms.
I’m a big guy, thicker than him in most areas, but his dominance and the way he expertly touches my body do things to me. Just because I’m a muscular jock doesn’t mean I like to lead in the bedroom. Arousal thrums beneath the surface, a heady mix of lust and desire that makes me feel drunk.
“Come with me?” he implores, lust thick in his voice even through the mask, as he pinches my nipples through the rough fabric of my shirt. Hell, I was hoping it would lead to this tonight. I need this. I’m desperate for it. He pulls away for a moment, cocking his head to the side in that fucked-up way again that sends chills scattering across my skin. I miss his touch immediately.
I nod my head, not wanting to reveal myself by using my voice. The masked man grabs my hand, pulling me through the crowd, my heart in my throat. We end up at the first flight of stairs, and my eyes focus on our clasped hands, and the long, glowing green skeleton fingers that tightly squeeze against the red neon lights over mine.
He feels so good, and our skin hasn’t even touched. I never want this feeling to end.
We stumble blindly into the first room, a study by the look of it, my masked stranger kicking the door shut behind us as his hands slide under my shirt. My breathing hitches as the soft glide of his nylon-covered fingers explores my body. I arch into him, my hands rubbing up his arms and over his shoulders, an appreciative moan leaving his lips, deep and dangerous.
Damn, I want this. So badly that I know I won’t regret it tomorrow, no matter what happens. Tonight is nothing but unrestrained hedonism. Nothing more. We can stay completely hidden in the dark room, the moon shining through a large window on the other side, the lights from our costumes our only real guidance as we give into temptation. He seems just as committed to the anonymity as I am.
Deft fingers dip lower as he drops his head to my shoulder, his breathing coming in heavy pants through the voice distortion device. My breaths match his, and my body starts to sweat behind the heat of my costume, but nothing could make me take it off and reveal myself.
Before I know it, my jeans are unzipped, being roughly shoved over my hips as my cock springs free, popping up toward my stomach. Gloved hands clasp around my shaft, the other cupping my balls, forcing deep, primal moans from my lips.
My brain and body war with what’s right and wrong—hooking up with a complete stranger, touching each other with gloved hands, our faces completely concealed—but the feeling is too good and exactly what my body desires.
Craves.
Needs.
