Ghosts of Halloween: A Dark Why Choose Romance

I wake up sweaty, groggy, and hurting all over. At first, I can’t even open my eyes. Just taking stock of my body and the strange position I’m in takes effort.

My throat burns, and there is an acidic taste in my mouth. I swallow time and again, trying to figure out why it feels this way. And then I know. I must have puked.

All my carefully saved-up pills, gone.

Whoever scared me before… They stopped me. I should have known. Should have checked if they were really gone. But maybe I hoped someone would stop me. Maybe I was a coward, even in this.

Always so afraid.

Feeling bitter and disappointed in myself, I map out the placement of my limbs, reality crashing in through my daze. I snap my eyes open, terror roiling in my gut.

I am upright, but not really standing. More like hanging. My arms are behind my back, tied together, and there is a sort of harness on my upper body, ropes digging into me above and below my breasts. I hang in this harness, suspended, my feet touching the floor. It’s uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt. Feels sturdy, too. The ropes hold me up without a problem.

Fuck.

Still dazed, but much more awake, I get my feet under me and stand, my legs shaking. I open my eyes.

I’m in a candlelit room I don’t recognize from my previous stay here. It’s big and empty, no furniture here at all. No trash on the floor, either. It looks clean but neglected like the rest of the house, the dirty wallpaper peeling off in places.

The candles are clustered in groups, five or more in each corner of the room, giving it a dreamy, unreal feel. Flames dance, wax drips down the sides and onto the wood floor, and occasionally, there’s a soft sizzle.

I can’t see anyone. Thank God, I’m alone.

My breathing is frantic and goes faster by the second as I look up, trying to figure out how I’m tied up. There are two hooks in the ceiling above me, both supporting taut lines of rope. I try to move to the side, and my legs can go a bit, but my torso stays where it is. The rope has no slack at all.

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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.

“Come on, now. One long breath in. Do it with me.”

And I obey. Goddam me, but I obey.

I hear his slow, calm intake of breath behind me, and I mimic him, even though my body’s shaking, and it feels like my lungs have lost half of their capacity. The ropes dig into my skin, and my ribcage is tight with fear and adrenaline, all my muscles tense.

“And now breathe out. Slowly.”

His controlled exhalation fans over my skin, ruffling the hair framing my face, and I whimper, squirming, and exhale in a big rush, gasping in a quick, shaky breath.

“And you were doing so well,” he says, sounding amused rather than angry. “Here. Small sips. It’s water.”

The edge of a plastic cup presses to my lips, and I smell it before drinking. Yes, it’s just water. It helps to calm my burning throat and rinse out the taste in my mouth. I drain the cup, and he puts it away.

“Very good. Just do what I say, and we’ll all have a great time. The best. I promise.”

He chuckles, and it sounds like he knows something I don’t, a bitter joke, but I don’t dwell on what it might mean. He touches me again, and it’s heaven. I’m drowning in sparks.

His fingers travel down my collarbone, stroking across it, and I shake against him, my body completely outside my control. Sparks explode under my skin, a heady, powerful rush that tightens my muscles and makes me hyper aware of him.

The clean, male scent mixing with the warm smell of burning candles. His sheer presence, which tells me he’s bigger than me, taller, more powerful. His touch, so very gentle and sweet, goosebumps breaking out all over my skin.

I wish he’d finally do it. Fondle my tit and end this farce before I fall in too deep.

His fingers skirt right over the low neckline of my dress, and my breath hitches in my throat. He hums, a low, pleasant sound, and moves his hand to the side, fingers stopping on my right shoulder.

“Such a pretty thing,” he says, voice thick with something I can’t identify. Maybe it’s anticipation. Maybe lust. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, princess.”

And then, his fingers trail down. And down. Right to the place where my stump and prosthetic meet.

Sparks fly, enveloping my body and mind, and I slump in the ropes, falling against him, my body brushing against the solid heat of his.

This time, I can’t hold back the moan.