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Shiloh eyes me suspiciously as we roll to a stop at a red light. “You're being awfully accommodating today.”
I keep my eyes on the road, my expression carefully neutral. “What can I say? You’ve caught me in a good mood.”
She snorts, clearly unconvinced, but doesn't pursue the subject further. I wish she would. I wish she’d give me the opportunity to say that being in the same space as her would be enough to improve even my blackest moods–that what we did last night still has me riding a high I’ve never felt before.
Maybe someday, I can get it through her thick fucking skull.
As we pullup to Fairchild Manor, I can't help but admire the towering structure that used to intrigue me as a teenager. It's the perfect setting for the dark fantasies already forming in my mind. Of course, they all involve a certain little toy with chaotic blonde hair and the most fuckable plump lips…
Who practicallyleapsfrom my car like it’s on fire.
I watch her rush toward the front door, her hurried steps a stark contrast to the eerie stillness of the manor grounds. The bounce of her tempting ass as she runs is almost hypnotic, andI allow myself a moment to imagine chasing her through the winding halls of the old house. It’s been too long since we played our addictive game.
Finally, I climb out myself and follow at a more leisurely pace, drinking in the atmosphere and trying not to be too irritated that our trip back to Shiloh’s house was interrupted. The crunch of gravel under my feet, the whisper of wind through ancient trees, the faint scent of decay that seems to cling to the entire place–it all adds to this hunger building within me. I’m sure while we’re here I could find the opportunity to have some fun.
Inside, the committee meeting is already in full swing. Melanie's grating voice echoes through the cavernous foyer, leading us through to the dining room that’s been fashioned for the occasion. Shiloh slips in silently, no doubt trying to blend into the background, but Melanie's hawkish gaze narrows on her immediately.
“So nice of you to finally join us, Shiloh,” she simpers, her close-lipped smile making me wonder if she’s concealing fangs.
But the moment I step into the room behind my nervous little sister, the atmosphere shifts completely. Melanie's expression morphs from mocking irritation to fawning admiration so quickly I’m surprised she doesn’t get whiplash.
“Dominic! I didn't realize you'd be joining us today. How lucky for us all. I can’t wait to hear your insights.”
My nod is non-committal as I take a seat at the far end of the table. From here, I have a perfect view of Shiloh as she fishes out her notebook and a pen. She's clearly flustered, a light sheen of sweat visible on her chest that makes me want to pin her down and lick it off.
The meeting recommences after our brief interruption and I tune out Melanie's jabbering about ticket sales, focusing instead on Shiloh's subtle reactions. I notice the way she bites herbottom lip when she's thinking hard, the slight furrow of her brow when she disagrees with something but is too polite–or too terrified–to speak up, and of course, the barely perceptible sag in her shoulders when Melanie shoots down yet another of her ideas.
I read her like an open book, and I have to admit, it’s one I want to write my name in over and over again until she’s unrecognizable as anything but mine. I want her to bebrandedwith me, so that the whole fucking world knows it, too.
What an upheaval I’d be willing to make for you, Shy Girl.
If Shy notices me staring, she doesn’t react. Instead, she looks as if she’s trying to muster the courage to speak up again, her mouth opening and closing several times as she fails to find a gap in Melanie’s latest monologue.
“If it will help Peter with designing new posters, I’d be happy to share my thoughts on the decorations,” she finally pipes up, clearing her throat when her words come out a little raspy. “I was thinking we could tie some witchy elements in with the masked theme. You know, to really play up the history of the Manor grounds. I mean, what could be more macabre than our very own stories of witch burnings and black magic?”
As Shiloh elaborates on her vision to a rapt audience, I can’t help but let my mind wander. I picture her in a flowing black gown that hugs her waist, and an intricate mask obscuring half her face as she glances back over her shoulder. She's running from me through the dimly lit halls of this house, her breath coming in quick pants. But she’ll never escape me, I'mrightbehind her, heady adrenaline coursing through my veins as I chase her down.
In my fantasy, I eventually catch her at the end of a long, dark corridor with no exits. She struggles against my hold, but it's half hearted at best. We’ve played this game too many times for her to convince me she actually wants to escape. I crowd her againstthe wall, my body pressed flush to hers as I pin her wrists to the peeling wallpaper above her head. I can almost feel the heat of her skin, and taste the fear and excitement on her lips as I claim them with my own.
“Oh, Iloveit!” someone suddenly exclaims, interrupting my daydream. I quickly refocus my eyes to catch sight of the librarian, Jemma, I think, clapping an encouraging hand on Shiloh’s shoulder. Her enthusiasm is a stark contrast to Melanie's barely concealed disdain. “I actually have some catering ideas that would fit perfectly with Shiloh's plan.”
I lean back in my chair, content to watch this dynamic unfold as Shiloh’s spirits visibly lift right in front of me. Before Melanie can interject, Jemma quickly launches into a detailed description of her own proposal, which seems to revolve around traditional New England fare with a Halloween twist.
“And for the pièce de résistance,” she announces, grinning with obvious excitement, “I thought we could roast a whole hog on a spit outside. It would add this awesome fire element to the event, and really play up the witch hunt angle.”
As the debate picks up around the table, my imagination takes off once again. This time, I picture Shiloh trussed up before me, suspended and helpless. In my mind, I circle her slowly, drinking in every inch of her exposed flesh, completely vulnerable to me. I can almost hear her whimpers, see the fear and arousal in her glistening eyes as I decide exactly what to do with her.
The vision is so vivid I have to shift in my seat, grateful for the large table hiding my rapidly hardening cock. I force myself to pay attention to the conversation, pushing the fantasy to the back of my mind.
For now.
Melanie looks like she's chewing on a lemon, her lips pursed in obvious displeasure at the direction the meeting has taken. She turns to me, plastering a saccharine smile on her face.
“Well, Dominic,” she simpers, “what are your thoughts? I'm sure you must have some concerns about the...theatricalnature of these suggestions.”
I can see Shiloh tense up out of the corner of my eye, clearly expecting me to tear apart her ideas in front of the entire group…
But I have a different game in mind.
