Page 5 of Adored by the Grumpy Ghost (Mapletown Monster Mates #1)
On second thought, maybe he doesn’t know I’m unemployed, because he clearly doesn’t listen to anything I say. He knew Mom was sick, and I’m certain I told him about her passing when he sent a late-night “You up?” text the night after she died. Not that he cares. That much is obvious.
“She’s great,” I reply, my tone stiff as I shove my disappointment down deep into my belly.
Suddenly, a crunchy rattling sound from outside raises over the volume of the TV, and Mark is on his feet and charging toward the front door in a flash.
“What the fuck!” I hear him shout. Following on his heels, I watch as he chases his car down the sloped, gravel-covered driveway. He launches himself through the open window on the driver’s side, and his legs flail about as the car continues to roll.
“Shit,” I mutter, not knowing what to do to help.
Part of me, I’m ashamed to admit, wants to pull out my phone and record the whole thing.
Mark looks ridiculous with his feet jutting out the window, one untied steel-toed boot about to fall off as he lets out loud, panicky grunts.
I have to grit my teeth to keep from laughing.
Before the car reaches the steeper part of the drive, nearing the end, he manages to get the car in park. Panting, he wriggles out the window and gets behind the wheel before driving it back up and ensuring the parking brake is in place.
He’s cursing through heavy breaths as he climbs out. “That’s never happened before. I could’ve sworn I set the parking brake when I got here.”
“Well, at least you stopped it before it rolled into the road and hit somebody.”
“Or into a fucking tree,” he snaps. “If that car is totaled, I can’t drive. If I can’t drive, I can’t pay my dealer the four hundred dollars I owe him this weekend. I need every driving shift I can get, Natalie.”
“Right. Sorry.”
I could point out that his tone is a bit too sharp for someone who’s four hundred in the hole over what I assume is cocaine––his drug of choice––especially since his car didn’t even get a scratch on it, but what would be the point?
I don’t need him to get more fired up. What I need is for him to chill out and stop talking so I can fuck him.
More pizza is eaten as another episode of Judge Judy plays in the background. I feel full after only two slices, probably because of how little I’ve eaten lately.
Mark empties his glass of Pepsi, and a loud burp rips from his throat.
I hear a loud crash in the hall and find a photo of Nonna Penny’s wedding day face down on the floor.
That’s odd.
Upon examination, the string on the back of the frame seems taut and strong, and the screw in the wall is still in place. Luckily, the glass isn’t damaged at all. I shrug it off and put the photo back where it was.
My fuckbuddy asks where the bathroom is, and I point him in that direction.
Please wash your hands, I silently pray.
When he returns, I discreetly try to check the dirt under his nails, but can’t get a good enough look before he climbs on top of me and grabs hold of my hips. He gives me a wolfish grin, saying, “You look hot tonight,” before bending down to kiss me.
My nose crinkles as he shoves his tongue in my mouth.
I forgot how sloppy his kisses are. It’s not out of eagerness, either, I don’t think.
The way his tongue traces the roof of my mouth and pokes the inside of my cheek makes me think this is probably how his first kiss went, and he never bothered to try another technique or seek feedback.
Though, I can’t complain too much. He more than makes up for it when he goes down on me.
I tilt my head to the side and guide his mouth to my neck, so at least his wagging tongue will feel better on the sensitive skin beneath my ear.
He takes my cue, and I let my palms roam over his thick arms and down his chest. Mark’s a big guy, and his dark brown eyes are kind.
It could be worse. He could think the earth is flat, or not believe dinosaurs existed.
His calloused fingers glide along my calf, bringing the hem of my dress with it.
My underwear is high-waisted, nude-colored, and extremely comfortable, but if Mark notices the lack of sexiness, he doesn’t mention it. I feel him trace along my slit through the fabric as his hot breath fans my ear. “I’ve missed this tight little pussy,” he groans.
A gasp escapes me as he pushes the fabric aside and enters me with a single thick digit. He strokes my inner walls once, then freezes.
“What the hell was that?” Mark grumbles, looking over his shoulder.
“What?” I ask, dazed from his touch.
“That book just fell off the shelf,” he says, panting. “Didn’t you hear it?”
I’m too focused on getting off to care, so I place my hands on the sides of his face and guide his attention back to me. “It’s an old house. Don’t worry about it.” Then I nip at his bottom lip to make him forget about it.
It works, and his mouth travels down to my chest. He sucks my nipple through my dress, and I arch into him. The smell of cigarettes no longer fills my nose. I’m not sure why. Now his scent has a pleasant, natural smokiness to it. Woodsy, even. Like a bonfire.
Mark’s dark eyes meet mine, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice a large mass of orange that wasn’t there before.
“Holy shit!” I shout, pushing Mark off me.
One of the taper candles I lit to set the mood is on its side, and flames are spreading across the rug.
I grab a glass of water from the side table and toss the contents onto the flames.
Mark adds his Pepsi to the fire, and it fizzles out moments later, leaving minimal damage to the floor in its wake.
The rug is ruined, but I doubt Lindsay will care. “That was almost a nightmare.”
“Almost?” Mark replies, his eyes wild and filled with horror. He looks up at the ceiling and scans the walls. “This house is fucked. I don’t like the vibes.”
In an effort to calm him down, I go over to the two other candles I lit and blow them out.
“Oh, come on, Mark. I shouldn’t have lit those old candles.
We’re all good now.” The car, the frame, the book, and the candle––yes, those are strange when you connect the dots, but they can be easily explained by either Mark’s forgetfulness (the car), or that this house is old and sometimes the wood creaks enough to knock things over.
More importantly, I’m too worked up to care. I wrap my arms around Mark’s neck and get up on my toes to kiss him. His hands settle on my ass, and he gives my right cheek a soft squeeze. I’m leading him back to the couch when the front door opens with a pitiful groan, then slams shut.
Mark jerks away from me. “Nope. I’m out.”
I sigh as I watch him race out of the house, jump into his car, and speed down the driveway.
After locking the front door, I replay the last fifteen minutes in my head. Did he remember to shut the door after he put the parking brake in place? If he didn’t, then a stiff breeze could explain the slam.
I don’t know if he shut it or not. He was behind me when we came back inside.
I tidy up the living room, returning the fallen book to its place on the shelf, and grabbing our plates and glasses. I make a mental note to toss the burned rug in the garbage tomorrow, and once I’m done washing the dishes, I turn off the lights and head toward the steps.
Might as well pass out from the heady bliss only my vibrator can provide.
The ends of my hair lift as a breeze whips through the hall. My gut tightens, and I freeze in place. The downstairs windows are closed, as is the front door. I’m sure of it. Where would that breeze be coming from?
Nowhere good.
Goosebumps race over my skin as the air around me drops several degrees, holding me in a tight cocoon. Terror steals the breath from my lungs. I no longer feel alone in this house, and those little oddities that drove Mark out of here now seem like clear signs I should’ve gone with him.
Then a deep, gravelly voice that sounds like it’s coming from everywhere says, “Don’t ever invite him into my house again.”
I choke out a scream. There’s no time to wonder if I’m having an auditory hallucination. All I know is something is very wrong here, and I need to get the fuck out. I don’t grab my purse or put on my shoes. I throw the front door open and race into the night.