Page 91 of Boys Who Taint

He groans with excitement. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I wanna give back what you gave me in the library,” I reply.

But when I lower his underwear and his hard-on finally pops out, all the blood drains from my face.

He’s pierced.

Just like Ghost.

Just like Apollo.

Oh God.

I inch back as terror slowly seeps into my veins.

If Apollo isn’t Ghost … could it be Grey?

But that wouldn’t make any sense. Grey already had me. He’s my boyfriend, so why would he chase me and hunt me down just to make me his? Or was it because he couldn’t wait any longer and just wanted to take what he craved so badly?

I shiver in place.

No, that can’t be true. Grey would never do something like that. He’s too sweet, and he’s never shown even an inkling of rage.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he crawls up to the headboard to sit while I keep staring at his size. “If it’s too big, I underst—”

“No, that’s not it,” I mutter, and I tuck my hair behind my ear. “It’s just … the piercings…”

“Oh.” He blushes. “I got them last year. You don’t like them? I can have them taken out.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” I clear my throat. “It’s perfect, even.”

I don’t know why I’m so apprehensive about telling him the truth. I want to tell him about Ghost, but somewhere deep down, it feels like this big, dirty secret no one can ever find out.

A forbidden death pact.

One I’ll take to Levi’s grave.

Grey

She swallows awaythe lump in her throat as she crawls back on top of me and lowers my pants farther until my full length finally pops out, hard as hell. But my God, when she starts jerking me off, it feels like I’ve drifted off to heaven.

It’s too enticing to have her hands all over me, and it feels too good to say no, but that look in her eyes just now … it caught me off guard.

She glared at me like she’d seen a ghost somewhere.

Like my piercings alone triggered a memory in her brain.

My eyes immediately flicker to my bag in the corner, where my phone is neatly tucked into the pocket, with a video of her tied to a lectern on its storage. A video she doesn’t know exists.

Is she thinking about this now while rubbing me?

Does the memory of being impaled on stage invade her mind even now when she’s with me?

My nostrils flare.

“You don’t have to if you don’t wan—”

“No, I want to,” she interrupts, looking me dead in the eyes. “I want you to feel the same pleasure I did.”