Page 3 of Chosen By the Alien (Halloween Temptation #11)

I stumble into the hallway, breathing too fast, heart knocking like it’s got something to prove. That fucking costume. That fucking alien guy. I don’t even know where he went. He disappeared into the crowd the second he stepped inside, and now he’s gone like smoke.

Good. Probably for the best.

I duck into the first door I can find and thank God it’s a bathroom. I flick the lock shut.

The mirror catches me on the way in: flushed face, messy hair, pupils blown like I just ran a mile. I grip the edge of the sink, trying to steady myself, but it’s useless. My pulse is still racing. My skin’s hot all over.

I’m not gay.

Not even close.

I’ve never been into guys. Not in the locker room. Not at the gym. Not even that time Brad from work got drunk and stripped at the Christmas party. I’ve always liked women. Always.

So why the hell is my cock hard?

It’s pressing against my jeans, insistent, like it doesn’t give a shit about the rules I’ve been living by my whole life. I tell myself it’s the beer. Or the adrenaline. Or the heat of the room.

It’s not.

It’s him.

His eyes. That steady, unblinking focus, like he could see every part of me I try to keep hidden. His low voice, curling into my chest and settling there like it belonged.

And that look… not just at me. Through me. Like he knew something I didn’t.

I should be disgusted. Or at least confused. Instead, my body is answering him, like there’s no room left for thought.

I yank my zipper down and shove my boxers low, letting my cock spring free. It’s thick, flushed, already weeping. Goddamn it. I’m not this kind of desperate. I don’t even know why I’m doing this, but my dick doesn’t want to listen to reason.

I try to think of something else. Someone else.

Emily.

Her lips. Her legs around me. Her soft little moans in my ear. That summer, when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Her blonde hair fanned out on my chest, her breath hot on my neck.

My hand wraps around my cock, slow and tentative. I stroke once. Twice. The pressure is there, the need, but it's mechanical. Empty.

I close my eyes tighter and try harder. I remember the way she used to look up at me from her knees, lips glossy with spit and need. The slick slide of her mouth, the wet heat…

But the image shifts. Morphs. And suddenly it’s him.

Not Emily.

Tahl.

Those golden, strange eyes locked on mine. The amused curl of his mouth. The way his black lips parted when he said, “And because if I kiss you, I will want more.”

The way he said it.

My breath stutters.

My cock twitches in my grip, harder now. Needier.

I groan and jerk faster, fist tightening. My hips rock into my hand, legs braced wide in front of the mirror. I can’t stop thinking about his voice. The rasp of it. The way he towered over me. The way it made my stomach twist and my cock ache.

What the hell am I doing?

My hand slows. I should stop. I should stop.

But I don’t.

Because stopping would mean admitting this is fucked up. That something about that guy lit me up in a way I can’t explain. Can’t undo.

I pump again, faster this time, thighs trembling. My balls draw up, full and tight. I picture his mouth. His hands. His heat. His chest painted in shimmering glowing veins, like something not real, except he was.

Fuck.

I choke out a broken sound and spill into the sink. My cum hits porcelain with hot, humiliating finality.

I sag forward, one hand braced against the counter, the other limp at my side.

Shit.

I feel the shame crawl in a beat later. Cold and wet, like guilt made flesh. I stare at the mess I just made, like it’ll explain something.

It doesn’t.

Emily flashes in my mind again. Her laughing face. The way she used to snuggle in after sex, like we fit. Like we made sense.

And then the way she left. No warning. Just a two-line message and a half-assed excuse about giving me the “space” I needed.

Is this what space does to a guy? Turns him into someone who jerks off in a party bathroom over a stranger with a monster cosplay?

I grab my phone. Open her contact.

The cursor blinks.

Hey. Just thinking about you.

Delete.

You’d laugh if you saw me tonight.

Delete.

I miss you.

I stare at it.

What do I even want?

To hear her voice? To feel normal again? Or just to drown out the ghost of Tahl’s smirk in my brain?

I hit back. Leave the message unsent. Toss the phone on the counter.

Then I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face like that’ll wash the heat away. It doesn’t. I dry off with a paper towel, avoiding the mirror, and zip myself up.

I feel... raw. Unsettled.

Not just from the orgasm. From the why of it.

I step out of the bathroom into a hallway buzzing with bodies and beer breath and cheap perfume. The party’s only gotten louder. Someone’s making out against the wall. A vampire chick rides a pirate's thigh like she forgot what pants are for.

I push through the crowd, looking for Jake.

He’s easy to spot: drunk and red-faced, grinding up on a "nurse" with more cleavage than fabric.

I try to get his attention. “Hey, dude, Jake!”

He waves me off with a dopey grin. Tongue halfway down the nurse’s throat.

Useless.

I head for the porch, fingers itching for another smoke. The door sticks, and for a second I wrestle with it, and then I stop.

Because he’s there.

Tahl.

By the stairs. Alone.

Waiting.

His arms are folded across his chest, and that same weird smile plays at the edge of his mouth. Like he knows I’d show up. Like he’s been expecting me.

“Hey,” he says. His voice has a gravity to it. Like it drags everything toward it.

My chest tightens.

“I was wondering,” he continues. “Would you show me the guest room now?”

I blink.

He could’ve asked anyone. There’s dozens of people inside. But he waited for me.

My mouth goes dry. “I… I don’t actually know where it is.”

“Then maybe you could… Help me find it?” His eyes flash with something, heat, mischief, challenge.

I should say no.

I should tell him to ask someone else.

But I don’t.

I just nod.

“Yeah. I think it’s upstairs.”

And I start walking. Not away.

With him.

Why?

I don’t know.

Maybe because I need to know if I imagined that spark between us.

Or maybe because I didn’t.