Page 14 of Scary In Love

Jenna

Mason’s plans are incredible, and I’m so grateful he’s taken the time to show them to me.

I follow the sketched route through the rooms again, this time paying special attention to his notes on where the actors enter and leave.

If I hadn’t already visited, I’d be spoiling the experience for myself, but this is a level of detail most people don’t get to see.

Next to the floor-plans, he’s drawn the Miller family tree, and I trace them back through the centuries.

“The old family bible has marriage records in it, so I managed to piece a bit of history together starting with…” He leans in, tapping the paper right next to my finger. “Archibald Miller.”

I stare down at our hands, willing him to shift just a little to the left.

“You made them the story. That’s clever.”

“I mapped out the names and dates, but there wasn’t much else to go on. The family kept to themselves, but I knew there’d be a lot of intrigue, so it made sense to base the story on them. They probably weren’t evil monsters, but the truth is often scarier than fiction, right?”

“I’m just glad you didn’t go with zombies,” I laugh.

“Not a fan?” He hooks his pinky over mine, brushing it gently .

“It’s overdone. They’re so predictable in their movements, their pacing. You can always tell when they’re going to switch things up and lunge for you. Also not a fan of anything that relies on making disabilities and disfigurement seem scary. That never sits right with me.”

“Me neither. So what would really terrify you?” he asks, and I twist to face him. He’s closer than I realised, and I rest my bum against the edge of the desk.

“Your double bluffs are great. When I walk into a new room, I’m immediately checking behind me, because I know that’s where people will jump out from. You have the guy under the sofa, and those actors hidden in the hallways. They’re fantastic because nobody expects them to be there.”

“We built a fake wall, and they hide behind the paintings. Everyone wants a part there.”

“How did you recruit your actors?” My biggest worry about visiting was that I might see familiar faces, family of residents, or people from school I never talk to.

“A few are friends from London who catch the train up. Most are local volunteers, or students from the drama school in Bramwell. People do it because they love scaring, or it’s good acting experience.”

“I had no idea so many people in Crowmorne were into Halloween.”

“Guess you’re not the only creep in town after all.” His movements are subtle, but I feel the heat of him as he shifts closer. “I feel like you should have applied.”

“I’d rather be on the receiving end of the scaring,” I tell him.

He reaches between us to twist a strand of my hair around his finger, and I swallow hard.

“You like it when things are out of your control. ”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement of fact. He’s always watching carefully, making observations that go beyond the words coming out of my mouth. He did it when he said I wasn’t vanilla, honing straight in on my preferences from just a little flirting.

His close attention means he’s learning a lot about me, but I still know very little about him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he says, still playing with my hair.

“Most people would assume that scare actors are sick fucks who love to mess with people. But you seem like a genuinely nice guy.”

“That’s not a question.”

“I guess I’m asking, are you a nice guy or a sick fuck?”

He traces his finger down the column of my throat.

“Heaven forbid a man wants to be both.”

He nudges the toe of my boot with his shoe, and I shift to make room for him to step between my legs. This close, I have to tip my head back to look up at him.

Fuck, he’s so gorgeous. A girl could lose her grip on reality for a man like Mason. Maybe I already am.

His thighs press against the inside of mine, his hands sweeping my hair back over my shoulders. He drags them down the length of my arms, resting them on top of where I’m gripping the edge of the desk. This is the most contact we’ve had since he stroked the back of my knee, but I want more.

“Scaring people in real life makes you an asshole, but scaring people for a job is…” He falters, searching for the best way to finish his sentence.

“Unique. I’ve always loved acting and improv.

Creating work that makes people feel something is a rush.

That feeling just happens to be fear in this scenario. ”

“Do you get off on it?” I ask, desperate to know if his brain is wired the same way mine is.

“It gives me a rush, but I’m not working every night with a hard-on, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Well, if I wasn’t thinking about his dick before, I definitely am now.

“Hey, Jenna. My eyes are up here.”

Can you blame a girl for glancing downwards?

“What about you?” he asks. “Does it turn you on? Being scared.”

My brain short-circuits for a moment, and I feel light-headed. His hands wrap around my wrists, his fingertips pressing into the thin skin where my pulse is thrumming.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” I sigh, swaying a little.

“Can you explain it to me? What it feels like.”

I’ve never really thought about it in much depth. I may not have a lot of physical experience, but mentally I’ve taken myself to a lot of places. In the fantasies I revisit most often, I’m not in charge. The partner in my head decides for me, takes what they want, uses me.

In that moment, I don’t want to think. I just want to exist as a body, a vessel made for pleasure. A plaything.

Mason looms over me, watching closely, but giving me space to get my thoughts together. I’ve never had a conversation like this. Never been with anyone who’s taken much of an interest in what I like, let alone encouraged me to dig into the why .

“My life is predictable,” I eventually manage to say. “I go to work, I do the same tasks on repeat, I come home, eat dinner with my parents, watch a bit of TV, and go to bed with a book. It’s a good life, but it’s normal. Boring.”

“You wish things were unpredictable? ”

“Yeah, sometimes,” I huff out, practically panting with the need to relieve the pressure building between my legs. Mason’s smile doubles in size. “What’s that smile about?”

“This smile?” he says, pointing at his face. “Oh nothing. Just thinking about some new ideas for the house. For you.”

“What kind of ideas?”

“I’m figuring out the details.”

He still has my hands pinned to the desk, but I sit up straight, pressing my chest against his in defiance. He breathes deeply, his mouth so close to mine it almost feels like he’s drinking my soul.

“I swear to God, Mason, if I find out you’re actually a ghost and this is some sort of sexy Casper situation, I’ll be so pissed off.”

Would I still want to fuck him if he was a ghost? Probably. He could visit me in my dreams, and I’d wake up covered in ectoplasm and—

Jesus, I really am a creep.

He drags a line across my cheek with the tip of his nose, and my eyes drift closed. “I promise you I’m real.”

“Then prove it.”

I hear him break into a smile, then feel him blow a hot breath against my neck. “Does that feel real?”

I feel it sparking everywhere. “No, that’s definitely not human.”

“What about this?” He grazes the shell of my ear with his teeth, and it turns me into a puddle.

“I can’t feel a thing,” I whisper. “Maybe you should try kissing me. I bet that would work.”

“You know, I would have kissed you outside your house if your dad hadn’t interrupted us.”

A frustrated moan catches in the back of my throat. The tension is unbearable, and I need him to do anything to break it. “He’s not here now. What are you waiting for?”