Pasts That Haunt 01: The Trick by N.J. Weeks

Author:N.J. Weeks [Weeks, N.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-21T16:00:00+00:00

“This way ladies.” Maddox casts himself aside, pretending to be the gentleman I know he’s not, allowing Delilah and I to walk ahead of him.

Delilah flicks her eyes at Maddox, a disgusted scowl warping her beautiful face before she tightens her grip on my hand and leads the way.

The three of us move in silence, the only noise that fills the air is the distant echoes from the music out in the main room and mine and Delilah’s heels clicking. Maddox’s footsteps are surprisingly soft, not a thud or squeak from the soles of his large boots to be heard.

As we near the end of the hall, a rush of heat begins at my feet before traveling up my legs. By the time the odd sensation works its way to my spine, it’s ice cold, much like the ringed hand that has mine trapped.

Maddox squeezes my hand as he moves from behind me to stand in front of Delilah, who looks just as confused as I am.

“This room is off limits, asshole,” Delilah says, yanking her hand away from mine.

“Um, yeah, you’re not allowed back here.” I chime in, stepping in front of both of them to block the door. My hand barely grazes the handle, but to my surprise and much to my dismay, it is unlocked.

As the door creaks open, I feel a prickling sensation on the back of my neck. Instinctively, my hands move from the handle to the collar that traps my throat. I notice the space between the choker and my flesh is significantly smaller. As I glide my thumb beneath the smooth leather, the tip of my finger is pricked by a semi dull spike that was definitely not there before but is now protruding on the interior.

Maddox moves against my backside, the sheer size of his body behind mine feels like I am being swallowed by a dark storm cloud that somehow feels more ominous than my own. He invades my every sense, holding my breath hostage in my chest and making every inch of my skin crawl in heated anticipation.

His masked face lowers to my neck. A guttural groan emerges beneath his mask, which echoes past my eardrum and all to way to my pulsing center.

I’ve spent so many years wondering what it would be like when he emerges from the shadows long enough to play with me and I have to admit, I don’t like this neediness he brings out in me. I’m all for playing a submissive role, but if I’m not careful, he may trick me into submitting more than what waits between my legs for him, and I can’t have that. Submitting means losing and losing means he wins.

Forcing myself to snap out of the trance his presence has put on my body, I turn around and face him.

“You know, you’d come off more threatening if I didn’t have a thing for masks,” I laugh, bringing my hand to the elastic that holds his mask up. Just as

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