Page 7 of Lost to the Woods

She tilted her head, scanning my outfit. “No costume?”

I was wearing my trademark outfit—a loose black hooded robe and a blank white mask, matched with simple black pants and my worn-in Docs. A disguise for the online persona I created a decade before.

“It’s the only night of the year when I don’t look like a freak on the street.”

She smiled at me, her dimple piercings made her look even cuter, more innocent, fragile. “You look… really cool, actually.”

I let my gaze drag over her, slow, intentional, taking in the way she looked in that outfit. Fuck, the things I wanted to do to her.

“You look like sin,” I said, my voice so gravelly, it was almost a growl.

Her breath hitched, which was exactly what I wanted. Her lips parted slightly, and she quickly turned her gaze back to the city, like she was searching for a way out. “I just needed a minute.”

“He’s been on your ass all night, huh?”

Her lips pressed together, her eyes darting away. Silence. She looked conflicted, like a part of her wanted to admit how fucking miserable she was. “It’s not like that,” she mumbled more to herself. “It’s just… I don’t know. It’s been bad lately.”

Good.

I stepped closer, just enough to feel her warmth, the softness of her body, and her scent. She even smelled like cotton candy—so sweet and cozy. She was the complete opposite of me, and I think that’s what attracted me to her the most.

“So, that’s why you’re out here crying instead of inside having fun?”

She let out a hollow little laugh, and I could tell she was flustered. “No one’s ever this direct.”

“Maybe you need direct,” I challenged.

She peeked at me then, craning her neck, her eyes flicking to my mask. Lingering. Something was there in the way she looked at me. A spark. Something she hadn’t noticed before. Something she’d pushed down, buried deep. But now it was coming to the surface.

“It’s great to finally see you,” she whispered, her wet lashes fluttering.

My fingers itched. I wanted to rip that fucking latex suit off her, make her understand how long I’d been waiting, watching her from behind the screen, knowing she was meant for me.

She shivered. Not from the cold. From me. But I still began to rub the length of her arms to warm her up, feeling her soft skin, the delicate tremor in her muscles, how she was everything I’d ever wanted.

“Um, I didn’t know you’re this tall,” she commented, almost shy. Even in her high heels, the tip of her head barely reached my shoulder.

“You’re just so tiny,” I responded, my hands moving slower now, massaging and gently squeezing. “It’s adorable.”

Her teeth sank into her lower lip, and I tracked the movement, memorized it, cataloged it in the sick, neurotic little archive in my brain where I kept all things her.

“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head, like she was trying to snap herself out of something. “I guess I am pretty small.”

Small. Breakable. Mine.

I hummed, shifting my hands onto her back and down the curve of her waist. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Yes,” she mouthed, barely audible.

And fuck, the way her body reacted—just the tiniest inhale, her fingers twitching like she didn’t know what to do with them… like she wanted to touch me back.

“Why?” I persisted.

“I… dunno. You’re just…”

Close.

Touching her.

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