Page 5 of Trick Me, Treat Me
Halloween was always the line for me. Midnight struck, and the chains pulled tighter. The curse pressed heavier. Every year, the hunger to take what I needed from a woman’s body just to stay whole grew stronger and stronger. The release wasn’t about lust. It was survival. Without pussy, and not just any pussy, but superior pussy, I’d shed this skin. I would lose the part of me that kept me human, and I would stay a beast forever.
And Spirit… she was the key tonight.
She was everything the hunger wanted. Warm. Soft. Full. A woman whose body carried the kind of energy I could drink from and stay fed for months. Her juices were life to me, her release the tether that would keep me from snapping into the creature clawing at the edges of my skin.
I dragged the blunt slowly, exhaled smoke toward the chandelier, and studied her while she laughed softly to herself over the money box. Confusion danced across her face, brows furrowed, lips parted in disbelief. She thought this was just generosity, just me trying too hard to impress. She didn’t know I was showing her respect. Payment not for her time, not for her performance, but for her essence. For what I would take, what I needed to survive. She had no idea that the box of money was less transaction, more tribute.
Her nails tapped against the velvet lid as she looked at me, waiting for an explanation I wouldn’t give. Not yet. I liked watching her wrestle with the questions. Spirit was used to men folding under her gaze, used to them spilling truth just to stay in her orbit. I wouldn’t. I never would. My power lived in silence.In patience. In watching her squirm under the weight of not knowing.
I leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on hers. My throat ached with the need to taste her, my chest tight with the pull. The beast inside me stirred, restless, begging for me to take her right then, right there, against the table.
Not yet. Timing was everything. By midnight, Spirit would either be the reason I remained in this skin or the reason I lost it for another decade.
“Different how?” she asked.
I grinned, slowly and deliberately, smoke curling from my lips. “You’ll see.”
The words tasted like promise and threat all at once. And as she tilted her head, sipping her wine again with that curious spark in her eyes, all I could think of was how sweet she’d taste and how much I needed that pussy before the clock struck twelve.
Her hand felt small in mine, soft and warm, as I led her out of the dining room and down the hall. The house groaned in places the way old houses did, but every step was deliberate. Candle flames licked shadows up the walls, and the music followed us like it knew where we were going.
I pushed open the doors to the grand living room, and her breath caught the way I wanted it to. High ceilings, another chandelier dripping light, walls lined with tall bookshelves, leather couches low and wide. A fire crackled in the stone hearth,and smoke curled from the ashtray on the glass table. The whole space was a mood, a sanctuary, and a trap all at once.
“You good?” I asked, my voice low, steady.
“Yeah,” she said softly, her eyes sweeping the room. “This is… crazy. You live like this?”
“I live better than this,” I answered.
I watched the way her lips parted, the way she sank into the couch like it pulled her in. I lit another blunt, pulled from it slowly, and held the smoke a moment before letting it spill out. Then I moved toward the bar cart, crystal bottles lined up, liquor glowing under the lamp.
“Instead of wine, would you like a drink, beautiful?” I asked, already knowing.
“Of course,” she said, smiling.
“Let me make you something.”
Her eyes narrowed, curious. “You know how to mix drinks?”
“I know how to do everything.”
I poured a concoction into a heavy glass, splashed it with pineapple juice, and set the rim with ice. Mine stayed neat. I carried hers back, handed it to her, and sat beside her, close enough for heat to stretch between us but far enough she could pretend she still had room.
She sipped slowly, licking her lips after, and I caught it. Every detail. Every movement. My dick getting harder by the second.
“You really don’t talk much about yourself,” she said finally, side-eyeing me over the rim of her glass.
“I told you, I don’t need to.”
She laughed, but it wavered just slightly. “You’re mysterious as hell.”
“I’m just me,” I corrected. “And you’re used to muthafuckas talking all night about shit that might impress you. I don’t need to do that, Spirit.
Her brows arched, her lips curling. “Oh yeah? You think you’ve got me all figured out.”
“I do.”
“Then tell me something else about me.”
