Page 34 of Haunt the Mall

He totally forgot about his girlfriend.

“You’re gonna blow it,” I warned him.

My date chuckled. The adjacent recliner buzzed and hinged open.

He stretched, exposing his long, pretty neck, then lifted his hips. His pants were snug in some nice places.

Ah, shit. I shouldn’t ogle my date. Not unless he invited it. I grabbed my cross and swung my attention to the screen. I had to stop thinking about Victor ravishing me.

The vampire was hot. Tempting, distracting. But also, sadly, no longer on screen.

Cold air closed in the more I tried not to think about the man beside me, the one now watching me. I shivered and rubbed away my goosebumps. My nipples strained against my bra. This was ridiculous. No nonfictional human guy should be able to do this to me.

The slither of clothing made my thighs clench. I snapped my attention to him, not sure if his dick would be out or his shirt would be off. But he was dressed the same.

Victor slid his arm across the back of my seat, passive and questioning. Would I let him complete the circuit and return his limb to his chair or join him in relaxation?

As if he didn’t know the answer.

I hit the recliner button to stretch out the same way as him.

The girlfriend on screen left, but I scooted over and settled in. At least I got some around-the-shoulder-action. And warmth. It seeped in from his side to mine as the cool breath of the air conditioning fanned my flaming cheeks.

His fingers danced across my sleeve as we fell into the rhythm of the story, laughing, tensing, and squeezing–him, my shoulder, and me, his fingers atop it. It was almost like holding hands. I flexed the loose connection. Almost.

But something seemed off. Unsaid.

Was it me or the drama on-screen?

I fiddled with my cross. “Is it okay if I talk during the movie?”

“It’s just the two of us.” He glanced at my mouth and blinked, his eyes glittering in the dark. “We can do anything.”

A whole world of possibility flickered in the projector lights, but with Victor’s arm around me, there was only one thing I needed. I let go of my cross and hooked my fingers around his chain. “Kiss me.”

17

Climax

It took a single beat for us to lean in. Victor pulled me close, his grip tight on my shoulder. Adrenaline thundered through my veins as we twisted to fit together. His lips clasped mine. They were soft, but firm. It was just enough pressure to thrum my insides. My smile broke the embrace.

Finally, we’d kissed.

I rubbed his cross in a silent prayer: give me my sin again.

He gently cupped my face, securing our closeness as he pulled me in for another kiss. I dropped his chain and pressed my palm to his chest. Our heartbeats slammed in solid measures. He was mine. The flame was lit.

Projection lights ricocheted across our bodies. They painted him as a romantic boy with rosy cheeks one frame and a gaunt, fiendish prince the next. Both enticed me.

Who was Victor? My insides simmered as I sampled his lips again: salty, warm promises and forbidden thrills.

He was essentially a stranger. We were in his workplace—in public—even if technically, this was private.

Synthesizer music seduced and warned us about what was to come. Yet, I couldn’t pull away. Not when it felt so good.

He massaged a path from my shoulder to my neck. Just the spot. He pressed into my knotted flesh until the pain flashed white-hot with pleasure. I shuddered and closed my eyes.

Come closer. I curled my fingers in his hair and reeled him in.